Depressed People Have Best Friends Too
I don’t think that people comprehend
That there are days when my bed is my best friend.
She holds me snuggled in her blanket arms and doesn’t
Mind that the night before, I was punching her mattress stomach
And crying onto her pillow shoulders.
The days when my black curtains make it harder to pull
Myself away from her full size body because they’re
Shielding me from the sun are some of my favorite days to spend
Staring at the ceiling until I’m too tired from doing nothing.
2:00 in the afternoon feels like 2:00 in the morning.
Sleep comes easier behind the daylight after silently sobbing
To my bed the night before while the rest of the world
Slept peacefully.
I’ve found that the brisk breeze outside often punches me in the face
And the spring dandelions, summer heat, autumn leaves, and
Innocent white snow kicks me in my ribs when I’m already down.
Each morning, I cautiously leave my bed and all around me
It seems that people are throwing daggers at me with their eyes,
Whisper spitting poison from their lips.
The pain is simply too much.
Staying in bed, wrapped in the comfort of blanket arms
Holding me while I sleep away the hurt is easier.