Dear Destroyer of Me,
You think the world's bleak
and your glasses, tinted gray.
You engulf me, make me weak
so there's naught I can do but stay.
You consume the joy I find
in the skill I've fought to gain.
To others, I can't be kind--
each nicety I must feign.
A theif of biblical proportions--
if only such texts I could believe.
Your "faith" is a hideous abortion
of the ideas others find as reprieve.
You make me alone in a crowded room--
no friends, no family, no light.
You make me beg for an ending, soon--
you sap my will to fight.
The worst part?
You are an invisible monster.
None can see you but I.
Any semblence of a connection I try to foster
is deliverance nigh.
The world thinks I'm you--
they call me the monster I hate.
"You're negative, boring, rude!"
further dilapidates my state.
You force me to wear a mask
to hide the wounds that you inflict.
You make living each day a task
that feels so easy to quit.
Life feels so much longer
than the 18 years it's been.
I can't tell if I'm getting stronger
or just developing thicker skin.
The world isn't a friendly place
to us with messed-up brains.
We're told we're a simple disgrace
the the world we entertain.
Each day is a song and dance
to make comfortable those around us
because healthy minds refuse to chance
feeling the pain I've learned to trust.
You take so many others like me
from a world which is unwelcome.
Even in death, no one sees
that for us, joy is seldom.
The one good I can say
your wretched existence wreaks
is that I am stronger still
than those who call me weak.
You may be a monster
and I may be just a girl
but I am more stubborn, stronger
and to your will I will not curl.
It is difficult to distinguish
where you end and I begin.
Even so, you won't extinguish
the light that's always been.
You're a creature on my shoulder
and you'll be with me forever.
Depression's your name, you're strong, but I'm bolder--
and I will give up never.
In pure hatred of all you've tried to destroy,