The Worst Part

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.

Look in the Mirror

Look in the mirror

and what do I see?

All the reasons

no one will ever

want to love me.

My chin is round.

My face is lumpy.

My fat rolls make

me far to bumpy.

My lips are chap.

My teeth are not straight.

Is it really a wonder

I’ll never find a date?

My image is too wide.

My arms have fat that flaps.

I waddle, not walk,

each step my thigh claps.

My stomach is attrocious.

My legs have no appeal.

I’m going to die alone.

I’m only being real.

 

365 Chances

There are 365 days in a year

which means I’ve 365 chances

to get someone to fall in love with me

but once again I’m empty-handed;

a failure in society’s eyes.

Yet another year to go by

wondering why I’m unlovable;

not go enough for anyone

let alone THE one.

Another holiday to be sent

tortured with the concept that

It will always be like this for me:

alone and depressing.

On the bright side,

the wine industry is about to take all my money.

Not like I have anyone else to spend it on.

 

 

Hurricane

I’ve never been one to mind a little rain.

Everything needs a little water to grow.

It’s when the hurricanes hit that I begin to quake.

A little rain won’t hurt they say,

but what do you do when you’re drowning?

Drowning in despair, emotions, thoughts

with no idea when or why the storm had to strike now.

Maybe you’ll get some false hope

in an eye of the storm where

you’ll let yourself believe

that it can get better; it will get better

only to be hit by the other half of the storm,

far more furious than the last.

All you can do is bunker down and stay inside,

hoping that this storm won’t be your last.

But that’s hard to do when you know at the end,

when the sun decides to make a reappearance,

you’ll be faced with the devastation and despair

that came from the havoc and furry of the beast.

It’s hard to let yourself rebuild everything up

when you know that at any moment

another hurricane could strike and tear you right back down.

I’d like to believe that horrible cyclones are few and far between,

but I’m more realistic than that.

Whether I intended to or not, I have to realize

that my life has set its roots on the coastline

and I am forever destined to keep being hit

by bad hurricanes over and over

and the only way out is to either succumb

or get my shit together and move out,

but that’s a lot more strength than you’ll find

behind these batters doors .

Who am I to Believe?

Who am I to believe

that I can help others

find their place in the world

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that everyone should dream

and pursue those dreams

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that there is good in the world

and it is a joy to be here

when I can’t even

want to stick around?