Busy, Downtown Street

I find myself standing

on a busy, downtown street.

As the crowd bustles on,

I can only shuffle my feet.

I feel so small

surrounded by the towers.

The everyday noise

my senses, it overpowers

I know I must do what I can

to make myself heard

even if I only have energy

for just one single word.

I take a deep breath

and gather my strength

to give it some volume

and meaningful length.

I scream it from

the top of my lungs,

loud enough to shake

nearby ladder rungs.

Only no one heard me

and my final cry’

for at the same exact moment

a large truck drove by.

I know it’s no ones fault,

the timing was poor;

but I have no ability

to try once more.

So I’m destined to be

yet another lost soul

Who’s cries for help

were mistaken for lull.

I find myself standing

on an busy downtown street.

As the crowd bustles on, ‘

I can only shuffle my feet.

Exhibit

The animal walks around it’s home

in view of everyone.

Everyone comes to gawk and stare.

They feel safe by the glass,

and are joyous as it moves about.

But when the animal gets too close

to the edge of it’s exhibit

everyone takes a step back,

They think the animal is dangerous.

But it’s not going to hurt them.

I’m not going to hurt them.

I can’t hurt them anymore.

But yet I am still an exhibit

Better not get too close.

A Balloon

I feel like a balloon released to the wind,

soaring, floating- I’m surviving on my own.

I see the world below me,

and all the wonders and happiness around me.

I wonder If I will find the ground again

and find that happiness too.

But at times, I feel out of control.

The wind moves me, I go along

thinking there are so many things to see

but It feels like I am reaching new heights

higher, higher and further from the dream below.

I want to be grounded.

I want to be tethered to something in this world

that gives my existence a purpose.

I’m too high now. No one can reach my string

and pull me back to earth.

So I’ll keep floating until I pop from

too many changes in atmospheric pressure

and when I finally return to the ground,

all that will be left is broken remains.

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.