Sometimes the worst part about being depressed
isn’t not having the energy to get out of bed for two days
or realizing you haven’t eatten a real meal in 3
or resorting to bad habits and addictions
or considering unhealthy habits that will only hurt you
or finding a dozen more reasons to hate yourself.
Sometimes. it’s wanting to tell the person you trust most
and not being able to for fear of being ignored again.
Apparently, my landlord found my wallet
and called to inform me he found it.
He found it two days ago.
I didn’t even know it was gone.
I guess while your finding things
that I apparently lost,
could you also locate
my will to live?
I’ve hurt today
and I’ve been hurt before
but I’ll say it here
that nothing hurt more
than when I let you in
and you closed the door.
Why be vulnerable
and confess hard secrets
to be ignored;
filled with regrets.
I’m really not one
who easily forgets.
Be more vulnerable
Don’t keep it all bottled in
Tell them what’s bothering you
Confide when you’re ready
You’ll feel better
That’s fucking bullshit
How does on miss something they’ve never had?
How can it cause such pain and a heart so sad?
Can you yearn for a heart you’ve never known?
Can you be buried in feeling not shown?
Do you overthink every lost chance?
Do you regret not choosing to dance?
Why must we crave the things forbidden?
Wy must the grief leave us here bedridden?
They say that a good wine
improves in taste the longer
you keep it in the bottle.
That means years and years
of leaving it in your cellar
just anticipating the way
those sweet grapes will taste
the second they hit your tongue.
I wonder if people are more like
good wines than they know.
I, for one, would be a champagne
bursting with overwhelming bubbles
when you finally take the cork out
but I’ll be worth every drop.