This poem is shared in solidarity with every woman who feels like there are days when she just can't bear to get up, when all she wants to do is go back into her dreams.
This poem is shared in solidarity with every woman who feels like there are days when she just can’t bear to get up, when all she wants to do is go back into her dreams.
try not to be disappointed
that the world still ticks on, unaffected.
Collect the minutiae of the morning,
flow with it
if you can.
Convince yourself that
the greasy grassiness of the carpet between your toes
won’t be so bad,
that it won’t remind you of the artificialness of
everything and everyone,
and will only be a minor reminder to
Dot a page with alphabets
refusing to cohere.
When it’s time for lunch chew
ragged paper chunks of discarded drivel
your feelings are too abstract to be eaten.
If by now, you aren’t ready to give up
on the pretense of life,
Else, like me,
go back to bed.
At least dreams are not so insolently
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, when I was struggling emotionally. I don’t know if this experience can be labelled clinical depression – I’ve never been diagnosed professionally. And while I’m in a better state of mind nowadays, I still occasionally have days when I feel “out of it.”
I wrote this poem for myself. I never intended to share this part of myself with the world. I’ve always felt the need to never let the mask slip, to always appear happy, no matter what I’m going through.
But recently, a couple of friends shared honestly about their own struggles, and I was inspired by their ability to let themselves be vulnerable. So, I’m taking the leap as well.
And to all my sisters, who feel like this, I see you. And I am with you.
Image Via Unsplash
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