Metaphorical Misery

I wrote this poem in the span of just moments – something that rarely happens. And why? Because someone was trying to save me from my depression and anxiety. I write about my depression often, but never have I written about it like this. There is no story to this poem – just expression. 

they romanticize it –
call it van gogh cuttin’ off his ear
then paintin’ healthy
green wheatfields underneath upset skies –
say it’s the last autumn leaf fallin’
to the damp grass because
everything must fall before
being reborn better –
claim it’s bees seekin’ flowers in your garden
only to create crystallized honey
so sweet rotten

they call it beautiful like –
give it a poetic name
and it’ll be good enough
when you swaddle yourself in your grey duvet
in the dull shuttered morning light

mine is this way –
they use fanciful language and
tear open my body to love
the depression right out of me
they make me a metaphor –
call me persephone beggin’ for freedom –
all exhausted cliche and comparisons
to something i’ll never add up to

when really –
it’s just van gogh in wheatfields
weary leaves being raked
sour honey thrown out and
broken greek myths strangled
in a cloud of existence and
surrender

 

(All copyrights to this poem are mine. Please do not republish or take without permission. This is original work and should not be plagiarised.)

Pushing Up

You and I, we wasted our time
on saints and sinners
and garageband beginners.
When sunset clouds didn’t mesmerize
you anymore, you started counting
the pulse points behind my knees.

I’m not sure it’s what you wanted,
but it’s what you got stuck with.

I buried your memories
beneath the daisies
because that’s where my mother
always told me people go
when they’re never coming back.

I’m not naive enough to believe
that anymore but
I thought this way,
I could find something beneath
the gunshot heartbeat
you tried to start within my chest.

I’m trying to translate the pattern
of prints you left on my skin
into a language I will later call
Stutters –
something a young girl can love
and think is unique to her
and then slowly get it trained out of her
and then cynically reject it
over and over and

over again.

Please Stop Telling Me My Degree Will Be Useless

Being a college student sucks. At times, I think, oh I could drop out and still make it big. But alas, life just doesn’t work like that for all of us. So I sit in classrooms, toiling away, learning about how to write a good poem, learning about writing and literature, and talking about politics.

Because, yes, I’m a Creative Writing major. So okay, even with college, I may not make it big. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.

You might say, but you don’t need college to be a writer. You might say, but who wants to read poetry anyway. You might say, why aren’t you majoring in something more practical?

And, oh, how that question irritates me. I don’t need you telling me that what I’m studying isn’t practical. I really just don’t need that in my life. Writing is my passion. Poetry is my passion. Learning about it all and getting to write it in classes is my passion. Instead of studying something ‘practical’ for life (which by the way isn’t really practical at all since most college students aren’t getting hired in their chosen field anyway), I’m studying something that’s ‘practical’ to me. I’m studying something I love, something I can look forward to and be passionate about when I talk to other people.

And yeah, I may not make it big as a writer anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dream. Sure, I may not make it big really ever, but I don’t need to drive a Tesla to be happy. And okay, I may wish for more money in the future, but I’d rather be doing something I love than something I hate for the money.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m comfortable living in this world where I write my poems, work a day job and am completely happy with my life.

I understand that it may take me a while to find a job, settle in to a place, feel comfortable monetarily. I understand that I may struggle. I understand that you think my degree will be useless and I should study something more practical. I understand that underneath all of that taunting exterior, you’re just worried for me and my future. I get it.

I don’t need you to tell me my degree will be useless. Frankly, I already know that. And I’ve come to terms with that.

But I get to go to class every day and love what I’m studying. I get to learn about things I like. I get to learn about things that I’m truly passionate about. And that’s all I really care about. So you can take your teasing and taunting somewhere else.

Because I love my degree, and I don’t need your permission to do that.