Tell them, before I'm gone that I was a bruised girl who turned into a bruised woman.

A woman who hurts all the time, no breaks no stakes to be made except for the stake of sacrificing my mind for others wealth, their health increases meanwhile I feel like a vile of poison to be had.

Tell them before I'm gone, tell them that I wrote poetry as a form of trying to be seen, heard, and maybe loved like I did so crave.

Yes, my health isn't my wealth, but maybe that's what I really need in life. Have you ever thought of that?

Tell them, before I'm gone that my pain was turned into something beautiful, a bouquet of words, a thousand meanings of hurt in one vase called a book, a book others could read and possibly throw away like it meant nothing, or they could read my words, my thousands of meanings and internalize that.. their not alone. I wish I could Intertwine with my roots with theirs, feeling just as i

Tell them, before I'm gone, tell them that I still lay awake in bed, thinking, but nonetheless, awake, and a

live.