Yesterday
I spent $45
on brand cosmetic makeup

Drove home after
debating with
myself in line,
shaky hands fumbling
with the plastic
casings enveloping
over-priced wax

Today
I woke up at 6 A.M.
applying my new
purchases with a
loving hand,
Confidence glowing
from my freshly done
face like sun beams

You and I
may have different
definitions of
a good day

The goals I set
for myself you
may scoff at,
a daily routine
for you has taken
me 4 weeks, 32
days and the writing
of this poem
to finally complete
(It would be 31 days
but I spent one extra
trying to convince
myself that I am
as worthy as
the first day
of the
month.)

Since Monday
I have accepted
the doctor’s advice,
paid my
car insurance and
my phone bill,
returned 11 missed
calls, hushed the
demons beneath
my bed so that I
could get one
good night’s sleep
(Their voices in
my head no
longer haunt
me.), remembered
to take all
of my
medicine

My dad
is proud
of me

This kind of
pride is
not the type
he flaunts
over toasts
at the bar,
he doesn’t
chime into
conversations
like, “My
daughter scored
a perfect 36 on
her ACT” with
“Did she? Well my
daughter can
finally take
all 5 pills
without
a reminder”
but
He is proud

To be so appreciative
of something so
small
is because
he remembers
the vortex
before this

The days I could
not remember
the function
of any part
of this
lifeless body,
the days I
would keep
as silent as
the intonation
of the ugliest
shade
of grey for
months; he
prayed each
weekly
phone call
from
the hospital
wasn’t
the “I’m
so sorry”
following my
suicide

These
were the
bad days

My life
was a gift
I wanted
to return

The thick
fog of darkness
settling inside
my head served
as mood lighting
for the loose
screws and
bent nails,
the crevices
of my brain
inviting each
drop of
mental illness
in to
drown me

Depression
loves me
so good

She has
this intrinsic
flaw of
locking the
spotlight
on you,
the betrayal
to parallel
your thoughts
with her
own, and
it becomes
more natural
to welcome
the abuse
than to find
a way to
escape

Today
I willingly
climbed
out of bed
before my
alarm,
washed my
bed sheets,
changed
my profile
picture on
Facebook,
opened
the windows

You and I
may have different
definitions of
progress

I didn’t get
the perfect 36
on my ACT
even after taking
it 4 times, I
didn’t get accepted
to my dream
school, but I
don’t punish
others
for the
absence of
my desires,
and my dad
is proud
of me

The brick wall
edifice of my
depression now
lie in ruins, and
I take full
credit,
the filter of
grey shading
over my life
has transformed
itself into
the color of
hope

My favorite pen
I’ve relied on
to rewrite
my life has
challenged me:
“This is not
the life you
want to
live.”

But
I
am
alive

I’m not
weak in the
knees
over the glistening
edge of a razor
blade, my nightly
prayers don’t
include
tomorrow’s death
wish of throwing
myself off
the Brooklyn bridge


I just
painted my nails,
folded all
of my laundry,
called my dad

And told him,
“I hope you’re proud
of me.”

I stared long and hard at the clouds,
And the longer I stared the more I convinced myself to think,
That they were great hills , now mountains,
Rising into the twilight sky.

It seemed for a moment that I was rushing through a valley,
Deep and long,
It seemed for a moment that life was beautiful,
And all my pain melted into the phantom ridge - line above me.

But the illusion dissolved as the road lights flashed,
And the clouds broke and I was reminded,
That nothing watched over me,
No great height stretched out its hand to cover my soul in shadow,
Or to hide my face from the night.

Maybe one day I will look at the darkling sky and feel at peace,
But now the night and the mountainous clouds only remind me,
Of being alone and uncovered.

The moon rises and I feel all the nights of my past rush in,
All the hurt and the crying,
All the hate and the lying.

All the tragic discord of my youth,
Streaked along the sky.
There is no mountain that watches over my soul tonight,
Nothing between my eyes and the dark.

Look into my eyes.
Sharp and defined
With a single glance they crack your peace of mind
They open like vaults.
To hold all my faults.
They Peirce through your skin.
Your love and your kin.
They hold the same forgiveness as the sea.
None for either you or me.

This is the part
At the start
Where you set rhythm to the rhyme

Just enough
Of the stuff
As cadence moves in time

Taking a subject
In hopes that they love it
And find it rather deep

As you keep them guessing
Show your not messing
With originality

Your now in the middle
Where you start to fiddle
With all the words at play

Hide a few meanings
As you'll soon be leaving
Before it is too late

Then comes the ending
The tail end of the beginning
Drawing it to a close

Wonder where it came from
You hate to play dumb
But only the good lord knows