Up. I love my life, I love who I am, I love everything I do. I'm confident, I'm pretty, I'm charismatic. I have people who love me, I have great friends, I have it all. I tell myself these things when I feel good, so I can keep feeling good.
Deep down I know I don't believe those things, but if I say them enough then at least I don't pay them enough attention to look a little closer. I purposefully cloud my vision so I can avoid seeing what I don't want to. I try to believe them, I do. Yet, no matter how long I toil, the light at the end of the tunnel ever eludes me.
Down. Awareness sets in, and the words are clear as day. Worthless. Burden. Hypocrite. Nuisance. My eyes are pried wide open so they're all I can see. The words blind me, prohibiting me from seeing anything else. Or anyone.
This is my true state. This is who I am. I hate it so much, I just can't stand myself. I can't sleep because I'll think. I can't dive into fiction because my thoughts have learned to follow me there too. I cry out, wondering when it will end.
Up. I'm back again. Not back, nothing ever happened, isn't that right? I love my life, I love who I am. . . . . . I have great friends, I have it all. I'll continue to make more great friends, because they're a joy in my life and I in theirs. I won't regret meeting them, why would I? I'm a good person to be around, a light in their lives so to speak. I'm nothing if not honest.
Down. That's right. I am nothing if not honest.
I am nothing.
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A/n: Hey everyone, it's your favorite depressed poet. Nah, just kidding, you probably know a thousand poets better and more depressed than I, but who cares.
Yup. Depression thoughts. That's, that's about it. (╥_╥)
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𝓟𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓫𝓵𝔂 𝓟𝓸𝓮𝓽𝓻𝔂
PoetryA collection of poetry and some snippets of metaphorical pieces that I write mostly about my life's problems and depression. I write about my experiences, how they make me feel inside, and sometimes what I do to cope. Possibly Poetry contains hopefu...
