*I wrote this poem after reading an article about James Baldwin and his struggle with suicidal ideation*
If I ask you to martyr me within your pages,
blank and crisp, like unvarnished potential,
don’t let your memory of me fade away
like forgotten, abandoned childhood dreams.
Don’t listen to my mournful woes.
Write me beautiful and stellar,
glamorous and headstrong.
Paint me with words like “indestructible”
“iridescent” and “wonderful friend.”
If I should attempt to fall prey to my own dirty hand,
don’t let pain and trauma tell the story,
write me a new ending, one where I am the victor;
one where I live triumphant
with my long-forgotten happiness.
Hold my hand in the darkness and guide me
to yet another light. There will always come another light, won’t there?