My depression is my ***** kitchen
Sink filled to the brim with ***** dishes
Old food left stuck in waiting
Much like the thoughts in my head,
I have to get water from the bathroom sink,
In theory rinsing them after sounds so easy
But just the thought reminds of the summer I spent working for my dad power washing old fences.

My depression is my unbrushed hair thrown in a bun everyday
Knots left stuck in waiting
Much like the thoughts in my head,
I tell people I do the same thing because I’m not good at doing hair but I used to love it,
In theory running a brush through it sound so easy
But just the thought reminds me of when I sprained both my wrists and my body starts to twinge

My depression is the fake teeth stuck in my mouth
Because self destruction was never an
Option
Now it’s become another excuse to avoid connection
Much like the thoughts in my head

I tell people I’m shy
I tell people I don’t have much in common with anyone else
But in my head we’ve become best friends

My depression is the outside stillness
Because the unmatched chaos in my head leaves no energy for much else
It’s being tired after I’ve slept
It’s being hopeless after my personal church
It’s being trapped after another hand touches mine
It’s being mute with a series of novels to speak
It’s anesthesia awareness
It’s not being in a dungeon but being the dungeon itself
It’s being in a glass box all filled with water but a corner left of air
I’m pressed up against to breathe but keep gulping in water
Knowing it’s just a matter of time

I hear your name every day
Against my will
Sometimes it starts in the morning
After a dream
Sometimes not long after waking up
In the songs I listen to while I drink my tea

Sometimes on licenses plates
Because it’s such a short ******* name
Sometimes being called out in the streets
Because it’s such a common ******* name

Sometimes buzzing in my brain
Honey soaked name
Sticks to the folds of my gray matter
While the white waits around for its weekly drip

Sometimes your name feels like Voldemort
Sometimes your name feels like a Crucifix
Sometimes your names feels like a direction
Sometimes your names feels like a 404 error
Sometimes your name feels like a bag around my head
Sometimes your name feels like a stepping stone
Sometimes your name feels like medicine
Sometimes your name feels like a sickness
Sometimes your name feels like home
Sometimes your name feels like an anti-hero
Sometimes your name feels like deprivation

Just thinking about being open to someone makes my body cringe
A harsh tingle curves my spine
And that’s  just the reaction  
To my mind

In real life all traces of attention and focus
Run away from me
And the sides of my eyes tinge black
If boldness was full bodied
I’d be a paper doll
All I can do is change outfits
Maybe add a new do
A nice winter scarf
Your favorite pair of my shoes

Little hints
Of something with dimensions
But nothing more

Rip me up when you start to see
The creases, the wrinkles
Maybe donate me to someone underprivileged

Love me without motive
Fill me not with void
When we spoon
Grasp me when your non dominant hand
So when your knife fingers cut right through me
Your aim isn’t as accurate

Where have you been my poet friend?
My forest without trees
My honey ***
With its side cracked
Repelling all the bees

Where have you gone?
My unfinished song
My note without a tune
My secret long unkept
Lyrically eating with a spoon

In your absence
I’ve cleaned trash from streets
Planted and picked a garden of lovely sweets
And even felt the kiss of eternal peace
But still I speak
to the aberration in the room

Forthwith forthright
Shaken by my runes
I leave a trail of crumbs
Leading to my tomb

Georgette wrinkled by force
And will
Spun by universal magnet
Small space between sets of finger tips
Open a room woozy and uncertain
A reunion grasped right and held close
A team of hips sway in rudimentary crass
sartorius pronouncements like that of fine tongue
Linger in wisps of flair
Elegant syncopation lifts the heaviest of airs  
And
chaînés chaînés chaînés chaînés