I see those girls in the streets,
with the cuts on their wrists,
and their hair dyed pink.
I pity them so greatly,
because in a way,

They are like me.

I, however, did not dye my hair,
nor do I cut,
nor do I wish to.
I do not wish to die, either.
But I am not reluctant to do so.

I dream of a waterfall cascading down a tumble of rocks,
grass so long that it tickles your toes,
a sun shining down,
and a voice telling me that it will be okay.

I may be in the Caribbean,
with my husband,
sometime in the future.
But I imagine it as a somewhat better paradise.
One in which I don't have to worry anymore.

I will tell you a secret,
if only you promise to keep it.
This paradise will come if what the Bible says is true,
when I am relieved from the pressure of humanity.
This paradise is called heaven.

I hope I go there one day.