“antidepressants are for people
who are too weak to handle sadness.”

the typical equation:
depression = sadness,
excluding all other variables that may lead to that solution.
because depression does not just equal sadness.
add occasional good days,
subtract all sense of self,
multiply the amount of people you hurt,
divide yourself into two parts:
the person you are,
and the person you want to be.

maybe I am weak.
I could never quite fall into death’s arms,
only tripping and landing at his feet.

maybe I am weak.
the only knots I was ever good at tying
were the ones in my stomach at the thought
of having to go on like this.

maybe I am weak,
but weakness is part of the equation:
solve for why I am alive.
add my name to the list of things I love,
subtract the guilt and anger and resentment,
multiply the hands that hold mine,
divide myself into two parts:
the person I am,
and the person I once was.

maybe I am weak,
but I don’t need to be
anything else.

1997
the roots of my family tree
are shallow and malnourished,
breaking through the Earth's skin as a reminder
that it cannot always keep the ugly
hidden underneath.
my DNA is a life sentence for a crime
I never wanted to commit.

1999
my father called my brother a king
before he even left the womb.
a solar eclipse that has lasted years
because of my inability to escape his shadow;
though, I'm not sure I ever will.
the world will always be his stage,
and I, just a poorly constructed backdrop.

2005
my skin has turned
black and blue back into flesh.
I hope, one day,
my mind takes a lesson from my body
and learns how to forget you.

2011
they call him the all merciful god,
and I can't help but to laugh,
because the only thing he promised
to those who hurt me was forgiveness.
I prayed up until the day
god changed his phone number.
atheism is a learned behavior;
I only wonder when god stopped
believing in me.

2015
I live my life in reverse.
I drink coffee at midnight,
read the epilogues first,
go to bed in the morning.
I spent my childhood in this grave,
now it is time to dig myself out.

I have never been good with words,
so forgive me for my jumbled thoughts.
I’ve been sorting through them
and tossing out the infected ones,
but my lack of immunity has taken its toll.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get better,
but, for you,
I will try.

I don’t want to hurt you when I shy away,
so I’ll take the time to scrub out
the fingerprints they’ve left behind.
it may be tedious,
but my body is not their crime scene,
and I don’t need to keep the evidence.
I have never been comfortable with intimacy,
but, for you,
I will try.

I have never been good with coping,
but my hands have forgotten how to tie a knot,
my legs suddenly unable to jump,
my lungs insistent on allowing air in.
I have never been good at dying,
but, for you,
I won’t try
anymore.

as he sits in the pews between his alcoholism and his wrath,
I wonder if he feels more at home among those sinners
than he ever felt with me.

they say the tongue is the strongest
muscle in the human body,
but his locked jaw has wounded me more
than any weaponry he contains behind those teeth.

a phantom limb I am plagued with:
sometimes, I feel like he cares.
sometimes, I hurt at words he never speaks,
like have a safe flight,
or you have always been enough.

in church, we were taught
that the words god and father were interchangeable.
when I stopped believing in god,
I wonder if he watched his bloodline run thin.
I wonder if it ached.

I am the girl who cried apology,
and you,
the embodiment of naive forgiveness,
come running at each little distress.
one day, you’ll learn,
but until then,
just tell me it’s okay.

I can tell you’re tired
of hanging up my skeletons every night.
I’ve been growing lazy with keeping them
in their proper places,
letting them crumble into piles on the floor.
your exasperated sighs grow heavier,
but you never argue or complain,
simply cleaning up every mess I make.
I wonder when you’ll hang me up,
but until then,
we’ll pretend a little longer.

let our hands intertwine,
and we’ll ignore the difference
between love and habituation.
let me repent in your light,
and teach me how to become it.
I want to learn to be something
other than sorry.