Content warnings for this poem include depression, anxiety, disordered eating, and death
by Talia Franks
Depression has sapped creativity from me.
Anxiety has ramped up my need to be
But that’s not how I feel right now.
Not when so much is lost
and so much of what we found
I hurt. Everywhere. Every step I take, every encounter with stairs.
Every bite I take, every swallow I make –
I can barely remember to take out the trash.
This is what depression does to you.
It seeps into your bones, it makes its home, until your home – is not home.
These four walls are a privilege, not a prison. And yet they hurt to live in.
The crow haunts my dreams.
The deaths we cannot count.
Hypocrisy reigns supreme.
I’m so hungry, so hungry, I could scream.
And yet, I don’t eat a thing.
Will we know which one is the final warning?
How long will we be in mourning?
And yet, here this midnight poem ends.
For I can hear the birds, and see dawn rising.