"It comes in waves"
More like it resurfaces
You know, because depression is always with me,
Just not always where you can see.
It is the angsty teen hiding in his room until the guests leave.
It is the bad poetry he keeps in a notebook under the bed.
It is the pack of cigarettes he buries in his underwear drawer;
Someone must search to find it.
Depression cannot come in waves.
If it could, wouldn't I be able to ride it out -
Or is drowning my punishment for not learning how to surf?
You see, because I have never surfed in my life.
Everything must wash over me.
I bathe in the ocean instead of the bathtub,
I scrub saltwater into my paper cuts until they are more painful than an open wound in an attempt to validate the sadness that stays with me.
Because even though it is nameless, it is as daunting as the dinner guest,
Hidden, yet embarrassing letters on paper forming words resembling a poem,
Intangible, but quickly filling my lungs and spreading into my bloodstream
Imitating pleasure and escape while slowly releasing dangerous chemicals
While exuding toxins that murder my relationships and self-worth.
If depression were waves, I could find beauty in them.
Instead, my perception views dismemberments of values,
Shattered pieces of what "before" looked like:
Before the anxiety.
Before the embarrassment.
Before the shame.
If depression truly comes in waves, give me time between to learn to ride them to shore.
This is my first attempt at slam poetry. I put time into this and let it stew for a bit... I'm hoping I managed to convey what I saw in my head. I'm working on showing, not telling; trying to use more intense imagery to show my point.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Please please tell me if there is a way I could improve it. I'm always looking for critiques.
B Irwin 1d
Connected by one stem,
Two wholes glistening together
Red in the warm spring sun.
I lower them to my lips,
And consume the both whole.
I pick the empty stem
And tie it in my mouth.FV
You bought me cherries,
every holiday.
I was never allowed to eat too many
But on that day I could have as many as I liked.
The day you died, I was tongue tied.
Everyone picked me up from school,
And I thought it was just because of Valentines Day.
But on the day that love usually comes, love left.
When I tried to wear red to your funeral,
My mother scolded me.
She said it was the devils color.
At the funeral, I was so mad you had left me.
I felt forgotten.
Afterwards, they presented me with a gift.
They had found them in your fridge.
Shining in the warm spring sun, I felt you with me.
Connected by one thread,
Two souls glistening together.
I love my illness
and I am pretty sure
that it loves me too.

No I am certain
that beyond any doubt
my sickness is the only
true love that I have.

But I do worry and doubt
that it may be the only
love I ever find.

I love it because
maybe it will lead
to another life where
others will love me too.

I'll be able to thank
my one friend for making
all of this possible
for letting me find
others that will
like me for me.

Even if others
never know
that it was really my friend bulimia
that let me
finally be loved by them.
At least one thing is eating. (Eating away at me)
my camera hadn't moved
but the lenses did
just like my eyes hadn't shifted
but my mind would continue
to follow
my soul
as it flew
out the window
of the padded room
Depression is a blanket,
A place to rest my head.
It hurts when I am somber,
But won't hurt when I am dead.
I am not my illness, my illness isn't me but yet I wonder who I would be without it living inside of me.
Are we afraid to let it go, afraid of the person we do not know.
I have forgotten what it feels like not to carry it around with me.
So yes I'm scared, scared to be free because what if I am my illness and my illness is me.
Why am I tense in public?
I don't know
Why am I scared in the open?
Why am I just as scared of small places?
Why do I want to vanish?
I've never known

When the reality is that
I'm simply confused chemicals

I wish and I wish and I wish
I could see the world the typical see
I want the love I cannot find

And I

Wish and I wish and I wish
That the levels sound normalized
The reality is sometimes
I am confused all the time til time
Runs out

We're on the way
We're on the way,
invisibly ill
tainted blood,
coursing through my veins
but still,
i am a skeleton,
with crumbling bones
and an irregular beating heart
on the brink of collapsing.

i am an ice cold silhouette
of a girl with sunken eyes
and shriveled lungs
slowly shrinking inside
my concaved chest.

my hips protrude like shards of glass,
shattering onto the gaps between my thighs,
and my collarbones
are sharper than knives,
slicing and dicing
a year off my life everyday.

i am a rotten corpse,
with worn out ribs
and a cracked spine
disintegrating into nothing but
ash and dust.

this is what death looks like.

i am not my own.
an update on how i have felt for the past two months. my eating disorder is consuming me and no one is there to rescue me from death. in 2017, from march to may, i lost approximately 20 pounds because i couldn't control myself from restricting. this year i have managed to lose another 7 pounds and i am terrified that i will end up in a hospital on my death bed. it is definitely frightening thinking about the possibility of dying...
tristia 7d
i am not a backup plan.
i am not a "just in case"
not for late nights when you long for a
hollow body
to call home.
i am not for
when she is gone.
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