Poetry by Taylor

I’ll be good,

one day.

I won’t need to call you in tears

crying about all the wasted years

and how they were all for nothing.

I won’t need to stack up the pills,

or make sure there’s always something,

pointy or sharp.

I’ll be good,

good enough

to be able to laugh and not shake,

to be wondering about the future

not IF I have one.

I will be good.

I hope.

Taylor