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New Poetry Project: "Suicide 17"

I committed suicide at 17, left a note folded in my car on a late October morning, my knuckles cold against frosty windshield as I pressed the paper to the dash. I parked in the high school lot, left the doors unlocked. I was riding with three other classmates to a university workshop, but I would not be coming home. I would leap from a rooftop, walk in front of a bus, selfishly snatch the steering wheel into oncoming traffic.

I left words for the boy I was desperately in love with, who was also poor and from a broken home. He followed me relentlessly, but would never let me in. I would sit on his bed, watch him undress, try not to stare. He would accidentally brush against me over and over, daring me to make the first move. I didn’t blame the boy. I just wanted him to know that I removed the elephant from the room, solved the unanswerable puzzle of us. He would try suicide later, sitting in his car on a snowy side street, confessing to my ghost as the love I had for him fogged the w…

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