A painter's wooden palette
is used to blend color,
if it isn’t quite right 
no problem,
just wash it and start over.

A clean slate with  
no layers beneath,
no previous unused batches
or miss- matches.

A fresh start without guilt
and the constant reminder
of mistaken color.

If my brain were this simple
I'd be soggy from starts over.

Instead,

my palette is thick and
crusty with mistaken color
and every new mix
blends the old with the new.

These multi-layer batches
will never dry out or wash off
so I’ve stopped trying.

I'm tired of all this
mixing and matching
where no matter how bright
the color I add,

it always ends up storm gray..

Her mind constantly plotted against her
Made her believe things that eventually resulted in self destruct
She never understood why… and how could she?
How is one supposed to understand the feeling to have your own mind eating you from the inside, trying to ruin and destroy everything you’re trying to build. To have yourself as the archenemy. To have yourself not giving you a chance to live. To have your own mind telling you that you are not worthy nor deserve to walk on this earth
She can’t trust herself, she therefore can’t trust anyone

“Aren’t we supposed to be in the same team?” She asked her mind
You see, depression doesn’t know what he is
Doesn’t know that he is a sickness, a disease
To him, he is just looking for a place to stay, for a home
And the only way for him to find a home is to invade and create civil wars
Depression has no problem going into a war zone with no weapons
Because he is a strong enough of a weapon himself
He has been into many wars, and won countless battles
You see, the odds are usually in his favor
So depression has no problem going into a war

The crowd
Of decaying walls
Whose roof that united them
In common interest,
Belief,
Prosperity,
Has collapsed into the ground
Leaving them stranded:
Searching for someone to blame
As they crumble in the rain.

Out of isolation come the walls
To stand in city streets
Chanting slogans,
Holding placards,
Walking alone
Though with each other.

Between them
All bonds lie broken:
Each one stands
In contradiction with the crowd,
But walks with it
In self-righteous anger
That divides them even as it unites.

This movement stands afraid
To question
To answer
To find
An answer to their anger
For fear of what it might unbind…