12 March 2013

Fuck You, Depression


I have stood where the wind
touches no one.

I have let her hollow cry
brush my ears.

And when she made me cry
from sheer bitterness

I went on pretending,
forced a plastered smile.


I dress in black
and walk in snow,

rise tall like a shadow
or a ghost.

People say “Fuck
you, depression.”

I say nothing at all
and fall.

So tired and so awake
I recall whistling

to a dog in a sunny

Was that my childhood
or just the one I wanted?

I lay with piles around
me—heaps and stacks I

never put away.
There’s just no room for it all.

I’m craving sunshine
big sky, curvy land,

vast ocean.
But I have snow, a grey sky,

city lights bounce off the
snow-covered streets.

Nothing much to anchor me
or help me feel.


At home? Happy? Fulfilled? Who
ever really feels like that? I’m
hungry now, I always have
been. And this sucks, the
way I write now is always
looking for the good line, always
editing it down, even before I
write it to get the poem. I
can’t write the poem: it has
to write me. Oh I’ve forgotten
my tools. These are my tools.
Why am I filling my head with
fluff? Wasting my time with empty
entertainment? When I should be
carting my tools around
crafting stories and life from
the details I see.

I have always loved words.
Words are delicious.

Fucking depression. I will ninja
kick you back to hell.

Fuck you, depression. I will take a
Samurai sword and chop
your head off. Maybe even
borrow my dad’s machete. 

©2013 Samantha Kolber 


Anonymous said...

Oh Depression Where art Thee; The apple falls not far from the Tree. The Machete is not for Thee; For surely you will Fall. Out-Out damn spot! Love really does conquer All.

googleexpert said...

Im thankful for the article. Great.

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