a thousand different sad songs

all of which are true

but you don't know what sadness is

until you've got something to lose

and the only thing thats left is this

hopelessness and you

so you start to look for answers

from this thing inside your chest

but you realize with all your motivation

that she up and left

so your stuck

just you and an empty room

so, you pray and you pray

and you search for an answers

then you wait and you wait

and then you start to pander

would it be a mistake

to just leave it all behind

cuz ive been having this dream

where i jump off of a bridge

see the clear, blue water

but then wake before i feel it

does anyone else feel the way i feel

like it would be better if i just disapeared

if i wasn't around there'd be no more tears

like God would love me better

if i wasn't stuck down here

i'm too proud to admit

im scared

so you want to be a writer?

by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or fame,

don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don't do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,

don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don't do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Trigger/Content Warning: Suicide attempt

This happened recently.

It wasn't planned. It was spontaneous.

I was so depressed. My medication wasn't working. I couldn't hold down a job without constantly breaking down. It certainly didn't help that I had a huge, ugly confrontation with my dad the day before.

I was a prisoner to my emotions. They were my judge, jury and executioner. The sentence: death by overdose. They shackled me, marched me up the stairs and into my room, my execution chamber. They lined three bottles of pills onto my nightstand and handed me a bottle of water.

I didn't fight it. I thought, 'What's the point of trying anymore?'

I took a bunch of pills and chased them down with water. I didn't take all of them, though. A part of me didn't want to cause any irreversible damage, if I lived.

At first, I thought that I was just taking a gamble on my life. I was leaving it up to chance to decide whether I lived or died. But now I realize that I didn't want to die. Deep down, I was hoping that I'd live.

I blacked out.

Mom was the one who found me. She had gone upstairs to put on her pajamas. That was when she decided to check up on me. If she hadn't, I could've died. She saved my life.

Ever since I got home from the hospital, I've avoided staying in my room for too long. I only go in there to change and even then, it's a lot. What was once a safe haven has now become haunted. The water bottle I drank from is still there, empty. A prescription bottle cap is right beside it. Both serve as remnants of my worst memory.

lost somewhere between the

turquoise air and the petulant ocean,

glass beads held between our teeth.

crows looking over our shoulders,

wormwooded snakes sliding over our feet.

moons like oceans,

circling like tidal pool goddesses:

they were you; you were me.

flutes made of the ocean,

cracked heartbeats strung together into

a dying song.

saltwater rainclouds.

one last song.

I drive hard for what I believe in. I make my mind grind from outside of the box to within. I beg, plead, and borrow. I search like there is no tomorrow. I depend on help when things get rough. I try to convince and struggle Until it's more than enough. I set my soul aside to get you to see what I believe. I constantly get put down or knocked to my knees. But with the Grace of God And any blessings I have saved. I might just convince someone to care and behave. To reach way down in their spirit and help someone in need. Naturally feel their urgency Before they begin to plead. Fistchallenge4kids is my way To give back To help homeless children and shelters with things they lack. Since 2016, I did the grind on my own. I made over 500 t-shirts for children and people with no homes. With or without help God will provide. I hope he touch some Angels heart To help us with this T-shirt drive.

Hello heartfelt phenomenal writers and readers.

I'm sorry I haven't been on here as much as I loved, but unfortunately I was a victim of mildew poisoning and caught pneumonia twice back to back. I had to move and start over slowly. I have been jumping on reading some great writing. I love everyone on here and I pray for us all.

Now that I am functioning so much better, I have to humble down and ask for your help. Those that know me on here knows that I have a program for homeless and sheltered children to reward them with books and Tshirt. It has been happening since 2016.

Every year I start a Tshirt drive to buy tshirts and materials to donate through the summer. My health has made it tough for me but I refuse to stop.

So if anyone have some spare change or bucks they can send to help out, will be greatly appreciated. If you have a cash app:

$fistchallenge4kids

Paypal- poo3sha@hotmail.com.

**Any donations over ten dollars is greatly appreciated and can be matched with a deal I have to make a shirt if your choice over the summer for free as a thank you from fistchallenge4kids. Just email me at sharondabriggs24@gmail.com. Thank you for your support and blessings.

