i'm not depressed
i just like my rest

i like to sleep
for i can spend
time with my father,
my papa, my uncle, my friend,
and my grand-parents
are all alive, again
-
i tell my dad i love him more
and we go to the grocery store
or talk politics, or maybe argue again
and poke at the things that have always been
he gives me a thoughtful compliment
and we aren't burdened by how things went
he'll make a joke and we'll laugh
and he tells me that he loves me,
and i always say it back
-
i'm wrapped in the warm hug of my papa
and i hear about his glory days
but he's sure to let me know
that if he got another 'go
he'd pick his life the same, always
-
i laugh with my uncle
and watch him be at peace
and i tell him he should choose to live,
but don't be burdened by our grief
sometimes, he says 'sorry'
for the path that he took
but sometimes, he takes me fishing
and then we talk our books
-
i see my friend from afar
he's smiling, waving from his car
but then we play a beach volleyball game
and he makes a joke that i say is lame
and i get to see him with his boys
because i choose to not be so busy with noise
-
i have dinner with my grandparents
and my dad's there at the table
and we talk and we play
like we would when we were able
and i tell them i appreciate
all the things that make them great
but sometimes, when i see them,
they look as though they're kids again
-
and on occasion, when i sleep
i feel a warmth, profound and deep
the sole person that i've loved
fits my body like a glove
and i close my eyes in his arms
knowing that i'm safe from harm
and when i wake up, he's at my side
and he knows
the last time i felt so understood was years ago
-
now the only time that i feel seen
is on occasion, in my dreams
and that's better than never, i guess
which is why i say i'm not depressed
but must i choose:
awake or rest

i'll choose my dreams, it's no contest

and so i say i'm not depressed
i have my reasons for liking rest

i'll let you just ignore me,
if that's what you want to do;
you can sit there and abhor me
if it makes it easier for you

your kindness turned to anger,
your words no longer sweet;
so, please, tell me how you hate me,
if that makes you feel complete

your stares no longer caring,
your touch no longer warm;
so, tell me how i'm terrible
for ringing the alarm

but there's one request,
to which i cannot comply:
to hate you, i must protest -
i still don't think you're that bad a guy