I don't know your favorite tea.
I'm not sure how you get up when you're knocked down.
But I love the places you take me;
the shivers on my spine when you're around.

You've never told me your favorite color
or the things that break your heart.
I'm praying to God there's not another,
the thought of being without you is tearing me apart.

I don't know a thing about you,
but I'm already falling for you.
I don't know anything about you,
but I know I've gotta have you.

*~ m.w. ~

One year ago exactly, I awoke to the miserable news that my dear friend, Morgan Helman, was dead. I called her voicemail and wept my goodbyes. I punched the wall and screamed until I thought my lungs would crack. I wrote a poem to express the ravaging anguish I was experiencing, and to try and honor her life. I read it as a eulogy at her funeral. In it, I mentioned a time when she had asked me to write a happy poem. Everything I had ever written was a result of sadness or some other tortured emotion. I apologized that what I wrote for her was far from happy. I told her someday I would a write a happy poem, though I doubted my own words. One year later, I have walked away from the depressed mental state I used to call home. On the anniversary of her passing, I completed this "happy" poem. It's different than what I'm used to creating. It might not be as artistic as some of my other poetry. But it is a vivid expression of the first step in a new direction. This poem is dedicated to Morgan Helman and the legacy of love she left in her wake.

You Are

Resonating laughter
as the child plays,
hallway smiles
on bad days.

Disney movies
when I'm sick,
lightsaber battles
as a kid.

Rope swings
for make believe Peter-Panning,
backyard sprinklers
spraying the trampoline.

Hot soup
after it snows,
Refreshing popsicles
when the sun glows.

Warm cookies
melting in my mouth,
playing cards
at Grandma's house.

Blazing campfires
engulfed in inspiration,
jam sessions
with passionate musicians.

Barefoot freedom
in the grass and on the beach,
Sandy paradise
sinking beneath my feet.

Captivating books
as it gently rains,
favorite songs
when I'm disarrayed.

Intimate poetry
as my soul sings,
genuine happiness
spilling out of me.

Caring parents
whose admiration lasts,
trustworthy friends
who remove my masks.

Comforting arms
when my friend dies,
calloused hands
pulling tears from drowning eyes.

Raw love
strung on splintered wood,
My God
you are everything good.

~ m.w. ~

When I was a kid I read a story about a little boy called Max
who let his imagination take him to
The Land of the Wild Things.

In this jungle, the Wild Things were terrifying
monsters who roamed about free.
Max, the mischievous child I read about,
ruled the land as their king.

Well it wasn't too long before Max realized,
this was no place for a boy to be.
He sailed back through his imaginary sea,
right back to his form of reality.

I was younger even than Max when my eyes
first met my monsters.
Except unlike him I chose not to leave.
Still ruling their land years later,
I serve as Queen.

i am getting rid of you
and i am doing it in such a way that you think it is your idea.
this way i have not the guilt

i am so terribly relieved
but i am also becoming so terribly sad
this is what i want
this is what i need
this is what we both need
but for some reason i still don't know why i'm doing it

you are winding me down now
letting me down easy
with your last constructive words
of how good this conversation has been
for better or for worse
like we are recalling our vows
as we are breaking them
and i have nothing to say after you thank me
nothing long winded
nothing regretful
you are thanking me for making you fall out of love

i do not think that is such a thing one should be thanked for

Now you're in love, or so you think.
On the brink of infatuation, an obsession,
clinging on to whatever you can get.
But don't fret! It'll only end in regret.
These "feelings" are formed from your imagination,
An affectation of what you think you know.
But in the end you'll show, what you soon will begin to

deplore.
Paining yourself, is it worth it?
You'll be burnt out, striving for mirth,
but only ending in hurt.

Depression is not a grey mist hanging over everything, it is the absence of the grey mist that 'normal' people are accustomed to. They experience life in a muted way. We, as depressives, get the chance to experience the truth, for that moment, and it is so unbearably painful because it is real.
Seeing this reality is being exposed to the truth. We think. Does the truth lie?

heart torn in half
dream of future
reminisce on past
emotionally unsure

this isn't what Jesus meant
when he said a kingdom
divided cannot stand
but the truth still resounds

my heart skips when she smiles
or laughs or talks or breathes
but with equal strength I collapse
when the thought of the other calls

love was meant for one
two war for my mind
will the past return
or has the future won?

Sitting beside you for hours 
and talking about nothing 
that meant everything
is something worth missing. 

The way you scrunch up
your face when you laugh 
uncontrollably and the sound
that's adorable to only me
is something worth knowing. 

I've never met someone else
who cared enough to think
of me through the night
just because she thought 
I was something worth her time.

Laying on the floor crying
because I can't get your
flawless image from my mind
when you're clearly gone
is not worth our time. 

I'm truly sorry I faded
in and out of your life.
I wasted your time.
Your love was simplicity 
and I complicated it.