This poem is part letter, part lullaby.
We will spend sleepless nights bleeding
until we are cold as spring rain.
We will rust in our own thoughts like drowning metal.
This poem is written in the blood of my depression.
I hope you get a chance to beat up your depression soon,
and I hope that this time you draw blood.
Some nights, you will be so cold
that breathing will shatter your lungs.
Some nights I do not let my
chest expand properly.
I forget to let myself breathe often.
He left a fault line on your heart
the night he left, now every
heartbeat is its own earthquake.
This is an aftershock.
Eyelids falling down like thin tree
trunks in a hurricane.
Thoughts flowing like river rapids.
Heavy limbs that tell you to go to sleep.
Depression is a flood.
Insomnia is a terrible automatic coping mechanism.
We stay in storm shelters even when it’s sunny out
because we’re afraid of drowning, but
we’re more scared of being burned by warmth.
Sleep in your bookshelf tonight
after a trip down to the beach.
Scream so loud that it wakes
your happiness up from its hibernation.
Let me hear you across an ocean
and across a nation.
Scream hard and shake the dust
from your vocal chords.
In case no one has told you yet,
you are allowed to hurt.
Speak so loud it silences your thoughts.
6:22 a.m. (My sleeping schedule has been weird lately)