My sadness gets up at 2:00 am
Then again at 4:00
And 5:30
And 6:45
Then 7:00am

After the snooze alarm goes off
My sadness wears concealer and mascara to make it
feel awake
and pretty

My sadness hides behind a joke, a smile, a laugh
My sadness is scared of my happiness, who
Stops by once in a while
but just for a quick hello

My sadness doesn’t show through the way
I pull myself together in the morning like nothing is wrong
Or when people ask “how are you?” And replies “I’m good!”
People don’t see my sadness in the stories I tell,
the schoolwork I do, the advice I give them for their problems

My sadness doesn’t show up like other’s sadness
It doesn’t hold its head down in the hallway,
or sleep in until 12, it doesn’t go days without eating,
and it doesn’t try to keep happiness in a locked door

No.

My sadness only shows through the poetry I write
The music behind my earbuds
The short stream of tears when the doors are
closed and the windows are open hoping that just one
small bit of happiness will come inside and stay for longer
than a joke, a laugh, a smile.

My sadness stays in the shower longer than usual,
gets angry a little too easily, and cries a little too much
when watching The Notebook.
It doesn’t look like sadness or walk like sadness or talk like sadness
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t sadness.

No.

You can’t see my sadness.
It doesn’t show like a person with a
broken leg and crutches
You don’t take one look at it and know that
It is crippled and broken down

No.

My sadness is like cancer
You don’t know it’s there until you strip me down
peel back the layers of my skin
to see that I’ve been breathing an air like smoke
that’s caused a growth in my lungs and heart so
that each breath I take, each drop of blood that flows
through my veins feels like a weight on my chest that
can only be lifted with you laying beside me and holding
me until I feel as light as a feather souring through the wind
after finally break free of its bird. Its burd-en.
The thing that’s been holding it down, keeping it from doing
the impossible. But, possibly you can’t lift that weight.
possibly it’s only me that can lift that weight.

Possibly it’s been me the whole time.
Possibly I am the one that kicks happiness out the door
When it stops by because I don’t see happiness
Without you here
But how dare I place the image of happiness
Only in your presence when happiness can fall
In from any joke, or laugh, or smile
And happiness can stay past the sunset
Because you can still see happiness when all you feel
Is the darkness
Happiness can come in when the door
Is bolted shut because happiness doesn’t
Ask if it can come over
Happiness waltzes right in, unannounced, but
Always welcome.
So the next time my sadness is sitting at the table
And we are having a cup of coffee,
And happiness runs through the door
I will show sadness the exit
And then turn to happiness and say “it is great to
See you, please stick around for a while.”
And later when it gets up to leave
I will grab it by the arm and hold
onto it tighter than you ever held me.

If the way you verbally abuse yourself,
Caused you physical harm
How often would you do it?

No one would ever think of
Punching themselves in the stomach
So why do we always talk to ourselves
Like we are boxers
Trying to win a match
Against our biggest enemy
When our biggest enemy
Is our conscious
Telling us
That we aren’t good enough

I’m going to stomp my feet into every puddle
Until I can’t distinguish the tears running down my cheeks
From the rain tumbling to the ground
The sky has a way of curing,
Like running your hand under cold water
After you’ve accidentally touched the stove,
Numbing the pain but leaving you with your wound
to remember that everyone makes mistakes
My arms extended from my sides
My heart faces the sun
And my eyes closed,
Accepting nature’s natural way
Of washing away all of my worries

The clouds will finally part and the rain will slow…
I will be left in the middle of the street,
Shivering, but feeling pure bliss
how else are you supposed to learn to
not get near the things
that will leave you with tender skin?

They say insanity is
Doing the same thing
Over and over again
And expecting a different result.

But what’s the word
For trying everything possible
and not seeing a change?

The doctor asks me
How many pounds I can lift
Before it hurts and I don’t know
How to answer because there isn’t a scale
To measure the weight of depression.

