Momma, I lied.

I want to die.

You can tell me I’m beautiful,           

an exquisite creature,

but it doesn’t change the way I feel. I want to bleed,

to feel something; to feel the real me.

 

The weight on my shoulders has become cumbersome.

Even when I am lying

in bed, I am bleeding,

not physically, but emotionally. Death

now seems like a situation of creation

rather than destruction. A way to beautify

 

those who don’t see the beauty

in themselves. It is a way to overcome

what life has given and create

a being not based on lies

but on one’s true self. The dead

have no more blood

 

to shed. They have bled

and can move on to their own beautiful

afterlife. They no longer have to fear dying

or fear that they are not the epitome

of the child their parents imagined. No more need to lie

and come up with creative

 

ways to hide old scars. No longer need to create      

new excuses for new scars that still bleed

uncontrollably. I’m sorry Momma that I lied

about my feelings. The words just bounced off my tongue beautifully.

If anyone, I am to blame.

Do not try to save me. When you find this, I will already be dead.

 

Just because I have died

does not mean I am gone. Create

a picture of me to carry with you. I am a syndrome.

When you least expect, I will appear. Not bloodied

but beautiful

like an angel. You will feel me next to you where you lay.

 

I’m sorry if I have been troublesome, forcing you to find my bloody

body, but I had to die. It was my time to create

my own circumstances. I love you, beautiful mother. I am sorry I lied.