I was in a bathroom stall,
Waiting to go to a lecture on Cognitive thinking—
And its place in society.
Whilst I read the scrawl on the enclosed wall,
My temper began to rise.
For incompetence was in front of my eyes.
Whomever had written in black Sharpie,
What she deemed “positive” and inspirational,
Should be clocked in the head with a two-by-four.
People with such ignorance to mix what she said next to
The good lines of “You are BEAUTIFUL”
And be-who-you-are statements,
That have long faded—
I’m sorry to say,
But I wish I could kick her ass.
I wonder how old she is,
What she has seen with her life…
A person who has faced the darkness
Would never say shit like that.
In uneven lining on the dirty surface,
This stranger had written:
“Giving up hope is the same as SUICIDE.”
Oh dear girl, how wrong you are,
Have you not known what either is like?
Well, it is evident you must not have,
Because one who has come near suicide,
Or lost someone close—
We know…oh yes, we KNOW
What it is that lurks inside
And what each entails.
You are thinking with the brainwashed mind
That anything negative is damnation, it appears.
Do you not realize
That even angels cry?
Saints have lost hope at times…not all of them committed
suicide.
No, many pushed past, they found something within—
I think I see a paradox to the tale of Pandora’s box—
They did what they should have,
And many of them were killed,
Yet it was not by their own hand.
Dear girl, who writes on bathroom stalls,
Do me a favor, and look inside the human soul.
Do me a favor, and learn your history, psychology—
Understand the mind, the heart, the essence of humanity.
Here is a reminder, a quite real one at that
Before you start preaching and comparing a feeling to an
act:
Hope can be regained,
A life cannot.
