depression is often compared to falling down an endless hole.
but
it’s actually more like a hot air balloon,
launched by those who tell you to change.
change your looks, your personality
be yourself, they say
not like that, they say
you let them launch your balloon
believing they’re trying to help you fit in
and you watch them grow smaller
as you slowly rise into the atmosphere
until the oxygen grows as thin
as the strings holding together your sanity
and you panic and scratch at the balloon
trying to poke a hole, thinking only about descent,
and your fingertips begin to bleed
and your wrists are cut on the harsh nylon ropes
and you collect scars because you can’t collect your thoughts
and all you want to do is fall
so you jump
and as you’re falling, you feel good.
you feel free.
but as you plummet towards earth and you can see the ground you begin to regret and spread your arms, desperately flapping but it’s too
late
and you hit the floor with a sickening,
bone shattering
crunch
then you float back up to the sky that ended you
and you see
your family
friends
teachers, everybody who’s ever loved you and maybe even hated you feel the ripples of force as you hit the ground
and they scream and rush to your side
trying to help
trying to do what they tell themselves they would have done
if only they had known, if only you had told them
but you felt silly and invalidated and you didn’t want anybody to see
and you didn’t think they would have saved you
so you kept it in and stayed in your balloon until it was too much
the oxygen was running out
with your will to live
but those who are alive cry
tears falling as quickly as you did from the sky
hitting the ground with splashes nowhere near as loud as the crash
that cut your life short
running their fingers over the scars that you hid
the pain that you endured up there in the atmosphere, hidden among long sleeves and fluffy white clouds and fake smiles
and they wonder why they allowed
you to go up in the balloon in the first place
and they begin to blame
not each other, but themselves
and some launch balloons of their own
telling themselves that they’re just grieving,
just wanting to see what you did in your final moments
but their balloons spiral out of control and
they find themselves falling
just as you did

The funny thing about silence is,
In my head, It never truly is
silent.

Lucy looks at her alarm eight times before it’s bed.
Mark can’t meet new people without a pounding in his head.
Fred gets sad on weekends,
And Molly cries a tonne
But Becky’s head keeps her awake until she sees the sun.

Robert doesn’t wake until early afternoon.
Mary let’s herself jump to conclusions far too soon.
Barney’s always manic,
And Ginger talks too quick
But Johnny only sees a crowd to make himself feel sick.

Today I may be Robert.
Tomorrow I am Fred.
But right now I am all of these and they are in my head.

What happens when the good girl goes bad
like the spoiled milk she left out?
Because I couldn't seem to get up.
I think it was something about acknowledging that I'm alive, I'm here.
Wouldn't it all be easier if I wasn't?

When the good girl goes bad
because she worked her *** off on that paper and only got a C.

When the good girl goes bad
because the world doesn't treat her right,
but I guess it must because that's
how come I'm the good girl.
Not my depressed sister sitting in her room;
not my other sister running around, destroying everything I had to work for;
most definitely
not my other sister who always seemed to be your favorite but is now smashing plates in our backyard,
'cause I guess that's what happens if you get too close to you.

When the good girl goes bad,
you get angry because
I'm supposed to be your perfect child
not supposed to be
your ***** up child
your lonely child
your lazy child
your anxious child
not supposed to be
your good for nothing child
your dysfunctional child
your doesn't give a **** about anything anymore child.
why don't I ******* give a **** about anything anymore?

When the good girl goes bad
your life falls apart,
because clearly
you had enough to deal with already,
because clearly
this is all my fault,
because clearly
you don't have the time to face your good girl
and
because clearly
that's all on me.

When the good girl goes bad
because you left her out on the counter all those years, sitting there to rot.
And though I know that you can't waste your time putting it away, 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know the milk should take care of itself
but I tried and that only works for a couple of years
before the good girl gone bad falls far off the counter, spills across the floor,
and the only thing left is to throw that nasty old milk away
because your bread, eggs, oil, etc. need your attention
and it's just too late for the good girl.

When the good girl goes bad
because she never asked to be the good girl
or maybe I did, I don't really remember,
but not like this.
I just wanted to be loved
but little did I know that
the good girl just sits there
keeping herself afloat,
but the boat can't guide itself if it wasn't given eyes.
The boat can't patch itself if you keep telling it its still brand new
when its really old, broken, and covered in holes.
You shouldn't put a boat in the water if you know its going to sink,
but I guess you only really need a couple good boats
so you can just toss the good girl.

When mama's little good girl goes bad,
she feels guilty
because she was told she'd always be
the good girl.
Though, its hard being the good girl when you don't have any windshield wipers for your tears at night.
But the tears at night aren't supposed to exist
because
I'm still mama's mother ******' good girl,
just...
please pretend I haven't gone bad.

breathing the turquoise like lavender,
and sipping the blue summer.
bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather,
floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine.

soon, a moment, now
rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.

cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry,
pumps the air with springing spirals
pushing and pulling the senses,
reverberating through cells.

heavy mud humming, stomping
echoes through our atoms dizzy;
balancing tuned body to innate electricity
the fizz of circulating lemonade energy.

we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.

strawberry melodies spilling ribbons,
dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats,
lines of colours overlapping,
colliding, mixing, merging, blending
in with the forest.

washing over souls the life fire sparkles
like a clear water cleansing harmonies,
sound waves crashing against inertia.
phosphorescent glow of re-charged love
for the world, for being, animation

flowing through burnt smoky ashes
of sapphire charcoal skies;
dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days.
the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists,
trembling lights softening the eyes'
grip on outlines, loosening lies.

watching the cycles of patterns
tumbling colours through a mill rotating,
and the silence of listening
when the music comes to an end.

‪As I ‬
‪lie on ‬
‪the ‬
‪shore, ‬
I see the
warm
amber,
orange
and yellow
sunset
‪with a ‬
‪cup of ‬
‪milky ‬
‪coffee ‬
‪and a‬
‪paper ‬
‪notebook, ‬
‪I begin ‬
‪to write, ‬
‪I am no ‬
‪different ‬
‪than the ‬
‪words ‬
‪flowing ‬
‪as rivers,
and I soar,
as the wings
of seagulls
above,
‪for my
poetry ‬
‪is the ‬
‪ocean ‬
‪of my ‬
‪heart ‬
‪coming ‬
‪in waves, ‬
‪asking the ‬
‪reader to ‬
‪open ‬
‪themselves ‬
‪to healing, ‬
‪when truly, ‬
‪I am a drop ‬
‪within the ‬
‪universe ‬
‪of my ‬
‪everything ‬
‪and all, ‬
‪the lover ‬
‪of my words ‬
‪and the ‬
‪song of ‬
‪my soul.‬

my armies are dead
foul ghouls
black bloodshed
my land? it’s ill
all dark, no harvest, so many mouths to fill

the sickness has spread
everywhere
especially inside my head

and all i can do
to sit on my throne
a tint of royal blue

my servants are frozen in time, you see
they’re my ghosts
my lovely, little parody

it’s cold within these walls, you see
you better keep warm
they might eat you alive, these walls
consider yourself warned

and if you wonder
after all this time
why i’m still here
claiming what’s mine

i dreamed this to be, you see
this kingdom is my fantasy
my youngest wish and sweetest sigh
it’s not so easy
letting go
waving goodbye

and as my castle starts collapsing
and the rubble begins to fall
i start to ponder
start to wonder
what if this all
wasn’t just a dream, the exception to the rule
dreamed up by me
a lousy, unworthy fool
who just wanted to be queen
of the kingdom inside my head
just this one time
more alive
than dead