Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

Sometimes you have to let yourself get hurt to realize that you are alive.

I want to write that in front of every achievement
I want to write it at the head of every poem I write

And I don’t think I will be able to create anything
At least, nothing I am proud of
Without an asterisk explaining
This is my depression work

For depression affects everything
Infects everything
Dims my worldview and
Makes me irrational, hypocritical and
Turns me into someone I am ashamed to be

Depression takes away half of my once-brilliant mind
It leeches off my creativity
Drains the enchanting, poetic optimism inside me
Until everything I think, everything I create, everything I am
Disgusts me

So
Just as a reminder
This is my depression work

I want to be
a live wire

the connection
between two

points

I want to feel
the flow

of energy passing
through me

I want to feel
the moment

when the energy
inside me

creates the energy
inside you

tonight my mind
is running in place

in a desert
I am a boiling

brain

there are no
words to express

or there is
nothing to feel

I am raw but I
want to be naked

exposed to my
demons

I hear
the black bird

screech I watch
it descend

I want it to
enter me

I splay my arms
display my soul

I want it to rip out
all my elements

so I can start over