many poets attempt to dress depression up to be
a fancy visitor in a gloomy suit,
like some rich guy from the forties
with the cool hats

but that's not it at all.
now, given, everyone experiences depression differently,
but to me it feels like it's entangled into my every breath

i feel like the tree wrapped in poison ivy i found once
when i was a kid
and i grabbed one of the leaves like an idiot
and rubbed it on my face because
"the leaves are soft, mommy"
and then i had to stay home for like, a week, until
the rashes went away.  

and, so,
it is part of my humor now,
and my breath, and my laugh, and my every blink,
and even when i don't think it's there, it is-
and it's not always destructive.
sometimes it gives me a break from the anxiety and i can just sit back and let myself be mellow and tired

THUS
it's okay that i am depressed
and for the longest time i thought
it was a part of me
and getting rid of it would be getting rid of a part of me
but i have come to realize
that the healing process
is CONSTRUCTION only
and nothing will be destroyed as i get better.

rather,
flowers will grow out of my volcanic ash
and the fog will only linger in a way that makes a day look beautiful
and I get to decide what i do with this palace of a brain that was granted to me.

that's what i think about tonight.