Â
DEPRESSION BUILDS A SCARECROWÂ
Â
sitting hunched over
the shipwreck of your sternum
churning breath from burning lungs
Â
                       searching for survivors in the blood
Â
all the little birds beneath the wrist
Â
                                                                       a pulse
Â
                       a pulse
Â
a black bird
Â
           perched on every rib
tearing the flesh from your chest
with bone sharpened beaks and tongues
cut from razor-wire fence
Â
                                                                       depression is
Â
           an abusive relationship you have with your skin
Â
sitting cross-legged in the dark
a mattress tossed on dirty floors
rocking and whispering
Â
                                   prayers to a god you don’t believe in
Â
           to any god who will listen
.
.
.
.
Â
IT’S OK TO SAY I’M NOT OKÂ Â
Â
something I am                                  working on
Â
                                   asking for
Â
the side effects of a life lived alone / when you steal your own tongue / seal it in a jar /
send it / home / with the child you might have been / if not for its weight / if you had
someone
Â
who lives in your head                                 six months a year
                                               who listened
Â
without changing their name / fact / when you sew your tongue / to the roof of your
mouth / with your own lips / to avoid / goodbye / you become someone new every
day / someone who forgets how to say –
Â
watch your mouth                              wilt like a flower
                                   when it hurts
Â
How many serpents of razorblade / can you hold / in your throat / before the words
/ cut themselves / loose / how many nights / did I pillow my face / with the forgetful
-ness of breath / scream my suicide into cotton / while writing / this poem
Â
exists                                                means
                       I must have made it
Â
must have washed / thunder from my clothes / the rain from my blood / until the sky /
like a champagne flute / shattered its dying rose / through the letters in my name /
how it aches to pick yourself / from a lineup / in the closet / every morning
Â
if you stand                                        in your own shadow
                                   long enough
Â
you learn to speak/ those three little words / I’m not ok / to mean / becoming
comfortable with your own birth / sets graveyards on fire / a thousand tombs violent
rocking / how the trees applaud
Â
how a child                                                   with your familiar face
                       stares from your mirror
Â
returns your voice / as your bones release / their butterflies