the last poem i write about my depressioni want you to know that it took me yearsMore Like This
to figure out the worst part. cause, sure, there’s
so many bad parts, there’s so many moments
when dragging air through your mouth feels
like letting in all the water. your body becomes
your own battlefield, your mind—the most
ruthless enemy. it does not cut corners.
it will not spare you. it will leave
no summer-tinted memory untouched.
every exit sign looks like a suggestion.
if you ask someone if they are happy they will say yes
but they will not look you in the eyes.
you will never learn how to feel permanent.
you will drink grape juice and try to remember how it felt
to be holy. you will not think of yourself as wholly,
you are not complete. something vital is missing.
some dark monster has been feasting on you
when you lay down for sleep.
these are bad moments. these are scars that mar your skin
like tattoos that have too much meaning, like a map
of all the dirt roads you’ve walked down.
some days i can