A/N: I actually think this piece is really dark. It is my first attempt at freeverse poetry, so please forgive me if it isn't that... nice. Comments and suggestions to improve my (poor) poetry skills will be very much appreciated! And I am aware my tenses are inconsistent, but I believe that the shift from past to present to past again is important. I am not sure, though.
Dedication: For the sweetest, kindest, strongest person I have ever known: this. pen. is. red. I know this isn't much, but I really want to cheer you up. I've been planning on making you a story but somehow I ended up with a poem. I hope this cheers you up even a bit. Stay strong, and always remember that I'm here for you. We are here for you, okay? :)
Disclaimer: I am ugly, and I own Gakuen Alice. Of course, me being ugly is a lie. Therefore, me owning Gakuen Alice is also a lie. 8D Oh, and I attribute the idea of freeverse poetry in GAFFn to buttercupbella. This poem's format is something inspired by her. So yes, although the idea is mine, the idea of freeverse poetry itself isn't. :)
You said you hated me.
In your cold voice—
with every syllable marked by disgust,
by loathing, by abhorrence—
with an edge that
I could not help but be afraid of,
you said you hated me.
But I think that's fine;
I think that's good.
I think that's better
than you not caring about
my existence.
It is better than you
not knowing
I am here, alive
and breathing.
(and loving you, but then even now
You do not know that I love you)
I think hating is fine
because that means you care
about me.
You care when I get hurt
but it's because it makes you happy.
You feel something for me
although it's not love.
But at least you're not indifferent.
At least you're not indifferent.
So now I sit up, a blade in my hand,
its color a direct contrast to its surroundings—
the room is pitch black, barely illuminated by the light of the moon
far, far away.
The moonlight strikes the silver blade,
making it gleam against the darkness.
And I wonder
is the blade and the room a metaphor
for us?
You, the light
and I, the darkness
that can never be.
We will never be.
I look up the ceiling
and I see nothing.
It is dark, and I see nothing.
And I do not know if I closed my eyes
or if it was a dream I made
as I laid awake
approaching my death.
Because afterwards this darkness
was replaced
by a picture of you
smiling
as I am lowered to my grave.
I look at the blade
and wonder what you'll do;
I wonder if your brows will scrunch up in confusion
or if your eyes will twinkle with delight.
Will your lips form a thin line,
or will you try to conceal a smile?
If I die tomorrow
I know you will care
because you hate me.
I smile as I push the blade hard against my skin,
feel it tearing, ripping skin.
Feel it cutting flesh, and
opening a wound
that will eventually lead to my doom.
I slash myself,
aware of the warm blood trickling
down my arm and palm and fingers.
Down to the dark, dark floor.
Falling, hurting, dying.
Wishing, hoping, wanting—
not for you to love me back,
not for you to cry during my funeral.
But for you to smile.
For you to smile and laugh,
for you to be happy,
even though that happiness is brought upon
by my death.
As I sink into eternal darkness,
as I lay on the cold, cold floor,
as crimson colors my back,
making a canvas of red and black—
of blood and dirt, of pain and sorrow—
I think of you and smile.
If my death makes you happy,
then
I know I did something right.
MARIA,
I know this poem was so sad, most especially the ending. But always remember that there's power in faith and prayer, and I'll - as I told you before - pray for her every day, without fail. It is the only way I can help you, and I really want to do more for you, because goodness knows you've done so much for me, too. Your sister's story won't come to a close because she'll live to a hundred, okay? We haven't met her, but we all love her. We hope she gets through this sickness, and we hope you'll get through your sadness as well. I love you Maria. I swear I do. So smile and be happy, and keep praying, okay? Your sister is strong, and so are you. Be her support, and we'll be yours.