You light yourself on fire
Trying to destroy the darkness that’s your reality
And your whole community comes to put it out.
Family, friends, everyone cares when the fire alarm goes off.
The hospital assesses the damage
Stamps out the flames
Then tosses you to the wind.
Now you’re just a pile of ash
Empty and barren and scorched,
People have stopped bringing water buckets these days
And yet you still choke on the smoke.
People who don’t have depression are obsessed with the Phoenix metaphor:
That from these embers you will rise again anew
But your depression is an ugly beast
That at full strength can even consume a Phoenix.
The truth is that you stay a pile of ashes for a long time
While you try to rebuild.
I just wish everyone would stick around and help with this burned and shaky structure of me.
I hate having to yell “fire”
Just to get someone to turn the sprinklers on.
I wanna write
but I'm afraid of what I'll say.
Its like the letters
are scared to be strung together.
You make knots in my throat
So big I can't breathe.
At least treat her better than me.
That girl dragging the knife,
Is she really still me?
Not this time.
They're in the quiet whispers,
The fingertip brushes,
Edge of your smile,
Bags under my eyes,
Photos we keep,
Sponge on your back,
The exhaust of your car
that drove away this morning:
Fragments of my heart
That are yours now.
*I wouldn't mind if you kept them forever.
If a thousand wrongs aren't making it right,
Why do you still seek my forgiveness?
And then characteristically disappear again, as soon as you receive it.
If your arms are home,
I'm on a different planet.
I need to come back to you.