most days by the time I’m out of bed
– I’m already stuck in my head and
trying to fend off thoughts I’m not better off
than yesterday but that’s what I say every day
as a way to excuse today,
when, really, I take a breath and remember
to find a better way, slower and kinder way to love myself
enough to let myself feel at peace with
who I am by myself and some space
from confusing personal wealth
for personal health and covering a lack
of a sense of self with thoughts like,
“What the hell am I without a career
to feel validated, because damn it I’ve
gotta say, “I’ve made it!” –
because
I’m sick of debating whether success is excess
when I can just as easily rest my anxieties
inside these lines to avoid wasting more time
trying to say I’m good enough for your attention,
especially when years from now I’ll barely mention
these moments outside proving how words were
my atonement, helped me focus, and feel less hopeless
–
see I understand my depression is a progression of
second guesses and questions from
every form of me my subconscious demands to
know why I couldn’t be, says
“See these?! All the things we could be!”
but
i take a moment to light some weed and reply
“Please. I’m sick of your appeals and refuse to hear
anymore of your shit – telling me to quit; I’ve grown
some thick skin since I realized I was living on this ice
when I wondered what it feels like take your own life;
so I’m not gonna lose sight of how far I’m come in this fight
because I finally feel some peace at night,
even if I have to light a bowl to hold to – I just refuse
to keep letting you use and abuse the best of me;
so I’m gonna let this be your eulogy, so if you’ll excuse me
I need to get back to be being beautifully me.”
–
and usually when I breathe out, those thoughts
are enough to keep me out of a spiral –
have to dial it back sometimes so I can take the time
to find who I still can be and hold on to the belief
that there are good things in everyone, even when
I can’t see past shadows cast by my internal bias
that’s like a virus that’s inside all of us and hides
what divides us with lies;
I’ve learned to confide in the truth that
transcending my depression is dependent
on becoming independent from my vices
and controlling my minds devices to keep what’s
insightful and confront what’s frightful –
because there’s no other way out than through,
especially when I’m too old for the excuses
and done with muses or accepting without them I’m useless –
because rejection relies on my egos dependence their acceptance,
that I’ve used like injections trying to seed happiness
–
so maybe it’s not depression so much as a lack of direction –
and wonder if I’m the living the consequence of confusing
success for confidence
or if that’s just part of the quest to be my best –
because I’m not afraid to test what I’ve got left,
especially since the last girl left me after
moving across the country and still owes me money;
but having to suddenly confront a me without a we,
I could see that I still needed to beat on
and get on a stage to say I’m sick of pretending I’m okay
to outweigh regrets from yesterday;
see – that better, slower, and kinder way to love myself is
to be above myself enough to leave my heart on my sleeve
and let it bleed on the page because at the very least
I’ve got today and don’t see any sense living caught
in the past tense when life’s not about how far I go –
but what I did where I went and how much of myself
I spent to make sure you not only hear what I said,
but felt what I meant.

 

TM Colin Corpe 2018