Love and Other Fuckups

The Hawk

When I was a little girl, I used to love the snow.

I could stay outside all day long and not feel cold at all,

Just laying on the frozen ground.

When I was eight,

I was outside playing one day when I noticed that the snow below our tree was tainted red.

When I looked up there was a hawk perched on the branch,

A sparrow held in his mouth as he tore away it's flesh.

And I stood there,

And I watched in a mixture of horror and confusion as this hawk killed this little bird in front of me.

It was incredibly messy,

With blood and guts falling from the tree branches onto the once white snow.

I watched the sparrow as he moved around frantically,

Flapping his wings and trying to get away.

And I watched as his chirping finally stopped,

And the light left his eyes.

It was a horrible thing to see,

But I couldn't force myself to move.

When I told my father about it he explained that it was a part of nature,

And that the hawk killed the sparrow for food.

As the sparrow was dying,

The hawk was growing stronger.

I think that depression is a lot like the hawk,

And the people who suffer from it are the sparrow.

Depression rips and tears at you,

Slicing you open and leaving you to bleed out on the floor.

And people watch it happen,

And they'll say that it's okay to feel sad sometimes.

But they don't know how hard you are fighting,

Until they watch the light leave your eyes.