It was poetry. It was always poetry. That’s what saved me at 10 years old. That’s what saved my life.
I was suicidal at 10 years old. I already tried killing myself twice before letting my fifth grade teacher know that I was having thoughts. How did the conversation come about? I drew myself hanging from a rope in class. Sometimes art is more than art. Most of the time. All of the time. And he knew I wrote poetry. He knew I wrote because that how I spent my time in class. And he took that strength, that passion and had me read Macbeth. Something my father did too but I never cared until that day. Mr. Rosa you saved me. Shakespeare saved me. Damn poetry saved me. There was so much pain in 10 year old Luis. Fear, scathing fear. I was afraid of my parents and my sister, beatings were regular. Beatings were more regular than meals. And they remind me I deserved it. That I was a brat, a nucance. But they drove me to suicidal tendencies. And that ain’t right. But Shakespeare saved my life.
That’s why I write everyday I can. That’s why I write. That’s why I still exist.