[center][color=#DF0101][b]Warning[/b][/color]
This poem talks about depression. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this. 
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It’s okay if I die, 
Who says I get to live? 

You? 
You with your insistent I love you’s, 
You saying it only to hear me return the favor? 

Who says I get to live?
Me, with my pestering thoughts? 
My constant, lifelong anxiety?   

Who gets to tell me to breathe my next breath, 
To say my next word, 
To sing my next song? 

Who gets to lecture me on how things will be better, 
How, even when they get worse, 
There’s a silver-lining? 

Who gets to speak to me with the wisdom of an unknown God, 
Who gets to read me wordless stories, 
Who gets to hold me on those cold nights? 

No one wipes my tears by myself. 
It is my own flesh that is wet with my own sorrow. 
It is only me, that drowns in my thoughts. 

So who, other than myself, 
Gets to dictate my heartbeat? 
Who, other than me, 
Says I get to live? 

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