It’s not like I’m dying for suicide.
I’m just at a constant struggle with life’s high tide.
“Sink or swim” I no longer want to abide by.
This undescribable feeling is weighing me down.
Like a boulder with three tons of hate promising me to drown.
Allowing me only a brisk touch to the water’s crown.
With my child’s face, the water’s surface is stained,
Call me crazy, call me insane.
Call me twisted for referring this poem to her name.
Although inside I’m dying, I push harder.
And with every strength I fight because of my daughter.
She’s worth dying for to try and keep my head above water.