the doctor told me it’s depression—
clinical, “major.”
what a strange name,
“major.”
so quietly
did it siphon the life from me.
I could hardly tell its fangs
were in my neck—
he is a thief
with sleight of hand,
collecting
precious moments for sport.
I imagine
he has a shelf in his home—
snippets of time
pickpocketed.
my birthdays in globes.
hold one close:
candle light, dancing shadows,
and a smile
that does not reach the eyes.
I’m not there,
no—
where was I?
magic still exists, right?
i swear it.
i could have sworn i got a whiff
when we brushed arms in passing.
i could have sworn
it glimmered in your eyes
when you tilted your head back,
and sang to the world,
your glorious laugh.
could have sworn
i could tell the future,
when,
for the first time,
you held my hand.
no,
i never saw fate more clearly.
when did I trade living
for surviving?
& when did I mistake
slowly dying
for “thriving”?
having it together
looks like a closed heart.
but oh,
the openness of being a mess.
unclench your fists, your jaw—
dance
while cutting tomatoes.
and,
if you cry,
because you remember what it means
to be alive—
call them onions.
i won’t tell.
There is a poem
trying to breach the surface,
some part of me chained
to the ocean’s floor,
fighting to break free.
I forgot how to live.
I can only remember
by forgetting.
the mindlessness of the mindful,
the folly of the scholar.
oh, the sage wisdom of the child.
stick on the ground:
a staff.
point the way.
it’s impossible
to be lost
when you’re playing pretend.
have you seen the confidence
underlying the imagined?
does the fool second guess himself?
the fool leads legions.
wisemen at the mercy
of his utter conviction.
you filled the well of the intellect,
stealing the water
of your self-belief.
yeah,
that reservoir of conviction:
long run dry.
I stared at the cliff’s edge,
and told myself
I was only going to dip
my feet in—
so tell me:
how am I up to my neck
in absinthe?
lord, help me:
I’m drowning
in obsession,
this liquid spirit,
like the Styx,
my psychic murk,
so acidic—
it burns me, it burns—
so why
do I crave it?
the self betrayal
of the poet.
radio silence,
the artist
gone quiet.
shut your mouth,
keep the food out,
but your words
in.
how quickly
did I jump ship—
haven’t written
a poem
in months.
did i dry the well?
it’s not hard
to tell:
gaunt eyes,
hollow shell.
I stopped looking
to the future.
instead of planning
my career,
fawning
over that
bright star,
I thought more
of how to fit
400 calories
into a single dinner.
a blessing
to choose
to eat less.
a blessing
to fret
over weighing more.
a blessing
to know this folly.
i will fall
into this trap again:
still,
i consider myself blessed.
I’m not a fraud.
I never lied once—
I fell, & fell hard,
but never hid the blood.
I saw the sickness
spreading through my marrow–
the blackest ink
in the most pristine waters—
I worked so hard,
& guarded this meadow
of my own making—
I tended to the Earth
& nursed her back to health,
so tell me: for bringing ruin
to my Eden,
how can I ever
forgive myself?
tonight,
i say enough.
binge, restrict:
the coin of self-loathing.
but my life is bigger
than being bigger.
isn’t that self love?
yea—
tonight, i say enough.
i
am enough.