He asks me where I feel the pain
And I say my back
But I don’t mention my brain and my heart
Because that’s not what I came here for

He asks me if I eat well,
I say yes because being full
is the only thing
that makes me feel less empty.

He asks me what makes it hurt more
I say everything,
But I want to scream for him to fix
Not only my back,
But what’s going on inside my head

An MRI tells me it’s a fracture,
Which proves my constant misery,
Unfortunately, it doesn’t show
My constant anxiety

Maybe that’s not so unfortunate

Later, people ask me why I’m crying
And I say it’s my back but only because
That’s an easier place to point to.

I want to sleep because
You are in my dreams
I don’t want to wake up
Because you aren’t there
And facing the reality that
Your presence was just my imagination
Is too much handle in the morning
Especially before a cup of coffee

“Are you mad at me?” No.
“Well, do you blame me?” I hadn’t really considered
fault.
cumulous clouds loomed over a building
                                                    with­ a roof
                                                          like a staircase

the steps rose north, a garden placed south. It was a sunny day at first.
You gathered a pack and I met you on the corner. We walked
                       to Summit Rock. Heels in the ground and ooze
on the outer soles of shoe. Soggy soil,
our elbows linked and you held on to a flimsy branch.
                         How did we not go falling right there?

I mispronounced in the aim of humor,
which was the only reason
anything was funny at all. Yellow powder
stained curious noses and it all felt like what you have heard for so long.
“I know you aren’t fond of this”
this is what it looks like when the storm dies.
How long does it take you to realize
you’ve been sitting
in silence
the whole time?

I wondered how I looked from the window of the sixth floor
Ebullient gestures
felt like mockery where the joke once stood. No one is looking
at you.
Finally, forfend the intransigence you call will and find yourself
with an empty mind. Do you not want to know where this goes?

As it pertains to the clouds, there has never been a clear day.
I was on the opposite

side of the street when I noticed this
tree
          and saw you.
There was a raindrop, two, then many. Soil dry doesn’t take water
well.
Cotton collects and I was close to home.
I wasn’t expecting this, no, not this
at all.

“My sailboat is out
here,
in the desert,”
a ruddy arm’s line leads
to a ***** fingernail
“the beach was over here.” It all
used to make sense to me once.

There are stains in the carpet,
but I can’t remember the story behind them.
“Oh!”
a half full glass tilts, breaks.
there are reasons to believe in the tedium.
The water crawled forward,
back, and never again.
I was doubting it all down the line.

They rationed joy and I felt my feet as they dried.

If my life was trying to get from one place to another,
it would be like this.

I’m doubting it all down the line.
It’s a hard place to be.

Will you love me still, please give me a sign?
For the petals fall, the day turns to night,
Wind uproots the trees, pressure breaks the twine.
I fear your fondness fading, shall we fight.
I declare my worries, for if you flee,
The shadows will capture me from the sun.
Flowers will bloom, but no longer in me.
My heart will twist in knots, never undone.
O, you insist your emotions are real,
Strong enough to keep the tree with its roots.
It’s hard to tell if that is how you feel,
But I cannot let my doubts cause disputes.
O, will the rain keep our love pure and true?
I know I love you, do you love me, too?

“I’m always doing the bothering,”
Fear lied.

You played the victim like a light bulb
Calling itself a flame.

I self-soothed,
as a dog licks his paw after a stick splinters his tongue.
What’s supposed to be play has turned tear.

Today, I felt like a message never sent:
Stuck in the in-between.

Do I go forward or become a missed chance?
Fault is inclined to the wrong side.
I caught it and stumbled.

Why can’t I say it out loud?
Are the details so intricate, so cruel that no words will suffice?
Footsteps are always the response.
Left awake with the burr of
the oscillating fan reminds me:
Transparency doesn’t lend itself to empathy

A twisted tongue, fumble-y fingers, a dropped gaze,
The knock never returned.

I never want to come back here again.