depression finger paints
a mural on my inner skull.
depression composes a map
to where best my body should lay
anxiety doesn’t let me sleep
thinks each attempt to close my
eyes is an attempt to die — anxiety
thinks my heart is a trampoline
depression knows the heart is just a
bed, doesn’t play when it comes to sleep.
doesn’t play when anxiety pulls on
its sleeve to go outside, or take a
shower, or speak
Are you okay
—yes
I never see you
—just busy
Well text me sometime
—will do
anxiety doesn’t like to text, or answer
phone calls, or leaves messages. depression knows that the earth is just one big false
door, knows fear can be a blood type too
Let’s see…Donte!
You haven’t shared
—I didn’t rais…
We all have to speak
in this class
—I don’t-I think-I-i
If my body was ever a home, anxiety is a foreclosure note pinned to my chest. My tongue — a white flag surrendering in
silence.
Depression knows the body is not a home.
More — the underpass of a bridge. Perhaps, a bucket. Yes, a bucket will do. Its whole body is a mouth after all, readily catching the rain.
- Donte Collins - My Depression Has Anxiety, Part 1
0 comentários:
Postar um comentário