By Elizabeth Harper

I’m doing my own thing

I write when I have to
Poems sprout from the mud
of emotional distress

People ask what
I’m working on

I’m working on
not hurting anyone

I’m working on
writing myself
out of suicide

I’m working on
getting through the day
sleeping through the night
remembering to eat
cleaning up the mess

I’m working on
trying to forget
everything and
everyone and
every ill-chosen word
that has ever hurt me
or anyone else

Misunderstood
is my mantra
and the animal
I’ve become

I’m working
on not dying today
I’m working on dying
in my own time
in my own way