J

(Trigger warning: suicide mention) 

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You tore off your bracelet

and each wooden bead,

one with the face of Buddah,

found the pavement below,

and not long after

breaking this string

you tied another 

around your neck

both in search of a release,

or, maybe, freedom.

I tried collecting 

as many as I could

as you sat on the curb,

holding your broken pieces

while you held your face.

I wanted to help

string these beads

back together again,

maybe not so tight,

so you could slip on and off

what happened to you

and not have to be 

locked by your wrists

to a life you didn’t ask for

but wouldn’t let you go.

I have to assume

you saw no other option

than to break yourself

hoping every bead of pain

would slide off your untied body,

like that day in the parking lot

scattering themselves

so long and wide,

to finally be empty

and find yourself freed.