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Poetry for 61.0 Depression

Let’s start the day over.

With me

Groping for a ghostly membrane

from 1700 miles away

Dancing with specters in my kitchen

Romancing the walls.

Wth you somewhere,

anywhere,

who cares?

Because this empty glass

could be full

if I closed my eyes.

I’m as safe

as you’re far away

as she keeps her distance,

while a girl throws rocks at a wall

too tall

for her eyes to see

the end of

you and me

and him and her

because only so much can survive a 20 second

night.

Shine your eyes towards the light.

This won’t be alright.

—-Tegan, age 17 (untitled)

Stuck In Bed

I don’t want to be lying in this bed anymore.

At first I was tired,

And I fell onto the mattress

And enveloped myself in the embrace of a blanket

As if it was a welcoming sea of comfort.

And now,

I’ve been in the water too long,

And my skin is becoming pruney

With the regret of the things I’m not doing.

I lie here feeling stagnant,

As if every second I remain immobile

Renders motion more impossible

My inertia is so high.

I feel so heavy,

As if the simple act of getting up

Would be herculean,

And that every step after that would be

Like Sisyphus and his boulder.

Even if I got up, I would never be up,

I would be still down in the vertical position,

And it would be exhausting.

—-Clara, age 18

Twoofing

I am no demon.

NO monster come to bleed you dry,

I shall do no such act.

Without your consent.

I am not lusting,

No cravings overriding my actions.

I am content.

To your untrained eye.

I am no addict.

No enslaved hemophiliac.

I need it not.

Within reason.

You have nothing to fear.

No fanged creature to hide from.

You’ll be perfectly fine.

After I examine your throat.

—-Tegan, age 16

embodiment of a thud

I am the embodiment of a thud.

My gut is filled with rocks

That drag me down

Into the ocean I’ve already drowned in.

My face sags, propping it up is too exhausting.

I feel like a beetle on my back,

Six legs slowly churning the air for something sturdy

Finding nothing but the emptiness

Where I lack conviction

And the space

Where my courage used to be

—-Clara, age 18

the blue chair

when the sacrifice of this life

exceeds that of other lives

we get

very old fast

the wrinkles of our age come out

a peeling blue chair on a fire escape

and we settle by the edge on that chair

till the legs snap

the pattern we make

is the sum of this life whose pavement

we have just met

(for my father)

—-Orb486, age 14

Courage (is More than a Cowardly Dog)

I learned what courage is.

It’s when you stop and count your scars.

The emotional, the physical, the indifferent.

It’s when you realize you lived through the worst

and know you’ll do it again.

It’s when gravity pulls you down so hard

the soul is ripped right out of you,

But you kept your head held high through it all.

It’s knowing the people around you have to hate you

because they love you.

It’s when you go through hell with someone,

no matter if they be friend, foe or stranger.

It’s coming out on the other side,

harmed but intact.

It’s the little things like smiles and band-aids.

It’s the big things that earn purple hearts.

It’s what all of us need and want,

when we’ve had it all along.

—-Tegan, age 16

Omniscient

You were there when I lost my trust.

Maybe not right there,

maybe off laughing with your friends.

But you were there,

unaware

that you were to become a strange twist of a

girl’s

imaginary friend.

You were there when I started lying.

Giant, dangerous, glittering

Cobwebs spinning from my mouth.

But you were there,

thrumming along,

giving the strictly sickly gossamer girl strange

glances.

You were there when I decided

I wanted you out of my head and onto a page

and from that page into the real world.

And you were there,

watching me swallow my pride

and my spiders,

to clear my mouth

and apologize.

—-Tegan, age 17

Echo

My palms are stained

With decayed racy days

When sickness was imminent,

Distant

Ignorable.

But all this rot

Is making my fingers bleed,

My joints stiffen

And my heart wheeze.

Now I’m tiptoeing

Around words with meanings

I’m not ready to say.

It was all supposed to stop when we walked away.

—-Tegan, age 17

Mother’s Day

Her breaths were deep

And soft, and clean,

And when she slept

Dreams kissed her face softly

For night after night their love

Vanquished the monsters under the bed,

Smoothed her hair and tucked in her blankets

She strode forward without fear of falling

Not because she had never tripped–

But because there had always been hands to catch her,

And dust her off,

And point true north

As she once again trusted

Her own feet.

She saw the world with hope,

For the world they had made for her

Was one woven of boundless dreams,

And their lives whispered: courage

Whenever she thought to settle with “reality”

Their love surrounded her heart

Sheltered it, protected it: a womb–

Filling in any fault lines of fracture

With faith in  a happy ending

Her eyes looked fare across oceans,

But only because she knew so well

The lines of love etched into the faces

Of those who would forever stand beside her.

She could love herself

Because they loved her,

And she loved them.

And to birth this unspoken channel,

Coursing cross time and land and sea

Is the power of a mother–

Is the power of my mother.

—-Clara, age 18

She’s Known Her for So Long

She paces.

Anxious

Awaiting.

Countenance telling all.

A mistake.

Where did she go wrong?

Could this have been prevented?

Minutes.

Hours.

Days.

No one knowing.

No one caring,

Until now.

A year too late.

No cure

for no hope.

Goodbyes left unsaid.

Too attached to accept the end.

11:11 p.m.

Just like her wishes asked for.

She stops pacing.

The Earth, static.

She screams while crumbling to the floor.

Her body grows cold,

colder than desired.

White coats coaxing

the impossible.

She knows it’s over,

but she can’t deal with it.

One last look at her.

Longest drive home.

Empty house.

Her clothes strewn about,

She can’t look at them.

She takes up Jack Daniels,

her enemy.

Pink and white ovals,

her best friends.

She holds them, rolls them on the floor.

She rolls them down,

Taking shots in-between.

She understands now.

Her warm hands

caress her cooling skin.

She feels it all.

she feels nothing.

She feels her.

—-Tegan, age 16

Freezeframe

That moment

This one we’re reviewing

Was when the apocalypse started.

Two little girls.

Too old to be told what to do.

Too young to know what they should.

In that blink of an eye.

Everything changed.

—-Tegan, age 16

(not a poem, but message to teen self)
“It’s going to get better, and then it’s going to get worse. Don’t get discouraged and don’t stop moving forward. It will get better again.” —-Claire, age 22

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Author:TALKBACK4Teens

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