It’s hard to be your own person, to move your singular body in its own direction, when every corner is already crowded by other thoughts. Your limbs brimming with self-loathing again, brilliant. Bubbles of spit boasting as they frame your thirsty lips. You’re picking blood-stained fingernails with yellowing teeth that never knew the curling cradle of a smile. At a loss for embrace, Fake hair plastered by stained sweat to your forehead. There, in the hollows of your forehead, permanent lines appear prematurely, paving the way for the end of your rabbit hole, spiraling. Head so full of heavy thoughts that your necks snaps.
When you come to my thoughts You are none other than the billowy embodiment of a reminiscent memory and also a current everlasting longing You are the memory of a being or idea one can feel and remember vividly but can not zero in on, for you are the intangible the winding wind You are those spiraling twines that place intermittent along grapevines You are the ancient scrolls from wise days before paperback You are the spin in the reaching center of a handcrafted wreath And within all these individualities and collective, Lies your scent comprised of multiple scents You are the mighty togetherness Your arrival to earth escaping from birth gave these words to the minds of the kind You are the winding wind who spins and twines, wreathes and scrolls who lands from time to time and when you do drop for a spell This location of harboring landfall is a day of new tradition, the first step you take on new land on that new day Becomes the origin of a new holiday In my thoughts you are the mortar of the earth
It is dark there is not enough sun here to make you feel okay again and you may be in the sunshine state but your insides are the deep hollowed the shadows cast on the cement there is no reprieve there is no intermission there is just tired and exhausted and falling too many times to count constantly spiraling constantly finding ways to survive through this cycle through this rough patch it's the third time this week you've cried yourself to sleep and its only Tuesday morning but somehow you remember that even with each breaking feels like so ******* close to the edge that even though each falling feels like you might never breathe again somehow you remember that you have been here so many times before and there may be no reprieve and there is definitely no intermission but even though tired and exhausted and falling you have survived this far you may not be sure you'll ever make it out of the shadows but you're pretty **** sure you'll keep on surviving anyway
this is about my personal experience with "depression"
it truly is a gift to look at all things with gratitude and allow the divine spirit to flow within. There is where we find a paradise of expressions and freedom. To live in heart and move gracefully with its beat.... that is where I choose to live, even when darkness comes for I know the dark is temporary, as my essence is light.