A Short Message of Hope?

You are not ready to die.

I know it may seem this way.

You’ve got all the tools to do it -

                And your mind is numb. Made up.

 

No, darling, you are not ready to go.

You are so young, no matter the number

Your age may claim.

You have only ever lived on the cross-streets

                Of Pain and Hollowness.

You have only ever felt the impending darkness,

Even as you laugh in moments of bliss.

No, you have not lived -

                And you cannot die if you have not lived.

There are 7 Billion people in this world,

Increasing every time you open your eyes,

And you have met less than 2%.

                You cannot judge the world from this.

So what if your own blood has brought

You an entire galaxy of light-catching tears?

There must be a face out there

That will bring the sun.

You have not met everyone.

You have not truly lived.

 

Of course, if you must leave…

I give you my blessing to go.

May I recommend a bus? A car or a train?

Perhaps your own two feet will do.

 

If you must stop this pain you feel,

Heavy on your heart till the broken pieces shake

Under the weight of your mind so convinced

That the world you live in is the entire

Universe…

Leave this world.

Run for a block,

Or a mile, or a day.

Drive to the end of the city

Or state, or country.

Walk, run, fly, drive…

It does not matter how.

 

But I can promise you one thing, my dear…

You will find more people

Who see your heart and can rejoice will smiles

And cheers of “Me too!”

You will see more places

That will make those dark clouds appear lighter

                You will reach your dreams

And,

If you ever doubt this, remember that when you

Were five you wanted to be a princess,

Or maybe even a superhero.

Dreams always change with you.

                They are always attainable.

 

You will get all these things

And so much more

When you choose to leave your world

With a vehicle

And not by the end of a gun

Or the knot of a rope.

And I promise that it will soothe

All your aches for happiness

Much more than your razor blades

Ever will.

 

You have not lived yet,

And you cannot die,

If you have not lived.