Like an old friend inviting you to come inside.
Familiar. Comforting.
It will grasp you in its arms and hold you close;
And when you're ready to leave, it wont let you go.
You will beg and plead to be happy,
and it will put up a fight.
It will make you think that the only way to escape it is to take your own life.
If you are lucky, you can break free;
and it will sit and watch you from afar.
Calling your name.
Welcoming you back into it's arms.
It will intrude your thoughts.
Make you think you are worthless.
That you're better off dead.
Just keep telling yourself that it's all in your head.
Keep moving. You will get far.
Depression is not who you are.

I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.

I see you in the billions of stars
That make up the constellations in the night sky
And I no longer feel alone
But in the morning when I wake
You are no longer there
And I am alone once more
Alone with my thoughts
And one of these days
I think my thoughts might consume me
And I will join you in the stars

I'm tired.
Tired of everything.
I just want to sleep,
And never wake up again.

No, I'm not lazy,
I'm not running away from life.
I'm just tired of the world and myself,
And too tired to change anything.

Today is Mother's Day.
My mother's name means victory.
She smells like a proper, hard-working woman, but also a pristine chrysanthemum.
I type this with a burnt tea tongue for and to my lovely, lovely mom.
My mother supports feminism, masculinism, and me.
She taught me how to speak, how to run, how to love, how to feel.
I love my mother.
I miss being 8 when you would tuck me in, but I miss yesterday when you told me how to deal with a mishap.
My family isn't in any way organised or perfect, but you do your best to put us in line like toy soldiers.
Sometimes I fall out with her, we get into fights a lot.
I hate crying in front of her, it makes me insecure.
I hate when she gets mad at me, my heart shakes when her voice drills the car.
But without her my life would be different, I would be a selfish, spoilt girl who isn't strong and doesn't have common sense.
Although she won't understand this, she gave up half her life to move from her homeland to the country whose tongue she can't understand,
I want to scream out,
I LOVE YOU, MOM.
Happy Mother's Day to the sweetest, most-hardworking mother in this eternity.
xoxo,
F C