My First Poem Was Titled ‘Futility’

Featured Image: Joe deSousa


White caps of snow on the roof,

pure and tranquil,

and maybe I will,

lay on this roof a little while longer

to numb the continuous hunger

of an eating binge that only serves to placate 

the momentous desire to act preemptively  

and seek an end

Until snide words can no longer reach my soul to corrode nor bend

Till for fear of my neurons imploding, I attack

my retorts are just stacks

of the journals holding the sentences you used to hurt me

and when my friends seem to desert me

and there is no one left to talk to

on the edge of this empty Sunday morning

I can go into mourning

and contemplate

all the things in life I appreciate

in opposition to all the moments I was thrown into

this flooded cell

this dollhouse hell

While they are running

ahead in life

I can’t find the strength to crawl

next to the closest wall

and cry

or turn my face

so mom and dad don’t have to see 

or worry

that my visions for the future have gotten blurry

They are the jury

I’m telling you now that I cannot accept the sentence

There isn’t much time to make up

for a childhood you couldn’t cough up

and I can’t blame you

those years were hard on you too

but hush money

and the altered narratives that I can’t count

can’t account

for 16 years

of anxiety, tears

of nights when I got hit so hard

that my scars became colouring books

and you filled it in

with your frustration and anger

striped lines from coat hangers

In those days I was that calm

that would forgive you and hold you with small bruised arms

and tell you it’s ok, just think of the day

and the promises it holds

and you would hold 

my arms

and lean down to apologetically kiss my head

before turning to go to bed

and now I am you

I am burned

and I turn

and there are no arms

just condescending anecdotes

from people who

overestimate the limits of resilience

who don’t know the terror

of the middle of the night

when you are left with the shame, the rewound memory of every fight

and a mind that only knows

how to prepare for disappointment and hurt

told it is worth less than the dirt

that those who will accomplish more

tread on

and I dive into these prophecies


Left in devastation

what happens in the situation

that I don’t make it

because I barely can grasp

my headboard and find the strength

to get up in the morning

Deciding if the drink is worth taking

if it can subside the aching

when my bones are breaking

under the sheer weight of these expectations that only consume

and spit out the crumbling remains

of my indifference racked physique, growing frailer as it ages

because an identity can only be contained for so long

before it longs to reach out and scream

Notice me

just notice me

I’m weak from the wounds that won’t bleed,

but seem to run thin

every ounce of humor I can find

until my confident facade and teetering reserve of pride run dry

why don’t you just notice me

And yet,

they always chime “goodnight”

shutting out the light

on the request

that I beg for in these ever quieting words

They’ve probably got 

their own problems too,

that’s ok, I got the cue,

but I will not back the claim

when they maintain that they were a friend

because they weren’t 

not then

not when I was losing my ground

and the only fate drawing near  

was this sadistic art

of manipulating the heart

back into the shape

of an ornament that would serve to please 

while the lungs were pressed

until the air was gone

through the holes 

where others borrowed the pieces

and never put them back

and now they breathe

while I gasp for the air

that turns toxic every time I need it

to hell with it, I’ll just deplete it

and see how long I can last

before my lips turn blue

and I sink through the cracks

of a ground that cannot hold me upright

and swallows the flickering light.

Thaea Deilami

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