I’ve never been able to settle on a favorite color.
green summer grass,
the purples, golds, and blacks swirling up in the cosmos.
I like them all. You know that,
I could never make up my mind trying to find something that I really love.
All I can commit my dragging mind to do lately is to stay committed to living.
But Depression’s shadow hands push down on my chest,
Keep me buried in my covers.
This is the only place you’ll feel safe today.
I know you got frustrated, mom,
But your body curled around mine in that bed is what kept me from sinking too deep.
Depression runs through potent yellows and reds.
It bleeds over everything I’ve ever seen and touched.
It’s hard to focus on what mattered yesterday,
what should matter tomorrow,
when all you have staring back at your swollen, ghosted eyes is
I love my eyes because their colors change.
Lately I can’t really look at them,
but I know that when I used to cry, they’d pop
turquoise—tropical bath water, leaving me melted, useless.
You know that,
Sometimes I feel like I’m snorkeling,
Except there’s weights tied to my ankles.
I’m sinking down, farther and farther.
Thrashing to catch my breath.
I’ll reach surface just long enough to see my boat left me.
I’m bobbing and choking, about to give up when I hear your voice.
“Relax. Take a deep breath. Fill your lungs up. You’re ok. I’ve got you.”
And you don’t let go of my hand, mom.
Control has always been my vice—contemplation
and complete, careful control,
trying to make mine of things I could get no solid grasp of.
But I’ve always had you, mom, even when I wasn’t sure I really had myself.
My mind floats in messy pieces around my heavy head.
And thinking hurts, mom,
I was kicking and screaming, my frame unmoving,
when you called.
The ring startled me off the ledge I was peeking over.
That’s why I choked and sobbed, mom,
instead of saying “hello.”
Let me lay the waterfall of my sadness to rest
on your shoulders.
All the good I’ve known was learned from you,
and I’d really like to paint rainbows with you again.
You told me once that if I colored my world, I’d always be smiling.
Your glow, mom, is so bright.
I see you in purples and golds.
You hold me up when I cannot and push me
though my heels may drag, scared into pathetic piles of lead.
One day I won’t collapse. I’ll be strong enough
to climb down from the ledge and stand with you
at the bottom.
Now I’m down on my knees
with my heart pressed to the floor where it once lay in pieces,
and my spread fingers grabbing for the light you’re shining my way
thanking you for this life you have given me
not once, but twice.