I fell asleep with the poem to my chest.
It gives me a much warmer feeling than any of my blankets.
I take it everywhere I go.
When I go to town, to bed, or just to the fridge.

It's from my Easter bunny.
The one that I love from his nose to his toes.
He's a strong little bunny.
With his light curly hair, that hides the truth.
He's also a sneaky little bunny.
He got me to be "normal" for a week.
For that I should give him a treat.
"Here little bunny, I want to play."

Would you play with me?
You can choose the time and the place.
I will bring the toys and poetry.

When you tell someone you have depression,
it's like letting your principal read you diary.
Or like reading half a book, then returning it.
Maybe it's like ordering a steak, but being allergic to it.
It can be a million different things, some worse some easier.
It depends.
Depends on what?
If you have blond hair?
Or blue eyes?
It depends on everything and nothing all at once.
Be different.
Be unique.
Be you.