Depression has nestled into my bones.
I am its mother,
Passive while it smothers,
Suckling the blood from my veins and the joy from my eyes.
It once was a tiny infant,
Squealing and squalling, but I was always able to sing it to sleep
But as it kept growing,
It got louder, more persistent, and more dependent on me
I must tend to it like a garden,
So it doesn't grow weeds
So its roots do not jut into my bones
And tangle with my nerves.
I am not sure exactly how it was born.
Maybe it was a product of my mind and my thoughts,
Like how Athena was born from only a pensive synapse.
I once cradled this depression in my arms,
Calming it down and coaxing it to sleep
But now it's always awake
Jumping like a flame
Leaving a trail of ashes in my skull and sulfur clouds in my memory.
It will not leave,
It will not fly away
It must be sent away, lead away
To be free in the sky
So I can be free on the earth.
But it won't listen to the cries of my family,
The tears in my eyes
So I will keep living this life I despise,
With depression clinging to my back.
YOU ARE READING
Jars of Stars
NezařaditelnéThis is a collection of the poems I've typed up on my iPad. I've noticed I enjoy incorporating nature and space into my poetry, so if you dig nature and space read my poems! Some of them are dark, some are brighter, some rhyme and some are just word...
