Depression is not poetic
it is not beautiful
when examined under
pale moonlight

it is not something one should strive for
in order to be understood
in order to connect
with their temporarily sad peers

Depression is a continous thought
flowing from your fingertips
and vibrating in your eardrums
when you are wide awake at 3 a.m.
devising a plan to sleep forever

why do people think that
admitting to a neverending onslaught of internal battles
is glamorous?
do they not know that happiness
sits comfortably on the tips of their noses,
an arm’s reach away?

I dream of a world
in which teenage girls
eat three times a day
without using their fingers
as a garbage disposal
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘pretty’.

I dream of a world
in which teenage boys
do not overload themselves
on some mechanical
technological machine
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘strong’.

I crave a world
in which I am not artificial
in which I do not need pills
to smile.

I crave a world
in which we can all laugh;
a world in which
we actually live and breathe
rather than
exist and ruin;
a world in which
‘Depressed’
‘Pretty’
‘Hot’
‘Manly’
are simply adjectives
and not definitons
of who we are.