Too Late
Some people see her smile, Some people notice how
She's so happy,
All the time.
That's not what you see.
You see her wrists,
Lined with scars
From years of pain.
You wonder when she stopped...
If she stopped.
You wonder what
Went through her mind,
Every time she held a blade.
You wonder if you
Should say something.
You don't know what to say,
So you say nothing.
Soon it becomes
Something you regret.
You should've said something,
And you know that.
You wish you had,
But now it's too late.
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This poem was inspired by my cousin who has always encouraged and supported my writing, and me, in general, more than anyone else. Most of the time I'm told that my writing is dark or depressing, but the first time she read something I wrote she said, "Never stop writing, really, try to do it everyday." Now I write as much as I possibly can. It's very likely that I would've given up writing if it weren't for her.