Confession

It’s not tidy this depression thing

You can’t wrap me up in cellophane

Mask the pain.

I won’t react or act the way I should

Do the things a proper depressed person could

Slit my wrists or cut my arms

My depression lacks those usual harms.

But I will definitely push you away.

Get angry when you judge my ways.

Because depression isn’t what the leaflet says.

It comes in all sorts of wrapping

A hard crash of the skull or an incessant nagging.

I’m sorry if I can’t be the one you save

By encouraging me to remain brave

By telling me to try to get out of bed

Any advice on how to leave my head?

So let’s call this a true confession

From me to you about my depression

It’s not neat certainly not light

So don’t get annoyed if I don’t get it right.

(C) Slumpless

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Hi Tide

It wasn’t just the salt on my skin

The golden shimmer on the rippling shore

It wasn’t my immersion into cool sloshing waves

Nor the sweet grip of the tide on my back.

I lay, bobbing on the ever changing surface

And felt the swell take over me.

It wasn’t just the swimming

It was the giving of myself to a power greater than my limbs could fathom

The surrender to a pull that knows no end

Ruled by moon perhaps but I prefer the tilting theory

A basin tipped by a whirling sphere

A sphere tipped by an unknow hand.

So I dove under.

Forgot the orange peel that had beached me for years

The uneven tone of a too many wobbling folds.

I swam. I swam. I swam.

I was mermaid for a day until the dusky touch of a falling sun

Beckoned me back to shore.

(C)Slumpless