where i fell

depression is a heavy pair of pants
that stand on their own in front of me
beside my bed
on a rainy day
on a sunny day
to be honest,
i never looked out the window

OR
i sat here
like a bed of flowers
in the shade
by cold grey memories
and thoughts of nominal motivation
writing the story of my life
in my head

with a limp hand
a pencil not a pen
worn out eraser 
skipping the best parts
hurting myself
on the worst parts
a suicide note
and even that page is blank...

every casual thought stalked by
a scarier, more critical comment
(thinking) (in) (parentheses) (?)
(..) (...) (..)

if this is where i fell,
how did i
ever
get back up?

life’s too short (but it’s enough)

life's too short
but it's fulfilling enough
like getting lost in your mind
while your feet sit buried in the sandbox
in the backyard,
the thought of flying away on a turtle
because you learned turtles hatch from eggs
in the sand was somehow magical
so you wonder why
the sandbox now has beetles and holes and millipedes...

life's too short
but it's meaningful enough
to know that you can suffer the saddest sad
a blue-soaked towel sagging under heavy eyes
stealing heat from your armpits and ribs
that you can turn around, fill with sand
and shape into
statues and castles and bridges away from here,
collapsing as you step off,
feet on new land

life's too short
because snowflakes, dance recitals, and moons
don't last nearly long enough,
and christmas only happens once a year,
but even as the snail leaves its shell
after it is gone,
you can still hold the ocean to your ear.