there isn’t
There isn’t enough time
To ponder over and carefully place the words in a way to make your conception of my pain resonate with the feeling
There isn’t enough space in the world
To hold my thoughts and feelings and revelations and mistakes and alibis and excuses and stories
There aren’t enough letters in the alphabet
To spell out words that might make you listen, to grab your ear and pull you into my shoes, to tug that veil off of your eyes, to make you try to sympathize
But I’ll try
Headlines carry the words they always do
Informing the nation of agony belonging to someone new
Watch as the eyes fog over, shutters close, blinds drawn,
As the lesson we take from the pain is to just move along
“Desensitized,” they cry, drowned out by an explosion
Bury their hearts in an unmarked grave in the name of protection
Let their compassion blow away with the morning wind
After a last smooth sip of coffee, you’ll soon forget as the day starts again
It all breaks one day, you read a headline
To your surprise, it screams a name you recognize
The rumors sweeping through the hallway,
Creeping under the door of every room, sound just the same
But every little whisper echoes your name
Now, every victim has your eyes
And you can’t help but begin to sympathize
Faces can be interchangeable, or a new bullet point on your declaration
Its all about the way the world has shaped your fundamental foundation
Me too
Is not empty
Is not easy
It is not about me
It is not for you to disagree
Is not attention-grasping
Is not life-snatching
It is a plea
It is a glimpse of reality
It goes beyond one singular story
A chapter representing our world in an allegory
4/28
trigger warning: suicide
if i had done the things i wanted to when they crossed my mind,
when I came home and felt like i should text you, but didn’t understand why,
if i had done a single right thing this time,
would she still be alive?
they tell me the blame falls on no ones shoulders, especially not mine
but i remember how i tried to convince myself that she was fine
that she didn’t miss me, didn’t need me, i could keep on driving by
it would only end up being a disturbance to her perfect, peaceful life
how do i process a moment i’ve seen coming for half of my life
yet was never prepared to witness in quite this short of time
i feel so guilty crying when i know i could’ve been a reason why
i feel so hopeless knowing i should’ve saved a girl exactly of my kind
i thought i had tried to cast a friend a line
she never knew that even then, i thought about her all the time
and now the only thought that lingers, that plays, halts, and rewinds,
is that even with seven and a half years of chances, i didn’t do enough
and my mistake has cost a girl her life
after the storm
first i found happiness
it was neatly tucked under the welcome home mat that had never before caught my eye
then i found calm
it was in the linings of my pillow, lacing the voice of my parents, the first joyful cry
i struggle for understanding
it evades me as my foundations rumble and trapdoors swing open
but i know i will soon find peace
acceptance is a thread i slowly unwind with each tug at my own conscience
When we received the news on March 12th that Davidson students were to return to home as immediately as possible, students, especially those in the Humanities program, were devastated. We had built a community that many of us had never experienced before, and the thought of leaving that to brave this unprecedented period of history by ourselves was incredibly difficult to swallow. To make it a little easier, my classmate Gabby Morreale, proposed creating a travelling quarantine journal that some of us could use to document how our lives have changed in quarantine and support each other. Some pictures of the beautiful journal are below:
