3:30am

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my friend depression likes to swallow things whole. 

she is a force to be reckoned with and lets everyone know. 

my friend depression takes up so much room 

she makes even the brightest of stars question if they’re worthy 

of their shine. 

my friend depression is always the loudest in the room, 

but everyone around us 

has gotten so good 

at pretending 

they don’t hear her. 

she’s bossy 

and entitled. 

she tells me when to eat, 

when to sleep, 

when it’s okay to ask for help–and it almost never is. 

because one thing i’ve always done better than her is 

silence. 

she needs reassurance that i can’t give 

because her warm embrace is always familiar, 

but something i need to be reintroduced to 

everytime we meet. 

it’s easy to forget her. 

and not in the way that she isn’t memorable, 

not in the way that his hands were 

or her hands were 

or his hands and their cries 

and my cries were. 

not in the way where when i was little and had a bad day my mom would rub my face and sing you are my sunshine. 

in the way that she’s been here so many times 

before you know it 

she’ll be back. 

so it’s okay to forget. 

my friend depression used to be my safety net. 

a star i wore on my sleeve to get me through the cold 

and a bounce house where everyone has left–but you. 

she was who i fell back on. 

dependable.

my friend depression made me cry at her beauty 

because i couldn’t understand how someone so beautiful could be so sad. 

my friend depression– 

well– 

she walked away. 

and though i know she’ll be back someday… 

i forget why i started this poem.

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