darling,
you wear your depression
as a mask of undeniable normality-
don't say you're messed up.
it carves wells beneath your eyes,
streaks your face with a natural glow,
weighs down your heart
so you don't fly away to the stars...
away from us-
don't tell me it steals your beauty.
darling,
it keeps your pen going
during those early mornings
after all the caffeine
has run out
and your mind can no longer battle
the long, black fingers of sleep
grasping for you-
don't write any more society-approved lies.
it leaves art on your skin,
whether it be permanent
or with assorted colors of paint,
that tell stories,
your stories,
without words.
no longer hide the battles you've fought-
don't let others scorn your victories.

darling,
you are a masterpiece,
you are perfection.
don't let this depression
own you,
but become more than it.

tears
are the taste of love.
they come from passion—
or its betrayal.

crafty facade,
you have the hands of an artist,
sweet lies,
you have the taste of a chef,
cloudy eyes,
you have the intent of a politician,
sharp words,
you have the potential of a
writer.