By Joseph R. Ravitts

Word Count: 145

Rating: PG for the cause of the poem

Summary: A poem of hope

I wrote the following poem years ago, to a girl experiencing the self-injury urge. (“Mister Monk” means the TV character.)

At barely thirteen, Jess, you’re much too young
To think a monster lives inside your flesh.
Don’t get obsessive like poor Mister Monk.
With knives, don’t cut yourself, but cut the mesh

Which would entangle you in thoughts of death!
Of course we die, but dying pointlessly
Is, in the highest sense, a waste of breath.
Our world, or part of it, still waits to see

The dance which you’ll reveal in your own time,
If you don’t lose momentum, or lose faith
In God; it would be foolish, and a crime,
To take the dark road, when God’s light is safe.

So many kids are sad! I hope you’ll find
A way to leave the teenage angst behind.