by Caroline Angus

I keep telling myself
That when the picture on the wall starts moving
Then I’ll know that there is something wrong.
But the picture keeps still
And I can’t handle it,
Or anything,
For much longer.

I keep wondering
Why the light won’t switch on
And the clocks keep stopping.
Why I still don’t know
If this silence is a shield,
Or an ingrown downfall?

If you handed me a gun
I could force myself to live,
Reciprocally.
Compelled to pull the trigger
I could escape
From the girl within the mirror
And obliterate the hatred
That keeps this silence constant.

But you haven’t got a gun,
And I don’t possess the strength.
So I’ll sit around here waiting
For the clock to turn the light on
And the picture to start moving.

Caroline Angus, age 18

My book of poems, A Part Hate, spotlights teenage depression, imparts hope to those battling mental illness and shakes the stigma around mental health.

Available on Amazon: www.amazon.com/dp/1729741304

PoemSamantha Schutz