What I would tell myself right after my suicide

You are beautiful. Death has covered you in a halo, like a saint.  

People mourn you. Good. They finally see you. Let them cry. 

Let them despair. Good. They should've known better than mess with you. 


Let them throw earth over your casket and feel guilty for not seeing how fragile you were. 

Before you ask,


Your mother is a mess.  


Your father is a ghost.  

There is no one left to water the plants or  

Hug your best mate when she's acting stupid.  

To feed the white stray cat that always seems to find you when you're feeling down. 

To make your parents laugh and remind them they did a good job raising you. 

There is an altar and you are made saint.  

Ten years from now your mother is crying over your old photos  

That have become more important than her other daughter 

Or her nephew.  

Your is dad gone. He wasted away like a piece of paper that caught fire 

and no one was there to catch him in and put him back together.

You always thought you were worthless, but guess what? You were the glue. 


And how do I feel?  

Like shit.  

There is a you shaped hole in this timeline and no one, not even a better you,  

Can fill it.  

Not even a parallel universe you  

With the right weight and the right attitude 

A bright white smile and perfect tits.  

Honestly, I fucking hate this perfect you.

I liked you better when you were broken 

And your teeth were crooked  

And your right boob was way bigger. 

And as rough as you were,

There was a kindness and courage about you 

That only truly broken people share.

Cause to be broken is to be free 

And to be free is to be hurting. 


God, how I love you and I didn't show it enough.  

I know now that you are perfect. Your worst days were my teacher.  

Your darkness was my fortress.  

Your insecurities were my garden of delights. 

I'm not good with words but I guess what I'm trying to say is that  

I am glad you are still here.  

I promise to be there for you every day,  

Even when you're annoying.  

You are my home and my best friend.  

And, babe, I have your back.  


This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


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