my bones miss structure
even if it’s borrowed
a timetable stitched from deadlines
just enough to tie me to something
outside my own spiraling
now, all i have is time
feral and barefoot
spilling into corners
where potential goes to wilt
too much of my life for nobody to hold
no duties to tether me
no rush, no reason
just the sound of myself growing louder
my hands itch for anything but survival
let me bleed for burden and responsibility
instead of rotting in my own brain
let me fall apart for someone else
still, i need to stay alive
to wrap the babies in my warmth
to meet the mothers
between screams and surrender
so they’ll finally feel safe with me
for now, i stare at the scars on my wrist
and think of all the pain i’ll carry differently
when it’s not just my own
but from holding too much of another life
and never letting it slip away
the lives i hope to live long enough to see
so when they breathe for the first time
i’ll know how to do it too
this piece is especially tender to me because it's about a personal experience of growing up with depression, and learning to grow from it. most of my life was spent tied to the pressure of deadlines, so i felt heavy responsibilities to stay alive to fulfill my duties. now that i've graduated and i'm in a long waiting period for university, i found myself relapsing and losing hope again. but i know that it'll pass, it always does. time is a blessing and a curse. i'll turn my sorrow into love for the babies and mothers i'll cradle in my arms in the ache of birth and fear. i'll know my purpose then.
