Everyday people live and people die.
You either stand on their feet or lie on their back, looking at the blue sky.
You choose what you do and who you become.
But others are cut short and get the worst of outcomes.
You get what we all dread of in life.
A thing so horrid it cuts like a knife.
While you’re the one with all the attention, others wish they got it instead.
Nobody planned for this to happen, but things keep going ahead.
You fight and struggle everyday.
You’re not alone you have family and friends here to stay.
But this poem isn’t about the fight.
It’s about the end in sight.
We dream of the day when they say “it’s all gone.”
Getting the opportunity of seeing the next dawn.
But once in awhile, you think of your past.
The part of your childhood that’s been glassed.
All we think about is the damage on the outside.
You never could imagine the damage caused on the inside.
For me, I was too young to remember the bad parts.
But I’ve seen a grown man brought to tears off of one memory of too many broken hearts.
I didn’t realize it till later, but I survived while others didn’t.
For some, all that’s left is a footprint.
We survivors have to live with the memories and the guilty feelings.
We search and search to try and find a meaning.
I started thinking, “I made it when someone younger lost his fight.”
Hospitals, doctors, and medicine was all his sight.
He was one and I was four.
He didn’t even know what was in store.
I decided a little while ago, that I was going to live life.
Not just mine, but for all the ones in the afterlife.
The ones that didn\'t make it through the night.
The ones that eventually saw the light.
There are so many other stories of “I lived, but they didn’t make it.”
But I have learned that if you survive you don’t quit.
My friend Mia told her story on how her friend passed when she finished treatment.
She said that she lives her life for her friend who was beaten.
She told me that the memories burn, but it’s what keeps her going.
She lives two lives, and that doesn\'t keep her from slowing.
Being a survivor means that we lived to tell our story.
We don’t allow our vision to get blurry.
We shouldn’t be scared when and or if it returns.
We beat it once so why be concerned.
So if you see someone acting strange or doing something crazy.
Let them be.
They may have been through hell and back.
Due to that, fear is something they now lack.
They may be living two lives inside their head.
The one they’re living, and the one that’s dead.
I call all of these thoughts the insanity of the survivors.