Depression often robs me of this feeling.
Strips it away bit by bit
with devastating truths
that everyone hates me,
and I’m terrible,
and I don’t deserve to be loved.
Even when I feel robbed of hope,
it’s only just sleeping.
The coals buried under the ash
waiting to be awoken.
Affirmations, good food,
and time with friends brush away the ash
and breathe life into the coals.
Slowly, the fire returns.
Waxing and waning,
but always there,
even on the coldest, darkest nights.