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Best Poems Written by Braydon Andrews

Below are the all-time best Braydon Andrews poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Braydon Andrews Poem

God, Why

God, can I ask you a question? 
I know you give the hardest challenges to the ones you think can get through it. 
But why me?
What if I’m not strong enough to play your waiting game? What if I don’t want to play anymore? This is my life, and you’re toying with it. Why? 
I’m not religious. But I’m asking you, from the bottom of my confused soul. 
Why? 
I’ve been through enough. I’ve gotten the short end of the stick since I was born. Why are you doing this to me? 
I’m not strong enough for this war zone. 
This war zone that is inside of me, setting fire to my lungs, singeing my muscles, engulfing my organs. I’m burning inside and no one can see that but you.
So if you’re this wonderful person that gave life to the world
why’d you give me the wrong one?

Details | Braydon Andrews Poem

Thank You Old Friend

Dear Brandi,  

I’m sorry you always had a hard time growing up. I’m sorry it was so confusing trying to fit in with the girls when you never were one of the girls. 

I'm sorry my puberty never hit you.

The year you turned 12 was the year you first said you didn't want to be alive anymore and in therapy you said you wouldn’t make it to 18.  

On my 18th birthday I thought about you.

you were right.  

At 19 you started to fade. I tried to control alt delete you from my autobiography. Maybe I'm not understanding the definition of death but even though some of your parts still exists you aren't here anymore. and soon, you'll be erased completely.

I'm sorry you didn't experience college like you wanted to.  

But now you will never hear Brandi andrews announced at a college graduation, 

Or on a marriage certificate 
 
Or a name in the place of mother on a birth certificate. 

When the prescribed testosterone started flowing through my body, it stopped producing the potential to form children. 

I thought about you and how you wanted kids so bad, it’s okay, I want them too. 

And I am sorry, that this process is so slow and long. 

I'm sorry you have to sit in the background and watch people forget about you. 

I'm sorry if you're wondering if you even meant to belong.

you did 

don’t forget that,  

Yours truly, 
Braydon 

Oh, and another thing. I never hated you. Thank you for staying alive long enough so I could live.

Details | Braydon Andrews Poem

Forget Me Not

Last summer you stole a bottle of cheap bourbon from the collection your father keeps in the cabinet. 

Last summer your throat was smothered by fire when you swallowed six shots in a row, and when the alcohol took over your mind like a tsunami, you pointed at the unwatered forget-me-not plants by the fridge. 

You walked closer to them with the bottle of  bourbon in hand.

you told me about how everyone in your life forgets about you. 

You poured the remainder of the bourbon on the forget-me-not plant hoping they would stop breathing and you said, “They deserve to forget that they were once watered too.”

I hope that night you know you weren't forgotten about. 
I remember.
 I'll always remember you.

Details | Braydon Andrews Poem

I Am Not Made of That

“What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice And everything nice That's what little girls are made of”

I wasn’t made out of that. 
I wasn’t sugar and spice 
I wasn’t rainbows and butterflies
I wasn’t pink. 
I wasn’t Cinderella waiting for a Prince Charming

I am Prince Charming. 
I am the rain that washed away the rainbow, I am the net that caught the butterflies.
I am blue. 
I am snips and snails and doggy tails. 

I am not the daughter you gave birth to, but rather the son that you raised.

Why can’t you just accept that?

Details | Braydon Andrews Poem

My Truth

my doctor asked me what’s my truth. And I dawned on this question for a while. She came in the next day and asked me this question all the way up until I got discharged. On the way to campus in a smelly taxi I still couldn’t answer what my truth is. but now that I’m lying in my dorm room bed and listening to post Malone high, I can finally answer what my truth is. 
 
My truth.  
 
My truth is I’m too sensitive 
I think I can fix everyone but refuse to work on myself because I don’t think I deserve this wonderful life because I have yet to be anything but wonderful.  
I love too fast and too hard for girls with dark hair and pretty eyes. I love to the point where it hurts me just to think about falling in love again with the wrong person.  
I never think people are the wrong people.  
My truth is I’m so scared to get crushed because when my mom crushed my heart, I lost trust in everything. 
I never let people in to the point where it hurts me and if I do let people in, I have this weird invisible wall over my heart so they can’t break. 
My truth, I need everyone to like me, so I feel better about how I don’t like me. 
My truth is I have depression. 
 I don’t know how to deal with it, so I make jokes and push my feelings so low that I forget I have them sometimes. 
I’m scared of white people.  
I'm scared of people with different views than I have. 
I'm scared of the world and to explore it because then I won’t want to leave it. 
I’m scared to get better mentally because I don’t know who I am without my depression.  
 
My truth is I don’t have a truth.  
 
I don’t have a truth because I've never been honest with myself about how I feel. 
 
I want to die but I want to live, I want to love but I won’t let myself be loved, I want to enjoy life, but I don’t do things that I enjoy.