art is
blood

we cut
our
souls

on purpose

sometimes
it trickles

sometimes
it oozes

and

sometimes
it spurts

and always
we create

these scars

we heal
but never

hide

Depression is a menace
It makes me stay in bed
Steal into my headspace and wander
Wondering why I still exist
How I made it to this
Made it this far
Made it here
I hear you calling my name
But I don't want to play your game
These games make me feel lame
Like I'm a lame duck
And my depression is a cuck
A cuck who doesn't know how to stop
How to stop drop and roll
How to stop punching me in the face
Like it's a race
to the finish line
I'm in line for the medications that make me artificially happy

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.

Someone
out there
doesn't have a mom.

You say "Everyone has a mom".
Well, get this.

Someone's mother
was born in the 70's,
with bipolar disorder.
Quite the disaster.
This was before
people knew how to address
things like that,
so instead it was
hidden away.

Someone's mother
turned to drugs
to make herself feel okay
but it didn't really turn out that way.
By the time she was 22
she had two daughters,
but no source of stability.

Someone's mother
overdosed one (two? three?)too many times
and got arrested for
possession of illegal drugs.

Someone's mother
had to sing
"You Are My Sunshine"
with her hand up to glass,
instead of with her hand
in her daughter's.

Someone
forgot to give their mother
one last hug
goodbye.

Someone's mother's
last OD
resulted in laying
on a couch for
three days.
Alone.
Someone's mother
went into
a coma.

Someone
was told
to say goodbye
to her mother,
and said
"She can't hear me.
Why should I say goodbye
if she can't hear me?"

Someone
was without a mother
at 11 years old.

Someone
had a sister that stole
*** from her mother.

Someone
grew up
not really knowing
what was going on.

Someone
out there
doesn't have a mom.