how to be happy.

The teardrops run down
And fall off her nose.
She cries in hidden places,
Where nobody goes.

You can follow the tracks,
From her eyes to her chin.
Years upon years,
Of letting "it" win.

And her eyes tell a story
Of anger and pain.
You believe that she's happy,
But you should look again.

The scars of her past,
Hidden under her clothes,
Are a roadmap to places,
That nobody knows.

Her smile is now painted,
She's a master of disguise.
But you can see it all,
If you just look in her eyes.

Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists,
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity,
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye.

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days,
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not break upon impact with the ground.

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower,
To go downstairs and do the dishes,
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish all week.

Sometimes depression means
Faking a smile
To those who ask if you're alright,
Because it's the most convincing mask you can wear.

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours,
Because you can't convince your mind and body
That they're capable of movement.

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write poetry, or anything, for weeks,
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear I'm trying.

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches,
But you have to keep going through the motions,
Because calling into work depressed isn't allowed.

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for a month,
Because yes, they have the right number,
But you're not the person they're calling for, not anymore.