Sometimes I think that my depression has me in a chokehold so
I pull off its mask only to find that it's been rage with no place to go
Where do you put rage that sneaks up on you?
Do you put it in a flowerpot only to wilt the calla lilies that it touches?
Do you put it in a collar and leash only for it to lunge at the first stranger to approach too quickly?
Do you hold it between your teeth so that it slowly dissolves on your own tongue until every strawberry tastes like grape leaves?
Maybe I'll just file it away
on the top shelf where I keep my winter coats in Texas.
Then, years from now, when I pack up to move to the mountains, it will topple over and smother me.
Maybe then I'll finally leave it behind
in the pile of things too broken to donate to Goodwill.
Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 6:09 AM UTC
Sometimes I think that my depression has me in a chokehold so
I pull off its mask only to find that it's been rage with no place to go
Where do you put rage that sneaks up on you?
Do you put it in a flowerpot only to wilt the calla lilies that it touches?
Do you put it in a collar and leash only for it to lunge at the first stranger to approach too quickly?
Do you hold it between your teeth so that it slowly dissolves on your own tongue until every strawberry tastes like grape leaves?
Maybe I'll just file it away
on the top shelf where I keep my winter coats in Texas.
Then, years from now, when I pack up to move to the mountains, it will topple over and smother me.
Maybe then I'll finally leave it behind
in the pile of things too broken to donate to Goodwill.
prompted by On the Road by Jack Kerouac
Request permission to use this poem