Hope is Not Death’s Cure

This is a poem that derived from being told you’re “strong,” which is such a generic thing to say to someone.

No offense, I’ve definitely used it to uplift a friend while they’re feeling down. But it’s just one of those phrases we use too often that – in the very small instances we do actually mean it – it’s never taken to heart because the sense of genuineness is missing.


“I am not strong.

I am not strong like they tell me.

I am weak.

I am as weak as the clay the ocean molds every time a new wave crashes.

I conform.

I conform to what I’m told.

Never one to stand apart from the crowd. Never rely on my own two feet to remain rooted to the ground I am supposed to grow from.

We’re told lies.

Lies that keep us from believing that we’re the epitome of failure.

We’re given hope.

Hope that is misleading, unkempt, and tempting.

It allures us.

It attracts us to the beauty that is in the actions of “moving forward.”

All we know is deception.

Because we’re meant to be kept alive – for whatever fear of death there may be.

So we’re given the falsehood of hope.

And we hold on to it for dear life because it is the very bearer of it.”




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