From A Friend

Dear Stranger,

I didn’t die when I wanted to.
There was a time I was begging the black skies
every other night,
to just take me.
It was the ravaged kind of hunger
that broke right into your bones.
I remember tearing at my skin
like an animal clawing out of a cage.

I didn’t die when I wanted to.
And never for a second could I tell you
I’d imagine being this grateful
I didn’t.
There is so much more I needed to see,
people I needed to meet,
and love I had to learn
how to give myself.

I didn’t die when I wanted to,
and now I’m afraid of ever missing a moment.
If anything else,
I hope it’s enough to consider
what’s waiting for you
if you just stay here.

By Schuyler Peck

Biography:

Born of college-ruled notebooks and the smell of lemon grass, Schuyler Peck was raised in New Jersey, but she’ll never tell you that. Instead, she’ll tell you there are pieces of her everywhere; planted in trees and shipped off to the moon. Her poetry, however, can be found in her book, A Field of Blooming Bruises, Words Dance Publications, Literary Sexts V. 2, Rising Phoenix Review, JuxtaProse Magazine, and schuylerpeck.tumblr.com