Depression is my soulmate
He fell in love with me
He couldn't wait
Depression lays in bed with me at night
Follows me in my dreams
Holds me back from the light
He wants me all to himself
He whispers sweet nothings in my ear
Convincing me I can't survive by myself
I try to get away
but he holds so tight
He says I  have to stay
He pulls me close, slow dances with me
When I'm with him , he recites every bad memory of the day
I start to believe this is all my life will be
I want to think it isn't true
but is it?
it might be?
I have no clue
Depression doesn't like when I have a friend
He gets jealous of happiness
He makes a big fuss and that's usually the end
When they leave,  he reminds me that hes here to stay
I lay in bed crying
He comes in, holds me till I'm okay
I know I should get away, find help
But not even my mother believes me ... whelp
Depression meet my parents without my knowing
He made them think when I'm free from him ,the real me isn't showing
I guess hes my better half
The side of me that makes them laugh
But I can't get away, its too late
I lost the key to freedom's gate
Apparently this is my fate
Depression is my soulmate

If you came here for happy poems
Then u came to the wrong place
I cant pretend I'm happy
Smile and lie to your face
If you wanted to be lifted up
Move along i cant help you
I'm corrupted
If you came here for some self help
I don't have enough help to even help myself
If you came for a love story
You missed the mark
I cant find love
I guess I'm too dark
If you were seeking hope
That word is a unwelcome as a cuss word
I have to wash my mouth with soap
If you come with loneliness or pain in your heart
Dear friend read my poems and I'll read yours ,thats a start
If you come broken and bruised
Message me so i can share the burden
We can swap stories, feel less abused
If you message me
I'll cry with you , I'll comfort you
But don't think I will be inspirational or filled with hope
I will bring my true self
Together we will figure out how to cope

it's a grey day
but it's okay,
we'll be alright
we'll figure it out,
maybe not right now
maybe not tonight
but we'll figure it out
in time
in time.

The stories I have to tell may not all be true. This is why,
when I break open my fortune cookie at family dinner I
get a message, poetry is for the selfish. Words that come
from my father who holds my cosmos in his reading glass,
thoughts stolen from my mother who is determined to curve
my shadow into a snow globe.

You see, I have a theory about resistance: I exist
in the tension between warring magnets, a wormhole
between universes that have no blue and green for me,
my soul a tribute to the fact: poetry is for the selfish. I made
my apologies already, sorry for being loud in the wrong
ways and quiet in the right ones.

You see, in this life I can have only one favorite color but
in reality the answer is always C#. In this life I have woven
a web to keep my head above the clouds just so my feet can sink
two inches into ocean sand. Poetry is for the selfish, says the spider
at the crown of my head. And if all I can allow myself is four letters,
I’ll take them with the uneven edges of piano keys and the shadow
of something more wholehearted.