Fifteen

Sharpener blades whisper against skin,

Thin lines, like doubts, crawl deeper in.

Surrounded by faces, yet lonely within—

Numbness wraps me, a war I can't win.

Shards of tears, too tired to fall,

Healing wounds that remember it all.

Hormones violent, thrashing the teen,

Fragile heart drowning in all that's unseen.

Had I fallen that day, it would have been five—

Five years since the mayday of a life once alive.

But I fought—not for them, nor family, nor kin—

I fought for the me I knew was within.

Because when the world forgets, and mourners fade,

The future is lost only by the blade.

No help can help unless you choose to rise,

I'm both the destroyer and the one to survive.

What will you be? I asked at fifteen,

And chose to live beyond what had ever been seen.

Copyright Notice

I, Simran Sadangi, am the original author of the poem "Fifteen,". This work is protected under copyright law. Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of this poem without my express written permission is prohibited. For permissions, please contact me at @[email protected].

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