Depression is... depressing.
Not glorified or dignified,
Nor glamorous with a "slight" downside.
It isn't an accessory to wear;
Tragically sculpted in black and white
As a portrayal of the bleak, yet chic.
Like the vulnerability used to add dimension to a character in a novel.
It can tear your from the inside;
With thoughts that dig their claws
Deep enough to expose the darkest parts of your soul.
Wounds with such depth, you wonder if there is anything left to save.
It tires an already weary mind;
When ideas run back and forth
In patterns that are so unrecognizable, you could only wish they ran in circles -
To drift in comfort that only sleep provides, while waking is a perpetual torture.
...
But even still, to find oneself hopeful for tomorrow.
That might be the most depressing of all.
YOU ARE READING
Uprooted
PoetryA collection of poems and artwork based on the experiences and struggles of an expat living in South Korea.
