Is this depression?
I'll never know.

This isn't the way they portray it,
In films and plays and books.

No background cause for this mental decline,
No atmospheric music for the hook.

This is depression,
It's real and it's raw.

So what the **** are you romanticising it for?

She stomps, She cries,
She throws things.
She curses and pulls your hair.

She's dying, She's lying,
She's loosing,
She's broken beyond repair.

She wails, She screams,
She torments you.
On your ankles a ball and chain.

She frustrates, She enrages,
She degrades you.
Like she's the only one with a brain.

She contorts, She distraughts,
She impairs you.
In this vile and twisted plot.

You resent, You dislike,
You don't need her.
She's everything that you're not.

You're selfless, You're graceful,
You're lovely,
You're more valuable than you think.

So next time there's another hole in her lifeboat,
Perhaps you should let her sink.

I think I might be broken,
Now I know that seems strange,
But I'm loosing all my colour,
And everythings turning grey.

My life used to be in subtle pastels,
Some friends faces would glow gold,
But now everyone seems washed out,
Like it's just a side effect of growing old.

My sisters all shine a grieving red,
My Mother a drowning blue,
My Grandparents colours seem to have fled,
Like maybe they're washed out too.

The green grass I live on is quickly turning yellow,
The brown leaves of dying tree's remind me of loss,
As the bright and excitable gradually turn mellow,
Isn't it a shame what "Just existing costs?"

I am a mediocre person,
I do not live to please.
I do what I want, when I like,
Calmly passing like an autumn breeze.

A majority of my work is lackluster.
My things are left to grow mould,
As I grew up in a female cluster,
Of, "Girls are to do what they're told".

A robotic schedule has taught me,
That freedom will fall apart in my hands.
As real freedom is actually,
To embrace what I do not understand.

When the weather is cold and dreary,
I think of when the sun used to play,
But then I remember warm and clearly,
That the sun rises everyday.

I am a mediocre person,
I do not live to please.
This society does not define me,
So do not be shocked when I leave.

The only flowers that don't die are fake ones,
People are flawed,
It's just the truth.

But you still expect perfection,

Even though it always rains where you live,
And there's a leak from your roof.

Now I know it would be hypocritical of me to point out your wrongs.

When where I live the boilers broken,
And I know you hate one of my favourite songs,
But it screams the words that cannot be spoken.

The only flowers that don't die are fake ones,
people are flawed,
It's just the truth,

But you still expect perfection.

You must have been ruined in your youth.

The feeling of your dissapointment was palpable,
I could taste it on my tongue like I hadn't brushed my teeth in days,
And feel it thick in the atmosphere,
Like heavy smoke from a forest fire.

The grey bags under my eyes did nothing but exclaim my insomnia,
When you told me that maybe I just wasn't going to bed at the right time.
And frustration swam round my bloodstream as I just couldn't get the right pitch to that song I alsways used to sing.

The melancholy rumble from my gut,
Reminded me that I was alone unless I had a full stomach,
My figure didn't matter,
Cause neither I, Let alone anyone else sexualised it.

(No one of my own age that is)

Sleep deprivation rushes round me like gale force winds from a tropic storm,
Lack of money burns holes in my pockets,
and wanderlust nags at my brain like overdue assignments from a College wreck,
Whilst everyones moaning infects me like a plague,
when I find stress spots crawling up my neck.

I am generation Z,
Generation nothing,
Generation give up,
Generation what the ****?
Generation, "Who the hell told you I could live like this?"

But I am privileged,
In a house,
But I am not me.

I am grieving.

I am grieving myself again.

Do not take those you love for granted,
Because one day they will be gone,
Like my Mother's old and tired violin,
They'll be far too rusty to play songs.

Give them chances and understanding,
Hold them when they cry,
Forgive them when they make you angry,
Don't waste your time explaining why.

Give them encouragment when they feel uncertain,
Help them up when they fall down,
If doubts come flooding in keep them afloat with your person,
Making sure they do not drown.

Do not take those you love for granted,
Because one day they will be gone,
And just like my mother's old and tired violin,
You will be damaged but you'll just have to carry on.