I am not a graceful person
I am not a sunday morning or
A friday sunset. I am a tuesday
2 a.m. I am gunshots muffled by a
Few city blocks, I am a broken window
During February. My bones crack on
A nightly basis. I fall from elegance with
A dull thud, and I apologize for my
Awkward sadness. I sometimes believe
That I don't belong around people, that I
Belong to all the leaps days that didn't happen.
The way light and darkness mix under my skin
Has become a storm.
You don't see the lightning,
But you hear the
Echoes.

Depression doesn't care
What your responsibilities are,
It doesn't care
That you have exams to do.
Depression doesn't care
That today is your sixteenth birthday,
Or mother's day
Or Christmas.
Depression doesn't care
If your family is "well off"
That you have plenty of friends
It doesn't care if your parents are happily married.
Depression doesn't care
If you've never had a traumatic event
It doesn't care.
Because depression isn't made of circumstance
Not from broken families, abuse
Poor grades or ****** friends.
It comes from chemicals deep in your brain.
It takes whatever life it happens to have
And rips it to shreds.
It leaves you broken and empty.
It is not your fault
And there's no way to hide yourself
Behind happiness and a good life.
Depression will destroy it all.
Because it just
Doesn't
Care.

No wonder you're all sad.
They've stolen your childhood and replaced it
With homework and grades. They don't
Let you dream any more, they crush it
With the pressures to be mediocre yet
Pretend they want greatness from you.
That is wrong.
That is so wrong.

I used to think
I built walls to keep people out,
But then I realized there wasn't even
Anybody to let it.

How many times do
My veins have to
Tell you I'm not
Okay?
A secret language written
With metal on skin.
A language you claim
To speak.
Why can't you hear me?
How many times does
A life have to end
Unexpectedly
Until you open your eyes?
A strange suffering that
Exists only in your mind.
Can no one help?
Will no one help?

I ache for the sun.
I ache for the warmth to reach my bones,
And dispel the depression that grows there.
I ache for happiness to shove through my veins
And reach into my corrupt mind.
I ache to be saved,
From myself.

He was a lonely person.
With so many words he
Can't fathom into sentences.
He would sigh and lay
His head down. So many
Words scream and shove all
Competing for a chance
To be on paper. Waterfalls
Of letters crush out darkness that
Pleads "Write Me". Vines of
Complicated words tango with
Useless 'fillers'.
Haiku's battle with sonnets,
Crashing against mountain of
Free verse. Winged poems like
Guardian angels thrash against
The dead hands of past poems.
Casting them back to where they belong.
Forgotten,
Against the whiteness of paper.