He walked into the kitchen,
Grabbed the biggest knife from the brown wooden knife block
Placed on the marble table beside the sink at the center of the kitchen.
It had a black rubber handle
Holding it in his right palm was a comfort.
He looked up to the ceiling
With the hope, you would hear his silent hurt
Even though all he did in the moment was jeer
Because the pain erupted chaos on his inside
The world felt cold and his heart was lonely.
In much admiration of how liberating the knife felt in his palm,
He turned it to his belly softly with emotions wrecking his sanity.
And in the darkness of the kitchen
He searched for life’s worth but found nothing
So, he pierced the knife again into the dermis of his skin
Causing pints of blood to fall to the ground
His palm drove it into the thickness of his skin inch by inch
It felt like death but it was you
Holding his heart in your hands
His soul in your mouth.
Before his windows shut to the world
He reckoned the life within him.
This poem is dedicated to the youths finding themselves in God, in dire need of healing. I know what the urge to commit suicide feels like, I know how tempting the thoughts are and I understand what it means to be hurt on the inside but pretend like everything is okay because of loneliness. But, you are not alone in this life, race, and journey. Even when it seems like physically hurting you is the way to feel something, heal and experience love, hold onto God who is ever existing in you, your life, race, and journey.
Photo Credit: Mark Kotun.