I'm depressed.
But, I mean, I'm still me right?
Like, I am still me
So what if I lie awake at night?
So what if I can't stay awake during the day?
So what if I get nothing done?
I am still me
I don't talk to my friends
I don't see my parents
I don't write anymore poetry
But it's just a temporary thing
It will be fine
Or at least that's what the doctor tells me
So this pill will do for now
Maybe it will show me how
To be me again
Because maybe I am not me
Maybe this depression is what "me" actually is
And maybe I am just a hopeless project
Waiting to be finally set on the shelf
So all my friends and family
Can start on a different project
One that will actually be worth the effort
Instead of wasting their time on me

I've loved many boys
With different colored eyes
But the way I remember them is
By the shape of their hands

The way their thumbs curved
Or how their palms felt against my own
The weight of them on my thighs
Or how they ran through my hair

The times they zipped up my dress
And settled on my shoulders
The moments when they grazed my own
As they handed me my keys

The motion of them as they spoke
And the motionless of them when they were silent
The smoothness of them in the beginning
And the calluses after time had passed

Sometimes, I forget the faces of these boys
Or the way their voice sounded over the phone
But I'll never forget the way it felt
With their hands intertwined in my own

I bite my lip
Until I bleed
To prevent my thoughts
From pouring out
Drowning you
Before we have a chance
To swim

Pushing you up against the nearest wall with the devil in my eyes
Kissing your lips and your neck
You forgetting your name
Quiet moans that I take from you
Sliding your hands up and down my body as you kiss me back just as passionately
You miss her
Forget your ex
I’m here with you in the moment  
Forget your religion
God can’t save you from the demon possessing me
All you want is me and I consume all of your thoughts
It’s not love but it’s close enough.

I’m gonna be gone for four weeks. Well not exactly four but that doesn’t really matter. Four weeks to make new friends. Four weeks to try new things. Four weeks in somewhere new doing something new. Four weeks I don’t get to use you. No Sticky Bumps. No *** Wax. No new stickers. No waking up early just because I want to go out with you. I think I’ll name you Aaron. Not perfect but you’re pretty close. Close enough to love. Every nose dive. Every bail. I’ll come back. But it’ll be four weeks. I might miss you the most. Probably not but I might. Four weeks. Then I get to go back out in the surf. Three hundred dollars. On a surf board that I didn’t know how to use. Four weeks before I get to make that count.

The Greeks got it wrong.
They didn’t understand.
Tartarus is not the worst torture.
Those punishments are frustration.
Mine breaks souls.

I’ve never been diagnosed
But I think I’m depressed.
It’s not sadness.
It’s just empty.
It’s a hole that can’t be filled.
Not even by pain.

Do meds help?
Or do they just fog you up enough
That you can’t see the hole?