***
they say they’re stronger than you.
they won’t let you wear them down.
i’m not strong.
i can’t will you away.
i unhinge my frontal bone
pour six happy pills in
and listen for the “ping” sound they
make when they reach the deep end of my sadness.
i don’t notice them say
they’re stronger than cancer
or pneumonia, but you,
you’re nothing that a night at the bar can’t cure.
i’m not strong.
i let you ride on my back.
you’re the reason for that weary
stare at the ground shuffle i do.
sometimes, i go to the cliff
an hour away from my house
and dream of throwing myself off
to get rid of you
but i’m not strong enough for that either.
–lissa
Perfect flat empty hollow tone captures that affectless state that comes with depression so the ping sound really stands out and echoes in a great image. Luckily that photo of you smiling is right next to the poem or I would be worried the poem capures the mind state so well.
i know this feeling. And the enormous strength it takes not to give into it. You describe it perfectly.
well written depression poem
ah, the cliff down the block from my home, your
poem is so honest and terribly brave. to be there
wandering around in the pain.
lissa, i admire and love how you write without
regrets, a wise soul you are.
OMG! I thought you were done impressing us for a while.
Unexpected perfection . . .
intimate and honest.. i loved this.. and don’t you just wish sometimes you could chuck it all off the hill and be done with it… i know i do… but for some reason,, i stay.. we stay.. and we write.. and it gets better…
This is powerful because of it’s honesty and courage to expose the vulnerability in the repeated “I am not strong” because of… There’s a tremendous amount of power, strength and hope in there.
The second stanza is exceptional……..the whole is open and honest and affecting. Very well done, Lissa, yet another piece of yours that will stay with me.
i hear a sober tragic tale. it is in my head, this pensive, dreary feeling. feels like it’s gonna stay there for a while.
I never noticed any stare at the ground shuffle?
the “i” in poetry is not always describing the writer.