Alive

You know what kept me going?

No it wasn’t you and you’re, “I’ll always be there or here or where or anything.”

No it wasn’t her waking me up saying, “You’ve got school today.”

No it wasn’t his, “I think you’re a pretty cool kid.”

And it wasn’t their, “We’ll come over after we finish homework.”

It was never any of them or you or anybody or anything.

It was me at three am…

Staring at the ceiling with tears streaming down my face,

As the devil danced the foxtrot on my heart.

With his little white hot iron feet, burning holes in my veins and arteries,

He whispered in my ears the wicked lies I’ve been told by others,

And the poisoned thoughts that I’ve conditioned myself to believe.

“Come child and take my hand,” his devilishly angelic voice hissed in my ears.

“Come and I’ll help you stand.” But I pushed him away and let my own agony take rein.

Fear, guilt, shame, greed, envy, hatred, unforgiveness, anxiety, depression, insomnia—

That night I felt it all.

But I soon sat up and wiped the tears away,

I got up and turned on my flashlight,

And I grabbed The Fault In Our Stars off the shelf.

And I stayed up until five am,

Reading and rereading and rereading and rereading,

Until I fell asleep on the ground with the book pressed to my chest.

When I woke up I smiled so sadistically,

And I thought to myself,

Do I even matter to be in this world? 

What is my place,

What is the word?

Why dare to think of thinks and have to face them.

And then I remembered Hazel and Augustus’s words,

So sophisticated and so bittersweet,

So full of life and yet all so steep.

But wait I know my place,” I reminded myself fiercely.

I am stronger than you’d expect,

And I am the writer, pen in hand. 

My words are something’s indulged with grace 

With depth and force and will always leave my trace.

I smiled because I knew

And I sighed because I’ll always pity you.

You sing a bitter song of hatred and forgotten love,

While I dance along only to remind you how one day,

I’ll dance with the clouds up above.

With hope and fear and love and loss,

You’ll except it too one day,

If you can prove you love more than lost.

And finally I realised there really was no what if or not on whether I mattered,

Because I did—

I do.

Thanks for reading.

Bes of luck,

The Time Traveling Writer.

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