Tuesday, April 18th, 2017

zimena: Cross-country skier Johannes Høsflot Klæbo looking even more gorgeous than usual. (Scenery - Sundown)
This poem might be a little upsetting, maybe. At least it was hard for me to write, because I had to put a number of things to words that I've never quite dared to think of in this much detail until now. Perhaps it's not how I feel right now; perhaps not even most of the time... but sometimes I'm in this state, or something similar to it.

Also, the idea for this poem fell into my head about 5 days ago, but I wrote most of it today. Just so you can see that getting this out might have been a process of sorts in itself. Feel free to skip if you don't want to read depressive and sad stuff, though.


Alone among people.
Safer that way.
Keeping my thoughts to myself.
My pain hidden inside.
Alone in my own mind.
Unable to flee.
Trying to maintain the illusion
Of normality; contentedness.
Alone while gathering the pieces
Of broken dreams and emptiness.
If that’s all that remains
There’s nothing left
But sadness.
And that intricate mask
Carefully carved to appear
Happy and carefree
But I’m still alone
Breaking on the inside.
Cracks appearing; expanding
In each layer of
Everything that is me.
Except the mask.
Still whole; still undamaged.
Because I’ve always been told
That depression is fantasy.
Shameful lies and nonexistence.
And so I’ll always be alone.
Falling; shattering.
Clinging to the hope
That’s slowly slipping from my grasp.
Alone, but not lost.
Just fighting.

September 2017

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