The Worst Poem by Andeme Chelsy

The worst,
Would be to die without our dreams ever touching the light of our thoughts,
To walk endlessly, like a traveler lost in eternity.
It would be to sleep without him, without that soul that fills our silences,
To taste immortality, a burden that time refuses to lighten.
It would be this slow slipping away where we lose ourselves,
Where we lose our humanity in the reflection of a stranger's gaze.

The worst,
Would be to live for others, no longer hearing the voice that whispers "I".
To drown in thoughts of tomorrow, forgetting the colors of the present,
To cling to cold reason, where dreams are suffocated.
To believe blindly, and yet, still doubt the meaning of everything.
It would be to wear hardness like a shield against the infinity of our weaknesses,
And let ourselves be lulled by the illusion of a love story,
To believe in their gestures, in their words, and yet feel the emptiness they leave behind.

The worst,
Would be to no longer love, to let oblivion gnaw at us,
To be forgotten, erased, like a page torn from history,
Like an overcooked cake, a burning tea that leaves bitterness in the throat.
It would be to be a body despised, too fat, too ugly, unloved, too thin,
The mirror reflecting a tired face, marked, wrinkled by life.
It would be the color of the skin becoming a barrier,
Carrying the heritage of divided nations, of people torn from their land,
Racism, that wound that never stops bleeding,
Where we imprison the other in time, gestures, judgments, insults.

The worst,
Would be these invisible wounds:
The shadow of betrayal, the pain of a heart aborting its dream,
The theft of destiny, the violence of a broken soul, the ultimate silence of suicide.
It would be to sink into the oblivion of drugs,
Heroin, nicotine, those invisible chains that strangle life.
And worst of all,
Would be to look around and see only contempt, hatred, and disgust.

The worst,
Would be to leave chaos behind,
Because we never knew how to love their way, in submission, in blindness.
It would be unconditional love, that act of faith where we act without thinking of tomorrow,
It would be to believe in the invisible, to cling to what is no longer there.
It would be to believe in the love of before,
That love that seemed made of eternity.

The worst,
Would be to be too authentic,
To be too much ourselves,
To feel every fiber of our being
Exposed to the cold wind of judgment.
And then, why live? Why die?