Featured Poet - Lauren Elizabeth Ehret

WORDS HAVE POWER

Words have power

Yes, they do

To hurt or heal

Or wound some, too

Through a screen

Or to a face

Remember, you count too.

So speak kindly to yourself

Because you always listen, you do.

WHY PEOPLE DIE BY SUICIDE

To find a way out. Scrambling and running

from the voices in their heads

the abuses on their bodies

delicate parts painted black and purple

and violated to where they could no longer be touched.

To free themselves from the shackles of pain

surrounding their legs, dragging

on the earth underneath their rugged feet.

To end suffering. To show everyone

they were not attention seeking.

To caution the world that mental illness is real.

To relieve their family and friends and teachers

from the burden of their own existence.

To let their soul slip into oblivion, since

their minds were already there.

To cheat natural selection and rob nature of its victory

of controlling who goes and when.

To drink from the bittersweet river of death

flowing between white grains of sand settled in

the rivets of their brains and hearts.

To love their spouse and give them

one final gift of reprieve. To free them

from the burden of not being able to

live how they really wanted. To give them

the chance of having a family with someone else.

To feel the hot flash of a bullet crashing

though their flesh and bone, spewing blood.

To be choked by pills in dozens or hundreds

slithering down their throats and swelling

in their stomachs. Overdose for freedom.

To avoid more pain and sorrow.

To feel the euphoria of crossing over

into another plane of existence

with white clouds and colorful flowers

with no bullies or abuse or terror.

To feel the soft cushions lining a casket. To swell

with embalming fluids and chemicals to prevent

rapid decay. To feel their book closing abruptly.

To deny life the opportunity to worsen, and to better.

To enact their life insurance policy for their family.

Because they believed themselves to be

a dark cloud looming of burden and anguish,

holding those they love back from success and joy.

Because that’s all they’ve ever known since being a mere seedling.

Because swimming in this sorrow is just no way to live.

To break through the pearly gates, shining and gold.

To seek refuge and sanctuary behind its heavy doors.

To love themselves for once in their lives, giving

themselves a chance to feel unrequited joy.

Smiling on the outside but crumbling within.

BLADE’S CALL

The voice of the blades

Echo and bounce

Off the walls of my skull

Calling me by name

Though it’s been years

Since a blade scraped my skin,

It calls for me

And waits patiently

Hoping for the day I snap.

The call of the blade

Scrape, scrape, scrape

The cry of my skin

Split, split, split

The red of my blood

Drip, drip, drip

Oh no, I went too deep

Gush, gush gush.

The call of the blade

Ignore, ignore, ignore

My teeth clench and grind

Tight, tight, tight

What if I cut?

Tremor, tremor, tremor

What if I relapse?

Think, think, think.

I would be a failure

Cry, cry, cry

To everyone, but especially me

Hide, hide, hide.

You’re five years clean;

Try, try, try.

THEY DIED FOR THEIR LIVES



they were smothered by expectations

they froze in their tracks

they clutched the vials

they didn’t write the letter for themselves

they didn’t die because they wanted to

they got enough of this cruel and ugly world

they believed god had forsaken them

they enlightened

they endured echoes of enough

they perished waiting for their lives to get better

they perished on phantom battlefields

they pulled the triggers

they twisted the ropes

they weaved their last breaths in the strands

they overdosed on opioids or tylenol or something else

they wanted to be seen

they wanted to stop hurting, the pain so deep, so stabbing

they never thought this was how they’d go

they never thought they’d be murderers

they read suicide stories online

they read recovery testimonies online

they found them unhelpful

they knew it was time

they found peace in the gun’s final whisper

they found solace in the hollow glass

they found happiness and regret as their souls left

they ceased crying and wishing for better days ahead

they pissed off their families at the funeral

they wanted to free those around them from themselves

they were, when they were alive, a misunderstood kind

they are long gone now,

one every forty seconds

one million gone

the young should

never

be six feet deep.

CEASE THE CUT

I am not made of paper

I am not made of glass

So why did I hurt myself

And treat myself like trash?

Pick up the scissors,

Pick up the tack,

These just won’t do,

Let’s try something new.

Silver, shiny, flat, and sharp

Once pushed against pencils,

Long and hard and made of wood,

Now pushed against my arm,

Soft and innocent and smooth.

But why

Oh why

Did I cut myself?

Like scissors to new wrapping paper?

Why,

Oh why

Did it give me relief

From the depression I held inside?

It’s more than that.

It always is.

It’s less than that,

Addiction it became.

More than the endorphins

Pushing into my brain,

I punished myself

I was never enough

I didn’t lose enough weight

I ate too much

I lost a friend

And of course it was my fault

I had to be perfect

I had to be better

I had to stop letting

Myself get so fat

I was abused cause I let them,

Oh how stupid was I!

I made him mad,

Another day,

I’d hurt myself and cry.

I hoped one day I’d learn a lesson

To stop doing what I did.

But the lesson I eventually learned

Was that I am innocent,

Like a budding flower,

Being pulled in the roaring winds

Of a relentless hurricane.

I was a flower,

And the storm was not my fault.

My scars and stripes are part of me;

Forever they will stay.

Red when made

Now white as snow,

Thin as hair on arms, unseen

Thich as a coin in one special spot,

I really should have stitched it up.

But hid, I did, until I decided,

“Cut, I will, no more.” 

Put down the blade,

Put down the blade,

Put down the blade;

It calls my name.

June tenth,

My favorite day

The day I realized

I deserve better

And I don’t have to hurt myself

To prove anything to anyone.

So, enduring the pain,

The emotional torment,

The breakdowns and screaming,

Grabbing the blade and throwing it down,

In time,

I finally stopped.