Depression Does Not Mean Broke || And A Note About the Book

A note before I start the poem – if you would like to see one of my poems posted here in the book I’m planning to publish, comment on this post stating which one(s)

When  I was first diagnosed

I was told I was not broken

Yet here I am 2 years later

Stating over and over again

I’m broken

There is a light too far away

The dim keeps getting dimmer

The darkness that returns at night makes me realize

Maybe there isn’t a light at the end of the tunnel

There was a point where I was in love

Except he seemed to love vodka

More than he ever loved me

I was afraid I would step through the door of our apartment

To find him hanging

Or passed out on blood stained carpet

Or with a call on the answering machine

He jumped in front of the 4:15 subway to Alewife

The thing is there is no was – there is an am

See I am mad for this boy

He makes me forget how dim everything is

But every day I feel him slip

Despite promises if a crappy apartment in Maine’s art capital

But who knows, there is always a someday

A someday where we’re sleeping on our matress on the floor

Because we are too poor for a bedframe

Maybe I’m not broken after all


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