In honor of Suicide Prevention Month, I wrote the following brief metaphor that summarized my feelings during a time when I was leaning towards suicide. 

“You Never Read Me”

You formed my words and gave me inspiration.
You cheered on each stroke of loving creation.
But you never read me.

You counted my pages and awed at the pile
of pretty white sheets. Proudly, you smiled.
But you never read me.

You bought as many copies as you were able
and filled your shelves and coffee tables.
But you never read me.

You said I was fresh, exciting, and new.
If asked, you’d give me a 5-star review.
But you never read me.

The compliments showered like January snow.
You said I was grand, but how could you know
when you never read me?

Even the top shelf gets lonely at times
when no one can dare to wrinkle the spine.
You never read me.

So what use are your praises and accolades?
Your kindness did nothing to lighten my days.
For you never read me.

You showed me to all, you said I was great,
but your love was no more attentive than hate.
You never read me.

So keep your encouragement, all your good deeds,
for what life has a story if nobody reads?