London

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There’s a lucid beauty in this town,
A town of a cool, calm life
Fast-paced yet beautiful
Ever-changing weather,
Just like a kiss
But, oh, London,
London wishes for love, a love like this:
London begs for recognition,
Union Jacks waving brightly
In the gray skies.
London begs for forgiveness
But most of all, London
Wants to be remembered.

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Paris, 1am

I wish for serotonin to run through my brain–I lack it now but
Before the end of us, it did run
Like wildfire when you went astray
Into the depths of my wildest dreams
By kissing me.

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Worthless

Author’s Note: I wrote this when I felt extremely low and like no one really understood my pain. I got to thinking, and they do. In fact, depression isn’t noticed in the workplace and is often seen as weakness. I wanted to fight that. It’s not weakness. It is an illness.

I am getting better, day by day. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. Don’t hesitate to call if you feel suicidal.

Sending love,

Heather

——-

Weary-eyed, he trudges

Through the crowded streets

Of shouting scammers, venders–

Panicked passerby.

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

He glances at his feet;

Shined–freshly shined shoes

Yet an unreal break from reality.

What is he

In this busy crowd?

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

The train ride isn’t too bad–

He finds a crumpled newspaper 

And scand the headlines.

That boy is dead.

That building has been destroyed

In this awful world of hate,

In this awful world of pain.

“Worthless. I an worthless.”

He opens the door slowly,

Confidently

Maybe–

He rubs his tired eyes once more:

“Let’s start the day.”

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

Stacks of unfinished work

Smile at him menacingly.

Yet he wishes to escape

This wasted life.

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

This may be final, he thinks…

“It’ll be a few minutes,” he sheepishly says.

He knows of the risks, but–

What else can happen

To make life less miserable?

Then again the scratched bathroom 

Walls

Appear like a twisted dream

In front of his sweaty face.

He’ll do this tonight, he swears.

Tonight it will end.

And he returns to the train,

Legs aching with fatigue.

Freedom runs through his veins

As he waits.

Perhaps that’s absurd.

“Maybe I don’t need to die.”

But his mind shouts,

“Worthless. You are worthless.”

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Sickness

Have you realized

What I am trying to say?

This sickness–well, this sickness

Isn’t going away.

Maybe you’ve never heard of it.

It’s more common than you think.

A sickness of the mind,

A sickness of the head;

So awful

That you wish you’re dead.

I tried to tell you,

I really did–

But I couldn’t tell you straight

That my mind was the source

Of this unimaginable pain.

Subtle didn’t catch you.

Subtle didn’t catch me.

Maybe I could have been clearer,

At least before now

As I pen this poem.

I can only tell you this secret…

But am I weak?

Am I selfish?

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arrows

arrows in my chest,

biting cold on my neck.

it never felt like this before

but ever since you left

i am no more

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Summer Sky

 The summer sky is alive 

In its own abyss;

Sweaty foreheads and swollen necks

Wish for its refreshing kiss

Of summer rain,

Of summer sky.

But oh, I don’t know

Where summer will fly. 

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dreaming in the city

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I fell asleep

To buzzing bumblebees

Brightly shining their lights down open streets;

To the sparkling indigo sky

That waved me goodbye.

Throughout the night

Several hundred butterflies

Carried me

To the comfort of a dream

Slowly but surely.

And now I wake

To the cotton-candy hue of the sky

Perhaps I was part of the city’s life

For just a night.

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