Not to rain on your parade

But I’m not the fragile crybaby you think I am.

You see,

Suicidal thoughts weight a ton

I trek through concrete jungles

With 500 pounds of loneliness on my backpack,

When I open my eyelids

You don’t realize that you are seeing

19 years of lifting my soul

Out of my toes.

 

You don’t know the strength I have.

 

My brain

The simple muscle that keeps me alive

Is telling me to die.

The irony is not lost on me;

Such irony made me

Oxymoronic, because

There is oxygen in my blood stream

I am still here

Despite echoing threats

In all hours of the early morning.

So tell me what more motivation I need

Other than my own spite

 

Strength is relative:

Just because mine is quiet

Doesn’t mean it won’t shake

The ground you dance upon

I guess your weakness is a lack of observation,

Cause when I look into the mirror

I can clearly see the dynamite in my eyes

My heartbeat is a political statement

When the people of my brain carry

Pitchforks and torches

Rallying for my death

The queen remains on the throne

Each suicidal thought is a new tyrant

Each moment that I remain alive

Is a moment that I remain victorious;

Can’t you see that my

Entire existence is a rebellion?

 

But you are always

Scratching in my eardrums

When the thought of death

Is dancing upon my lips

You throw Bible verses at me

As your weapon of choice

Against something that wasn’t attacking you

You become so overwhelmed

By rhymes of sorrow

By poetry that wasn’t written for you

You can’t stand when I verbalize

The pressure on my brain

To cave into itself

you want to tell me to be strong

but you are so weak

that you can’t even handle a glimpse

into what is happening in my mind

I have witnessed the same bloodshed day by day

And you can’t even handle the propaganda

I spew every time I say I’m “fine.”

Don’t test my ability to disregard your feelings

Of discomfort

Because you can’t handle

That I have suicidal thoughts.

I’m sorry that they scare you

But they no longer scare me.