A sign on the door to the hospital read
"STOP IT OR COP IT...

How the softness of grief gives way to anger.
There is no crying but there is this feeling...

I keep my temper but I am angry.
I save my arguments for in the shower...

That pivotal moment you decide for the first time...
You grapple with your urges and find it within...

I walked every avenue of avoidance just to find...
Everytime I shut down the experience it resurfaced...

It's the song I had on repeat when I was broken.
The one I kept going back too...

I am not OK.
I haven't been OK in a long time...

My love got swept up in the wind and rain but it...
When the storm subsided and the stillness came my...

That's the thing about depression
it keeps coming back...

Everytime grief entered I went into another room.
A door, a window, the whole house and its gardens...

My self-love is circumstantial.
My self-worth particularized by events...

Scars are relics I touch with reverence.
Fingers traverse across these marks...