Didn't think it was my responsibility to pay for life.
A dollar for every breath I take.
A dollar for each step.
A dollar for food access.
A dollar for everything that I do.
All because Papa can't do it -
he refuses to.
How much more will it take before I can live freely?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
