Tag Archives: depression

untitled, august 2015

I want to scream. To cry
To fight
To kick out against the rage
before it eats me whole.
Drowned in the bile of my own self-loathing
I burn and melt away
into puddles of foam

Smothered in something silent, a sadness
Lungs cannot breathe
Blood cannot course
All fades away to a blinding light,
piercing heart with jagged lances,
leaving nothing but bare ash and powdered bone
–a terrible memory of me


An Open Letter

Dear woman in Kohl’s department store
those nine years ago
that thought it was okay to lean over,
whisper to me
among the headless blouses
and empty shirts half turned outside-
that I should “Just lose the weight”

as I contemplated just slicing all the bad parts away
in the mirror while
shopping for myself in the first time in over two years
for interview clothes:

I hope you stubbed your toe
really badly that day
and that you never have to go through
what you did to me hardly a week
after leaving that emotionally abusive relationship
with an alcoholic husband
who only brought home paychecks and disease
while you suffer from
returning to your hometown without a place to live
–except your parent’s spare room
or work
–though you hoped to change that soon,
hence the excruciating trip into public
in the first place–

in an effort to heal and build a life for yourself and your child.

I hope

you only ever experience kindness
and that the triumphant expression you bore
as you walked away with head held high
having shared such wisened wisdom with a total stranger
brought you the happiness it seemed to.

At least then my pain would have brought
someone pleasure.


Frozen limbs
A marble granite monster
with thought
A walking vegetative mess
i see you
i know you
i feel you
and feeling chills my blood

A poison strong and crippling
Solidifying my veins
cholesterol of the mind
Thinking Slowing Hardening
Trapped in your own skin
Unable to breathe
Unable to move
Unable to eat away
Or to sleep away

For each baby step carve
Yourself out of the
mountainside of air
Squashing into jelly
legs that no longer work

A tension so bittersweet for
The Opposite
lies only with death


six year old Hands trace
the scar of sixteen stitches
on my wrist; She hmms.