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This is my poem to you, little brother
The first poem; the last poem.

The poem that says I don't want to cry for you.
You, with your pocket full of white rock
And your lungs filled with Meth and THC
You, whom we tried so hard to save.
But you, who didn't seem to want it.

Is it that you don't love yourself?
Trading a skeleton's body and an empty soul for what you had.

The poem that says I am afraid to cry for you.
You with your pocket full of dreams
And your heart and eyes filled with shame.
You, who cuts your arms in secrecy.
But you, who leaves the blood in the sink.

Did you know it's been a year now since you left?
And you haven't been seen nor heard from in a 6 months?

The poem that says if I do cry for you, I'll never stop.
You, as a child, with your pocket full of saved up allowance
And your smile filled with love and love and love.
You, who always asked about the "girls."
But you, who never seemed to get the attention you deserved.

The poem that says I do cry for you.
In the middle of the night when I can't sleep
You, with your pocket full of glass and a tank full of gas.
You, the missing piece of our broken family.
But you, who are not there-not a note, voicemail message, or an empty can of Sprite.

And all I can think is where are you? Who are you?
I love you. I miss you.

The poem that says, when will I stop crying for you?
Tomorrow? Another year from now? 2052?
You, with your mind flooded with shadow people and demons
You, with a stomach warm with beer.
But you, without a blanket, sleeping God knows where.

And all I can dream is that you'll realize you deserve us.
That you'll realize you love yourself.
That you'll realize you need help.
That you'll realize we love you.
You, with your once big brown eyes.

Learn more about this author, T. Matzke.
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