i’m going to be honest:
this is an ode i’ve written before because
i have the habit of giving life to
my monsters by giving up my own.
this is an ode i’ve written before
and the only difference between
before and after is that
before sounded off like a suicide note and that
before tried building a coffin
between the covers of a book and that
before’s newly typed poems rang like gunshots,
like the snap of a rope,
like a body hitting the ground.
before is in the past, though.
this is an ode for after.
depression, you still have a string around one of my teeth
but no longer a noose next to my neck.
i’ve been learning how to unknot the
tangles you’ve left in my life - my lungs - my head -
even my hair from when i couldn’t leave my bed.
the half-life existence i’ve been living has finally
decayed and i’m no longer concentrated on you.
depression, after hears rain in the computer keys,
the buzzing of bees in the letters,
and the sound of future poems.
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741