Young Writers Society

My mama doesn't know how to cry anymore,
she just sits there silently -a statue of immortality-
gripping my baby blanket, it's frayed edges laced around her fingers.
She's remembering my tiny fists balled into the fabric
dragging it behind me like a cape -of youthful protection-
wondering where she went wrong. 

My mama doesn't speak anymore,
all the words in her throat dried up when she screamed
so loudly the walls of our house shook and fell around her.
Her body flying across the room to where I lay -broken and quiet-
my skin sticky from the sweat of uncertainty,
I know she tried to save me
but saving was a word no longer in the dictionary of my life. 
I wonder if she believed me now...

My papa's going through chemo
and I know he can't taste anything anymore
but I'm pretty sure if he could regain his ability he would only
taste that bitter flavor -the one that young death emits.-
I remember when he told me he had cancer,
I laughed nervously inside my soul while I tried to find
a will to stay alive -for him.-

My papa's digging a hole in his backyard now -whispering prayers of forgiveness-
he calls it his dying hole because that's where his heart is.
I wonder, maybe he thinks that if he was six feet under
he could smell my peppermint shampoo one more time.
But the peppermint ran out and it has been replaced with
the smell of wet earth and freshly fallen rain. 

My brother's are mourning the only way they know how,
two grown men crying heavy tears behind closed doors
-I know my twin feels the emptiness in the air.-
They have begun to drown their sorrows in liquor bottles
spilled out on the floor. 'Drink up sister' they say
'maybe if you'd had enough the alcohol would have made you forget for a day.'

My twin is staring at a bottle of pills again
I think he's finally realized that I was able to do what he couldn't finish himself.
His mind wanders to that hospital room where I hugged him tightly
and whispered 'I love you' in his ear -those three words
cleansing him better than the iv in his arm.-
My older brother just hits everything now
his fists taking the damage he refuses to let his heart feel.
He was always to stubborn minded for his own good,
hopefully he can forgive me too. 

The night I committed suicide I sang along to the radio
my voice clear and bright. -music always filled me with life-
I dressed in my cutest clothes and spent forever fixing my makeup
I wanted to look pretty, I've always wanted to look pretty.
The night I committed suicide I cleaned my room,
I didn't want to leave a mess behind for other people to take care of
-that would have been extremely rude.-
I made my bed and tucked the corners
then climbed atop and let the red river's run.
maybe next time I could forgive myself.
maybe.

[a/n] Yes I am ok, this was written a while ago and I recently found it in a stack of books I was unpacking. It made me cry and look back at where I was less than a year ago and I decided it finally deserved to come out and live a little too.[a/n]