Check, double check, triple check, but what do they expect?
They come to me and see, but they are not willing to accept.
I show the truth but people will see what they want to see.
I reflect, but they project, sticking all of their insecurities on surrounding shelves.
Continue to perceive but never working on themselves.
If I am an extension of them, with no body all my own.
I hope to destroy with stone, this glass, like shattered bone.
Black but more.
Your assumptions are presumptuous.
Treat me like you’d treat anyone else.
My skin, my love, my body are not yours to gawk at, to flock to.
You want to grip, grab, grasp at my flesh of flesh.
I am depth. Beneath the skin and body.
I am the spine holding up my ancestor's story.
I am my own original thoughts and interests and emotions.
I am so much more than yours to prod at.
Depression: A One Person Show
Enter stage left
A young individual enters stage left
They look around with a sense of curiosity
Narrator: They wondered when their life had become an act. When a smile was forced and the fleeting happiness of their youth disappears along with the hope that got them there.
They take a seat center stage, look out at the empty theatre, and tears flow down their face. The spotlight is on them and they become uneasy with the pressure of the performance.
Young Individual: Why am I here? No one is here. I am all alone performing for who? Myself?
They look down twiddling their thumbs.
Young Individual: There used to be people here. Where have they gone? I can no longer perform.
The spotlight goes out and the theatre is dark.
Narrator: A young life devoured by the darkness of the world.
Silence rings out in a screeching cry across the theatre, as no one is there to applaud...
Every word I speak is silent because they go unheard.
Lack of volume no but lack of acknowledgement.
My silence echos through my heart the ringing of a thousand bells.
Bells etched from the sorrow in my soul, screetching voluminous, excrutiating despair.
Reach into my mind and the silence becomes you, becomes numbness to the sound.
Blocking out all the thoughts, singing, screaming.
Hints of joy mixed with the blackness of a soul unheard.
Dimmed by the expectations of others.
Why talk if they do not want to hear me.
...and they wonder why I talk to myself.
the madness of my mind
screaming inside my head I can not fathom the world
it is real and tumbling and dishevling my mind
one moment is there and then gone. where did it go
the stillness of one moment is the movement of another
the resistance and pull of the motion of the world is stretching me until I break
I will soon be gone matter that no longer matters
in a million years I will be a star or in 100 maybe a petal of a flower
how ironinc to live a long life and still in the end basically acheive nothing
it will all be gone in an instant
the truth is unfortunate and so are you
Here lies a weak, wilting flower buried beneath the shadows
Seemingly her world is dark, with no hint of sun
No one can fathom her happy highs and sorrowful lows
And this sadness which haunts her can never be undone
Yet, not when she was in her bloom of youth
did this melancholic darkness grab ahold of her so tightly
A happy young flower until she learned of life's truth
Out of naivete she withered, which made her cry nightly
Life is truly unfair and that is an unchangable fact
Unfortunately, little tulip, hydrangeas got the sun that you lacked.