@Jenevieve @Sandflea68, @James, @Hlore42 @Ernaline, @CRIMEZONE, @ek503, @MinkoffL064, @WendyEire, @CeliaPoppinjay, @NickSheezen, @Seaventeares, @MontanaBrooke, @HSEmms, @Adin, @RobinEgg, @RobinR, @JaneF, @GWest, @AtomDub, @Glamastro, @Peaches256, @JosslynM, @elliana, @Eleay @teaxkitty @gsng @Quiller @KarenC @Chacko_Stephen @Acadec56 @AliPoetry @Featherson @Amal_Z @Jenevieve @EllaCressman @AnnieLGray @DANdeLION_Page @Sydneyjay25 @ThreeMandates @llesorell @Elie @Sinha @Raksti @CharliePrince @Smruti_Swarupa @DoveRaptor @WhiteWolfe32 @BlueWolf @Sanjana_S @SarahMarieTalbe @saltandink @Clarity @GLD @GinelleColour @Acadec56 @Parise_25 @Mara_C @Sanjana_S @Mnezz @ValiantRaptor47 @ana_vega222 @SadieBug @nightscribbler @TW @VerityMonet @milu @MidnightInk @EvelynDawn @Deeksharai @MargeauxReed @Moonsinger128 @A @InLoveWithWords @WinkingFace101 @indego @Rodaina @MariAntoinette @Wanalee @HandsOfFire @dctezcan @Dmoral @Hell4Heart @OllieOctopus @JamieAshworth @Rabbithead @JaneSays @em_dawson @Punky @VictoriaBowman @RaeEllyn @Undermeyou @BonnieBoo @turtlebright @QuietSilence @poetgreen @EstherFlowers1 @Voidkin_Killer @nor @SandCrystal @SodaPop @rlove327 @SarahOkpokam @CrowSF @1912writer @AbstractSoul @tyrados @CRSteen @oceanelsie @ahalis @Tanagura @songsamsung @shadows @papasmurf @spurtsofdark @bluechameleon @BenLeoSkinner @nohwal @PaperbackFish @tooldtocare @sturmfreid @sandflea68 @anarosewood @VividHues @Wisp @Seesaw @chainedinshadow @DoveRaptor @Thereisnospoon @Samina @Wordlove @Scratch77 @Famewriter @Chirasha @WiffinZebe @berrybellss @JustJessica @Celia_Himawari @MClarice @Snowflake_pixie @GhostsOfWar @miss_mizzle @Elie @pravartika @Firstborn60 @SamVirginia @mightymanda @GeorgieGnu @AtoZ @Iamagoofball @Laveenya @snivyth3 @CourtneyPaul @Sleekdesigns @KellyAnn @Crazybasicme @Airajin @Commentator @TimWeng @RoseBuds_12243 @salmarodriguez @englishgirl @Beccawaits @EllaCressman @LovelyNB @zanlexus @Smruti_Swarupa @TheOldSoul @the_ghostwriter @Roman23 @anxiousatoms @RainGoat @Anonymityiskey @CatLady1 @arctic @LThurston @Thirstypen @CEH4255 @ellisleighj @Silvacoin @Sinha @TheDreamer @these_scribbles @thesavyleelyon @TBHughes @sunnyv @Niamh @Tushar @Coolgirl2020 @VRose @KarenKitchel @Zoe_n @demcmurphy @chloe841@StoryByRoss @ThaliaLynnAvery @Still_Sammy @BradBennett @lost_soul197 @Sohaila @ajrfanz @TreeTop7 @Tnash @HelenaTherese @Mukhtar @MockingJ @ulmera @AnnaBHughes @Laylee @NaomiAdams @TrashedMaggie @douglasmarmion @Bland @shruthi_r @Rob_Lee @Katche @Noshitsherlock @william_calkins @Mfrobs @Chosen @the_contranym @mogowrites143 @KablamStudios @cshwrites @Nietzsche @nijahwrites @Ari_Asra @LisaLoveHolt @PoetryMaster24 @asterisk @cockhead @Dolores @victoriag @Shayna13 @DaisyMae @JulianRace @thniels @WhiteWolfe32 @kidwithabrain @JaklenHyde @bunniesee @OrphicOwl @Wifey_ @rhedrion @CalebPinnow @JackCharles @JaredHammer @Taki @RamonElCamino @DellaMaynard @MsHannahTweets @NJDunn @Dragoon @Samina @LexiCon @QQ @goldenmel @AnkonDeyAnimesh @foysalx @William_C @BabyCakes24 @Biohazard @Atalanta @Dejamarie05 @LeeAnnaKingPenn @Wowbear @KacieIuvara @KMCassidy @cela @Skilfularcher @AnneLParrish @one2wo @Toebeans @Sofie @champagnekitty @jmcbee @Gburke @EugenPetrascu @notBevinK @Nigel_Aldridge @saluthibou @ChristopherHow1 @lupi @Words_by_Gi @Hrithik @booklover_2020 @Thunder_girl @Eternal @Camilla_Ferrand @OaKtree @luno18 @CornishGal @JuhiRayAuthor @TylerDonato @Dahliaria @AliPoetry @sunshine89 @Khaydarbekov @JesseEngel @SMichelle @SammiMcSporran @jtwannabewriter @Shuba0011 @annu_scapannu @llesorell @Vins @RayOfSunlight @OkamixSeele @NovaWhite @Haddi @Nightingale247 @Moliverio7 @MeeJong @Malavika @crystalgalaxies @SamWebster @JBWebster @James @Daniel_Markov @AlexanderS @Hawkluck @Zoeparfitt @SharondaBriggs @acaciatulane @stevenbhow @Vi @Sydneyjay25 @Roosterjc @Mimilov45 @Siri @Owen25 @SusanSue @avcm_ @Heartprints @Carissa @LiannaC @spike1 @zoe_christina @Royalgossip @pepita_picasso @Raksti @EllPoet @MissChanelleJoy @TaiSensei @PolarBears @Jenevieve @JJtheJetPlane @batmaninwuhan @DANdeLION_Page @Unicorn_Chaser @Danceinsilence

