Is it not enough
that my mind is haunted
with dark monsters?

creatures of doubt
that creep around
corners with pins,
and whisper "failure"
lovingly to every bright
balloon of hope.

spiders of anxiety
crawl over
flowers of bravery
and spin a web
that makes
courage cower.
bravery buckle.
power petrified.

Is it not enough
that I battle
my own brain?
would I rather have
the life to match?
to 'justify'
my art,
my work,
my ****** expressions?

I wasn't aware
that I have to earn
depression---
that I first must
live a life worthy
of sadness

And now I question
if I'm just
broken
spoiled
or should quest for
the existence to
more properly fit
the mind
I was born with.