Nicole Murphy Bagwell is from Chicago, Illinois, but she has been an Arizona resident for the past six years. She's a lover of cats and a new found poet. She enjoys writing about the LGBT community, and her goal is to bring awareness to teen suicide. She is also a devoted Chicago Blackhawks fan, and even has a tattoo to represent her love for the team. You can follow her on twitter: @AdditkedRiot
From Mouths to Hands
As I watched the sun
climb over mountain tops,
I received a call
with gasping cries of
hopeless explanations,
telling me the person
who was my scent of fresh
tea in the morning,
died by his own beat up
hands on the sixty-sixth day
of two thousand and twelve.
He didn’t leave a note,
but I knew
he took his life
because of bullying.
It was hard to swallow how
he abandoned this world
because of cruelty
and ignorance.
thrown into the air,
my mind explodes
into the boxing ring
we built together,
on the bathroom floor
carving “dyke” into
my flesh.
He picked me up
and showed me
how to love the person
I cannot change.
into the boxing ring
we built together,
on the bathroom floor
carving “dyke” into
my flesh.
He picked me up
and showed me
how to love the person
I cannot change.
 |
| 1-800-273-TALK (8255) National Suicide Prevention Lifeline |
“Faggot” was drilled
into his head seconds after
coming out.
His father’s resentment
stung
like the slap of his mother’s
malice.
into his head seconds after
coming out.
His father’s resentment
stung
like the slap of his mother’s
malice.
Destructively,
like burning nicotine
settling in lungs,
his strong walls that he built
around himself
were torn down
by the acid-burning heartache
these words created.
like burning nicotine
settling in lungs,
his strong walls that he built
around himself
were torn down
by the acid-burning heartache
these words created.
He did not deserve
to have a calloused mind
or a body frozen with
formaldehyde.
I did not deserve
to carve my arm
like two teenagers
etching names into
an oak tree.
The “goodbye” written
on ink-spilled paper
should not have been
farewell.
Maybe he tried
extending his hand to me
but was unable
for fear of distrust,
disappointment,
desolation.
to have a calloused mind
or a body frozen with
formaldehyde.
I did not deserve
to carve my arm
like two teenagers
etching names into
an oak tree.
The “goodbye” written
on ink-spilled paper
should not have been
farewell.
Maybe he tried
extending his hand to me
but was unable
for fear of distrust,
disappointment,
desolation.
Walking the streets we lived,
I am a skeleton.
Under my flesh,
the pain of
abandonment,
wounds that I’ve tried
to stitch together.
The pressure to move on
is pressed heavily
on my marrow.
Mourning does not
end at noon.
I am a skeleton.
Under my flesh,
the pain of
abandonment,
wounds that I’ve tried
to stitch together.
The pressure to move on
is pressed heavily
on my marrow.
Mourning does not
end at noon.
When I’m suffocating
within the thought of
three in the morning,
coffee on the balcony,
best friend advice,
I visualize his body
safely tucked into
a darkened mahogany box,
dressed in a suit
he would have been
unhappy wearing.
His hands,
whiter than snow,
placed on threads
so carefully sewn.
~Nicole Murphy Bagwellwithin the thought of
three in the morning,
coffee on the balcony,
best friend advice,
I visualize his body
safely tucked into
a darkened mahogany box,
dressed in a suit
he would have been
unhappy wearing.
His hands,
whiter than snow,
placed on threads
so carefully sewn.
If you or someone you know are in crisis, call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) collects data about mortality in the U.S., including deaths by suicide. In 2013 (the most recent year for which full data are available), 41,149 suicides were reported, making suicide the 10th leading cause of death for Americans. In that year, someone in the country died by suicide every 12.8 minutes.
https://www.afsp.org/understanding-suicide/facts-and-figures
