Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the
landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home
again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting- over and over
announcing your place
in the family of things.

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?