Depression’s Lens
I want to be someone worthy of the people who love me.
They say that I already am.
I want to know I’m someone worthy of the people who love me.
I want to look in the mirror and see the person love sees, someone quick and witty and interesting, adventurous and kind, beautiful, and soft.
I want to look in the mirror and see the person joy sees, smart and steadfast, funny and sweet, affectionate and nourishing.
I want to look in the mirror and see the person family sees, a younger mirror who hasn’t yet made her mistakes, familiar struggles and familiar potential, a seed able to grow and worthy of watering.
I look in the mirror and see a body in decay and a mind that refuses to grow, a heart afraid of life and skin devoid of sun. I see all the days I’ve spent in bed wishing I could move.
I see an infant with in-born wrongness and how the events of life worsened that fracture.
I see all the hours I’ve wasted trying to scrape together focus to forge interest in living.
I see abrasions across my skin from sandpaper sobriety and I see dull eyes that only shine under influences. I see memories through their scratched lenses and wonder uselessly where all the color has gone.
I see every awful thought I’ve hidden from other people, treating isolation as kindness.
I see a spreadsheet of medications for every imaginable reason, an X over each as they failed.
I see every walk I should’ve gone on, the food I should have eaten, the connections I should have made, oceans of water I should have drank.
I see every book I hoped would have the answer, tossed aside because their words flowed over me never gaining purchase.
I see every time something went wrong and their consequences, every cracked brick in this broken house.
I see a person my mother would relate to and feel how it sours my stomach.
I see everything but the good, and the answers;
How could I live up to the fantasies they hold of my worth?
How could I possibly imagine I haven’t just fooled them all?
How do I make myself live in the life I've neglected to build?
An Intangible Love
What's missing from me is you.
And to put it so simply is a crime against what lives inside of me.
Since I was quite small, I felt a familiarity grow in my stomach when night came,
The streetlights turned on and the wind blew lovingly against me.
Something pulling at me, like a homesickness for a home I can't remember,
Or never knew.
A warmth from another world grazes my bones, and my spirit reaches out for something
I've never touched.
My feet slam on pavement, my fingers spread toward the sky and you spin me and I let you because I'm infatuated,
Though I've never had a name for you, I feel you there.