I see you
You can see trough me
I can see inside of you
And so we see what is underneath
Inside of you inside of me

We share the same energy
Yet we are not the same of elements
Hearts collide
But from a small distance
Almost as we are ready to move on
In love and commitment

I didn't thought that
Air and earth
Could be so exciting
In our existence

Note to self,
Writing about slit wrists, night terrors, or a chain of mental illnesses,
is not poetry.
You're venting.
It's not wrong, but it's not poetry.
You aren't the first or the last to go through ****.
And even though knowing that doesn't make depression hurt any less,
don't try and create a pedestal out of your problems.
Use the platforms and devices that are helping you vent,
instead be the means to help find a solution.
Afterwards, put that progressive period
and those months of emotional cultivation into words.
That's poetry.
Understand your place in the human lineage.
Compare yourself to those before you.
Realize the audacity in calling yourself depressed.
Step up and step into your greatness.