For today’s prompt, write a license poem. There are many different licenses available to people. Fishing license, driver’s license, license plate, license to kill, and marriage license. Poem doesn’t have to be about the license, but it could mention a license, happen at a licensing office, or well, use your poetic license. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest
I’m taking poetic license today and writing from Rader’s point of view. This one may be disturbing; suicidal thoughts described.
It’s been fifteen years and
three hundred fifty-nine days.
Five thousand eight hundred thirty-eight days.
Day follows day follows day,
always the same.
How can I bear another day?
Sixteenth birthday, six days away,
driver’s license within reach,
but I can’t find the will to practice;
everything is exhausting.
Plus there’s nowhere I want to go.
There isn’t anywhere I want to be;
I don’t want to be here.
There is no route by car
to get to a place
where it doesn’t hurt like this
where I don’t feel like this
there is no such place.
There will never be any such place.
What I want is license to let go.
To anyone reading this who is struggling: Rader’s thinking was wrong. Mortally wrong, because depression lies. Life is worth living and does get better. Help of so many kinds is available. If you’re in crisis, please tell someone! You also can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-8255, or click here for their online chat. You can text the Crisis Text Line at 741741. If you have an ongoing battle with suicidal thoughts, make a safety plan that’s easy to put into motion when life starts to get overwhelming. The NotOK App is one you can have right at hand, on your phone, to alert trusted contacts to check on you when you’re in need. There’s no one else like you, and you are so loved. Please stay.