I am a superhero.
Well, sort of.
My super power doesn't really allow me to see through things
Or give me invisibility
Or the strength of a thousand men.
My super power isn't in a bracelet
Or a shield
Or a cape
Or a spandex suit.
My body isn't green
Nor do I have lights beaming from my hands.
I cannot incinerate a target by removing my glasses.
Nor do I have retractable claws.
My superpower is quite evil
when compared to my counter parts.
I have cynicism down to a tee.
I can summon rain clouds out of thin air.
And my tears are their own river.
I can read people's thoughts.
More like create terrible commentary and believe that's really what they think.
My hiding under the covers game is so strong that all of my friends have forgotten to seek me.
I am amazing at rescheduling plans because I have aches and pains, that no one can see.
I do try to tell them, but how can I explain that I am the enemy
I am the last person that I would think to betray me
How can I ever articulate
Why I feel like a hand grenade
Why my thoughts are land mines
How my covers seem to extinguish the fires that burn me up every night
My bed is my battleship and there is only room enough for one
My imagination is so far out there
that I do dream of the day that I will fly.
Just so happens that that's also the day that I plunge to my death.
I told you that I'm a superhero.
Because despite all of this tremendous super powers
every single day I manage to save myself.
(The year that I was diagnosed with manic-depression)