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.
