You could have been
absolutely anything in the world,
and you would have
done so with grace and poise.

A dancer,
Model,
Author,
Teacher,
Scientist,
Politician,
Prime Minister.

Instead,
You are 17 forever.

By the time I found out
about your passing,
I'd already defied the
laws of nature and was
somehow older than you.

As every day since
continues to pass,
and my body ages,
but yours remains the same,
I think of you.

Why wasn't it me?
Why did the universe
decide that
I
inherit the family
who could afford to send me
to therapy
and get me on the
antidepressants that
saved my life?
Why not you?

We drafted and deleted
the suicide notes
we'd never actually leave
our families,
together.

We didn't want to hassle them.

We tore into our skin,
and hated ourselves even more
for doing so,
together.

I consistently forgot to eat,
and was apathetic about my appetite.
You starved yourself
and delighted in the
lowering numbers.

Why was I the one to survive?

The world misses you,
Em.
I miss you.
I feel like I'm not allowed to -
that my continued existence is
an insult to your memory.
This is only the second
poem I've allowed myself to
write about you,
and the guilt I feel in daring to do so
gnaws relentlessly at my stomach.

We'd both spent nights
staying awake until sunrise
with someone who was suicidal -
whether in person or virtually.
We both knew how dangerous
night time is
for those of us that wage
a constant war inside our minds.
We both knew how tempting
ending ourselves looked
when shrouded by the dark of night.

We both had our immediate
conversation prompts
to keep the other person with us
until the light of day
made it safe to relax.

Why didn't you contact me,
Em?
I would've asked you
when the last time you
watched the sunrise was.
We would've watched that sunrise
together,
and the one after that,
and the one after that...
I would've watched a million sunrises
with you if it meant
your invigorating presence
was still blessing
the realm of the living.

I think about you every day.
We always wanted to be remembered,
and this seems like the very least
I can do for you
as repayment for being the one who
lives.

You were
and are
so much more than
what can be properly
stored in a memory.
To have you exist only
in memory feels like a
crime against humanity.

But it's all we have left.
It's all I have left.

6 years later,
and not a day goes by
that I don't
mourn your absence.

Rest in peace,
Em.
Forever our Dancing Queen.
Only 17.
© O.M.A

#mentalhealth #SuicidePrevention #suicide #depression #mourning #writco #writcoapp #poem #poetrycommunity #remember