WARNING – This poem speaks of despair and deep depression with suicidal ideation. If you feel this way, reach out for help today at your local emergency room or call 911 or 988.

To The Fly In My Coffee Cup

I go to take a sip and notice movement in the foam.
Little wiggles trying to escape the frothy, icy cup.
“Me too” I whisper to the fly as I watch it slowly succumb.
I too know what it’s like to tread water till my time is up.

I’ve lost my taste for coffee. I pass it to my side.
Lies told about me, swirling loudly through my mind.
No one understands; the lies have made my heart dry.
No one wants to be there, I’m on my own I find.

Sink or swim, all alone, shunned by society.
Just like the fly in my coffee cup, everyone thinks of me little.
Their lies have erased my very identity.
I don’t even know who I am, my purpose they belittle.

What am I supposed to do now? Now that my name is mud.
I’m too tired to fight because I’ll never escape the lies.
No amount of truth can dissuade it, nor spilling of blood.
What if I chose to sink and to no longer try?

My death here still wouldn’t clear my name.
But maybe somewhere on the other side I could start over anew.
Maybe this next life would be kinder without false blame.
Maybe I could become the person I’m meant to be when this life is through.

Little fly, I don’t know why I’m here in this place.
I’ve never belonged, and I just never will.
Do you know how I feel with no dreams to chase?
Hated by many who think only thoughts of ill.

Why do I go each day after day.
I have no direction, no identity, no purpose anymore.
Others have destroyed what used to be me.
I’m empty, broken, hated and torn.

Little fly, I’m sorry. I’m giving up too.
Where I’m headed, I don’t know where.
But the past is finally through.
Maybe in this new future we both can share.

©2024 Stephanie Blomquist