A Quiet Study

Content Note: This poem speaks openly about suicidal thoughts and the weight of living with them.

I have studied attempted suicides

the way historians study history.

When your mind circles something long enough,

you start looking for patterns.

You learn the mistakes people made

so you can avoid them.

None of the bridges in my state

are tall enough

to guarantee breath stops

when the falling does.

I was young

the first time I started researching this.

Before national hotlines

were posted everywhere.

Sometimes I wonder

if those numbers help people.

I hope they do.

But I am not one of them.

A stranger on the other end of a phone

is not going to stop the pain,

heal my heart,

or prevent my past

from swallowing me whole.

It’s not going to help me find community

or learn how to feel safe

and connected with others

in a way that dampens the loneliness.

It’s not going to restructure

the systems

of the United States of America.

It’s not going to stop people

from wanting to eradicate people like me.

From making living feel worse

than the fear

of deciding against every natural instinct

in my body.

Many people

won’t say these things out loud.

And I won’t either.

Poetry

has a way of slipping in quietly,

carrying a story,

a message,

a vulnerability.

I don’t know

what keeps me tethered to the earth.

I think it’s a part of me

I don’t know very well yet.

A part of me

that still believes

there is something here

worth fighting for