You ask what depression’s like for me, and I try to explain
how it comes in a myriad of shapes and shades.
It’s not always a gray cloud hovering over me.
It’s the most vibrant blue in a sky that feels unreachable.
It’s the yolky yellow of eggs sunny side up that my stomach turns at.
It’s a chocolate donut with rainbow sprinkles no longer bringing joy.
It’s amber sunlight extending its hand, while I step back, undeserving of warmth.
It’s an imperceivable scar that only I can read and understand.
It’s the slate gray of my fleece blanket, molding into my skin.
It’s a bug bite making me itch - mocking me left and right.
It’s a sphere of heartache that lingers when I see a child being held.
It’s the deepest emerald in a forest I wish could be my resting place.
It’s a rosy pink, shaped like a smile, that I mimic from others.
It’s a rusted red octagon, lodged in my throat; it hurts to swallow.
It’s a muddy brown, like his eyes, trying to suffocate me.
It’s a decommissioned lighthouse I still swim clumsily toward.
It’s the anchor in your eyes, offering me hope, but there’s no safety.
It’s the lifeless body I try to make move - but what is the purpose?
