restricted by form
i shall not be, not today
not while the wind blows

unrestrained in mind
bound by society in
body and my will

however i still
fight to keep my thoughts all mine
and allow new worlds

head pounds
overwhelming nausea
music does little but
make my head pulse with pain
cant think
fragmented sentences
need to write but
cant think of anything but head
hurts
want to sleep
head feels like
its going to explode

the trapeze artist balances
delicately stepping
assured and practiced
upon the thin string of chance
luck and skill allows
a fortunate man to walk steadily
but a single fallout with fate
could leave his body dashed to shreds
destiny's temper is fickle
impatient for new amusements
it lets the poorest child walk across
gifts them with fame and intelligence
it lets the wealthiest man fall
despite his endowed presents of fortune and shrewdness
he is not enough for the ruthless eye of the future
the world walks upon their own strings of fate
luck pushes them from all sides
for some, keeping them balanced
and for other,
forcing them to death

pity me!
i want attention and pain
i go sideways instead of longways
i divulge my deepest secrets to the sketchiest of strangers
i leave myself vulnerable to every anonymous name on a screen
i spill my desperation out in the form of hastily written poems
i pretend that everything is alright from behind a spiderwebbed cracked mask, my mock imitation of pain easily visible
i wear long sleeved sweaters in the summer, but leave the sleeves rolled up
i make self-deprecating jokes at regular intervals
i force anxiety into my throat when around crowds, pretending to be nervous and jittery
i listen to slam poetry and absorb what it feels like to be actually depressed, how it feels to be actually anxious
i take their words and i bring it to my therapist and i spit them back out
i am a compulsive liar and will say whatever it takes to keep my lies running smoothly
i become an actor to fake my illness
i am a plastic model of a mental hospital's legitimate patient
i am a textbook case of what a depressed person should look like
i pretend to be sick so the white padded walls will become my only friends
i pretend to be sick so my mother will finally pay attention to me
i pretend to be sick so i will have a reason to stop existing
i pretend to be sick but i've lied so much i can't tell if i'm faking it anymore

everyone's heard the phrase
"it'll get better with time"
"it'll get worse before it gets better"
i ask you
how much time?
sure, time will stitch up past scars
but it's not worth much when
those scars reopen with even more pressing wounds
growing gorier with every new year
every happy birthday to you, here's your present
another year of depression and broken hearts
don't delude yourself with hopes for the future
nothing will happen unless you let it
happiness may be temporary
but it's a welcome respite from the constant dreariness of life

you accept compliments for the sake of courtesy
throw them in the trash when they leave
like a plate filled with food, face down because you
dont want to feel rude
you take the insults and
hold them close to your heart
embrace the liquid pain that comes from their cores
and infects your veins with poison
hurt flows through your body, desperation escaping in the form of
tear-blurred eyes and bitten nails scratching at scarred wrists
until you look over at the trash can
i urge you,
draw out a crumpled compliment
for despite being worn
it is no less genuine

i've never thought of myself as a poet
maybe it's because i don't view my forced out words
on the same level of light, rhythm, and desperation
that i have grown to view poetry with
these words do not rhyme
they are not eloquent, they are not loving
they are not warm with happiness
nor sick with depression
they are empty husks and they resemble their author
they speak of things they have not experienced
they long for things they will never attain
they flounder through the darkness with no guide
for these words are lost
in the blank expanse of my mind
i've never thought of myself as a poet
because i can never get the words just right
to bare my soul in front of the world
and say "this is mine."