and UPS tattered sweatshirt, still on at 9:30 in the morning. Deadline to get out of them - before he gets home. Oh, and the migraine has to go with them!
"it's not depression, it's intelligence",
I said as I closed down my computer
pajamas are my best friend
I can always count on them for
comfort.
they never complain
that I have had
unproductive day
or that I have worked them,
worn them,
out and down to the threads
bells are my enemy
they are so rude
and
inconciderate
interupting my crying
sentimental moments
like they have a place
in
my silent ignored world
playing this tag team game
door->phone->door->phone
until I realize I hold the power
and pull the cord and the shades
enemy is now
silent
dark cold memories
are not sadistic
they are
honesty resurfacing
after being so
badly neglected
and mislabeled
in order to appear
healthy
and
normal
I have decided to be Carly Simon
(without the harmonizing offspring)
and
drive straight down
as well
as up
and I will come up
as slow as need
be
I will be fine
with the bleeding
because I am fine with the resulting
scabs
they are a sign of
healing
I had them as a kid
I have them even
now
they leave behind very becoming
scars
needles, pens, and paper
are my doctors
forget about
the pills
and january appointments
no service there
on good days
I can handle the mailbox
and maybe a shower
I know I am on my way out
when the cats,
the dog,
and I
get fed
it really is all about intelligence
which can be a different
kind of depression,
just not dressed in pajamas.
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