I left the ignorant behind a few doors

I saw myself from the outside

And this true tone view scared me to the guts

Then I painted you my whole life

From the day I was born to the day I wanted to die

The colours seemed to come from various origins

You had to assemble them from all the scattered tiny pieces

Since it was all new to you, I was never seen

Yet somehow you were far better than any of them

Throughout the course of my entire life

They never gave me any relief

My broken bones and skulking sand skin

Sufficiently scared them away

As if they wanted to suck it all up until all my diseases

Will merge into one, called improbable entity, “improbability”

I remember you wanted to look up that word in the dictionary

You told me I was born to write

And then I thought I was hurt

To bear witness

About what happened and how it could have been avoided

By future generations that will still suffer

Because if I can’t help myself, I can’t help others

Those were almost your last words to me that day

A day that I will always remember and set as an example

Not because I was knocked out, on my knees, kicked out

But because you were there, invisible, impartial, irrational

Listening to all this, even if I couldn’t find a pinch of sense in it

Challenging my thoughts and me

And now I think I wish everyone

Could have at least a little scope

Of that natural charm

Why do we often fail at this?

Why do we stop being children inside?

Why are we raising them wrong?

Why do we fight of our own free will?

Why do we never see everything?

It’s so simple, it doesn’t require anything

No money, no knowledge, just being

Untouched by biases of any kind

And understanding it all

By looking into the eyes or ears of another

Who needs help at this particular moment

*

To Tom, the Samaritan volunteer who helped me that day

*

If you have no one to talk to, there are people who will always answer your call, no matter the time. If you struggle like me, you can always talk to the Samaritans.

http://samaritans.org

Call 116 123 for free in Great Britain and Ireland

***

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Mescaline Brisset on my Vocal profile. The art of creation never ends.