Monsters and Metaphors

July 31, 2018

dear depression,

i’m going to be honest:

this is an ode i’ve written before because

i have the habit of giving life to

my monsters by giving up my own.

this is an ode i’ve written before

and the only difference between

before and after is that

before sounded off like a suicide note and that

before tried building a coffin

between the covers of a book and that

before’s newly typed poems rang like gunshots,

like the snap of a rope,

like a body hitting the ground.

before is in the past, though.

this is an ode for after.

depression, you still have a string around one of my teeth

but no longer a noose next to my neck.

i’ve been learning how to unknot the

tangles you’ve left in my life - my lungs - my head -

even my hair from when i couldn’t leave my bed.

the half-life existence i’ve been living has finally

decayed and i’m no longer concentrated on you.

depression, after hears rain in the computer keys,

the buzzing of bees in the letters,

and the sound of future poems.

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