Never stop writing

Somewhere these poems will mean something. 
Rather it be for the girl cutting her wrist 
to see if the pain will bleed out of her. 
Or the boy that traded in his superhero cape 
on his tenth birthday for a BB gun. 
Someone will inhale these words 
like a breath of fresh air and feel alive again. 
I know because I was once that boy 
tightrope walking over an apocalypse. 
With eyes fearless of death and hands careless of hope. 
But luckily I wasn’t brave enough to jump. 
And that act of cowardice is exactly 
what taught me the true meaning of courage.