A Love Letter Suicide Note

TW: mentions of self-harm and suicide

To whomever it may concern,

I’ve gotten used to introducing myself in farewells

like “Goodbye, my name is”

I’ve taken pleasure in being the first to leave

In pushing people so far away they never get close enough to hurt me

I get hives from intimacy

And scratch myself raw, right down to the bones I bare

Allergic to the things I need the most

I’ve become accustomed to loving in let go’s

and let downs

I speak in neverminds

I am a pantry

People take what they need from me more often than they replace

Too tired to take a trip to the grocery store

I ain’t been filled in so long

Been walking unfulfilled for so long

I throw funeral services and memorials for

My relationships well before they’ve died

A mortician of my own “love”:

Someone says “I love you.” and I don’t say it back

Or rather, someone says it back through my lips

“I” am not at the scene

The people who say they love me get a high from hurting me

I see their eyes glaze over my sadness like a home-cooked meal waiting to be eaten

The people who say they love me seem to love hurting me more so

I only know love through pain

Maybe that’s why I love poetry because it gives me

Hand cramps and headaches

People love me for the pain I produce

People love my pain like they love produce

The people who say they love me get full off of hurting me

My pain is a plantain, ripe for consumption

Ain’t my depression sweet, whether boiled and mashed or cut and fried?

I only know love through pain

I only know I love someone through being hurt by them

Love is the way I self-harm

I welcome love in evictions

I’ve gotten used to introducing myself in farewells

In pushing people so far away they never get close enough to hurt me


Perhaps this is a love letter

Or a suicide note,

I still don’t know