I lost control. And that's all she wrote. But then, no joke, I saw poetry in motion. Reality rhyming while I'm mindful of minding business big or small. I came to crawl out of my ego-crib, proceed to promptly sit up straight, witness to reality demonstrate its way with the Way. Okay? And here's what the jam-band would say. It's all atoms dancing, electrons prancing, gluons laughing - but then keep diving, your scuba gear binding, you will get to finding, that there's no separation, just pure space-ness, and upon the amazement and elation that mind-brush will be painting, you will feel the utter and absolute opposite of anxious.

I put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. I brush my teeth with Colgate toothpaste, twice a day. I pick between light and dark roast coffee at Starbucks. I choose what music station to listen to in the car on the way to work. I can't change a tire, but I can belt out every word to Rhianna's "Disturbia."

What I don't tell anyone, or admit to myself, is that in between all these routine moments, I am panicking. Any moment can turn into a downward spiral. All I have to do is think about my existence, my past, my pain.

It's a tic. It's a voice in my head, unconscious - I walk into rooms and look around at the ceiling, thinking about where I could hang a rope. I stare too long at sharp objects. My mind is not my friend.

I come to a personal crossroads every day. Do I choose the path where I destroy myself, or the path where I survive?

I didn't think I'd live this long. I'm stunted. I have limped along to get this far, thinking only in terms of living to the weekend. My younger sibling has since gone to graduate school at a university akin to Harvard, gotten a job that pays almost 100K, has a child with an adoring husband. I'm left wondering, what have I done with my life? I think back to therapy, where I was taught to "turn the mind" - think about positivity in the face of sadness. I have spent fifteen years turning the mind and I am tired.

The terrifying part is it's not black and white. Good brain, bad brain. Pain, happiness. The unconscious and destructive part of my brain that leads me to think negatively often bleeds into the rational, sane part of my brain. Like an addict, I have to sometimes physically remove myself from certain environments lest I be tempted by certain self-destruction. But sometimes it's not that easy.

Think of it as like a person on a diet. They aren't going to wander into an ice cream shop, say. They don't seek out what they are trying to avoid. But then they go to a birthday party - in my world, this is akin to being alone for too long, staying in bed all day. The person on a diet might cave, say, I'll just have one bite of ice cream. But one bite is all it takes. In my world, one "bad" thought and it could lead to hospitalization.

I live very carefully. I think very carefully. I think with other people - I'm going to go ahead and use the word "neurotypical" - they can trust their thoughts. They don't live moment to moment at a crossroads in their own mind. To inflict pain, to not inflict pain. I know I have a disease. I'm addicted to pain, maybe, in love with my own suffering. But that's just it - there's the "bad" part of my brain, telling me I want it.

Every day is waking up to a new crossroads, picking which path to go down. Every day I have to choose to be happy and sane, go down that particular path. Just like I put my pants on one leg at a time every morning, it's always a new day, a new battle, a new resolve to beat my own internal monologue.

Dear Adam, I haven't seen you in years. Since I moved from the old house and got rid of my old bed I believe I did so with you as well. Now I am 21 and making a living. I remembered our late-night talks and cuddle sessions. I miss you're long broad body and strong arms around me. The last time I saw you I told you that now that I was an adult I had to move out of moms old house. But mom died a month ago. She gave me the house. I hope when I slide this under my old bed you'll come to moms old room and stay awhile. Adam, now I realize you were the one that got me through to the next day. Please come back to me.

ps. If you come back I have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with your name on them.

Your little Maddy

you are the breeze

that stirs the lake

of my soul,

stagnant water

crusted with algae

pushed into motion

by the force of you.

the mold that collects

in my corners

is scrubbed away

by your words.

you brush the dust

from my heart

and assure me

of my own existence.

and on the days

when i don't know

who i am

you assure me

that i'm exactly

what i need

to be.