The Poetry Marathon

i can not bear to
live
inside my mind
today

i must go and play

between the blinds a
moonbeam
highlights my coffee cup
steam rising in a hush

the screen door is locked from the inside
wet concrete sidewalk begging for a heart with some letters
the young fir tree
your book on my shelf
an empty rowboat banging against the dock

the crackle and drag
your grief slipping beneath the
fact of a door frame

sitting among the rows of corn
the dried broken husks underneath me
his legs wrapped around mine
arms circling my shoulders
as i rest my head against the strength
of his chest
he kisses my cheek
whispers about how i am
all his
the wind rustling the stalks
surrounding us
I search the blank space
for crows
as his heart beats
against my ear
lying to me

“I hated waking up, not remembering what had happened to me.”
I was chatting with my therapist
about my experiences
with electroconvulsive therapy.
Shock treatments.
I was explaining why ECT
felt like
I was being re-traumatized
with every induced seizure of my brain.

My therapist asked:
“Are there other times in your life that you woke up and couldn’t remember what had happened to you?”

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m a depressed person.
I am mentally ill.
I am clinically depressed.
Even at my most recovered,
my healthiest,
my most thriving self:
I am sick.
I have made many sabotaging attempts
to be as sick as I can.
I have also made many attempts
to get well.
Alcohol (I got sober).
Drugs (I got clean).
Therapy.
Antidepressants.
Self-help books.
Buddhism.
I starved myself (I recovered).
Prayer.
Meditation.
Anti-anxiety meds.
Anti-psychotics.
Psych wards.
And, finally, shock treatments.

“I woke up, not knowing what had happened to me.”
This is the declaration that serves as the cliff from which I leap.

Depression 

is like being trapped

in a cardboard box

if I were small enough to fit

in the boxes from amazon

that arrive full of cat food cans 

taped shut

no ventilation 

the darkness

playing tricks on me

strange shapes dancing along

my eyelids

when I scratch at the sides

and tiny rays of light

manage to creep through

they are blinding

causing my skin to glow

in a tiny constellation of stars

the box proves

to be impermanent

and I scratch harder

i would not dare to
pick up the phone to call you
i’ll wait
call me
please

remember me
please
did you know
i am still here
hold me in your heart

please
remember me
pick up the phone and call me
i am here
for you

i struggle to count
the stars in the sky
because it hurts to lie
on my back

the earth does not welcome
my spine

nostrils inhale soft dirt
intoxicating
the newness of it
potential
possibility

fingernails grasp at
the permanence

forehead pressed firm
into the dirt
keeping the slugs company
trusting there is still a spin
in the stillness

knowing that my crouched figure
is safely hurtling through
the universe
the stars at my back

i know i’ll still fly
even when you clip my wings
i’ve got safety
pins

please
stay

I’m not certain
who I am
(I am not straight)

but perhaps you will love
my crookedness

(I am tripping over my own feet
I am following the map
I am searching between the shadows
I am seeking pride)

please
love me still
as I etch my rainbow across the sky