At the time, Michael McDonald’s “I Keep Forgettin’" was racing about in my head. I have audio for this, but I’m much too shy to share it here.

“Miss Depression"

messy in her approach
to me, we sit in a
quiet room searching for
answers to too-full-of pain
questions. I watch her hazel
eyes bounce up and down,
intent on every query,
gainfully willing to pull
at my paper heart.
fragile as it is, I still have
time to love her.

in the cozy arms of
secrets, we have shared
our shameful pasts,
balled them up,
and threw them out
with yesterday’s garbage.
there’s no need to speak of them,
not in any way. depression
has tapped at our
souls and along with it,
came anxiety.
I am not interested in
shaking the hand of either.

so, I flit between the smiles
of a broken torso, hanging
at the syrupy sweet
words that drip from
her mouth. we do not
acknowledge the awkward
pants rising from
our throats. disguised
as pain, another day walks
in, struts past our
bold eyes, and betrays
us again.

we were never prepared.

©Tremaine L. Loadholt 26February16

Written by

I’m more than breath & bones, I’m nectar in waiting — Owner ACG •Editor PSILY •Writing for the cosmos. •

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