“The night we sat in your room and talked about what it meant to be empty
was the night I realized I no longer was.
The cold cement walls colored the air gray,
but the tips of my fingers changed them like a mood ring
from green to bluish green to purple to blue
and you told me you were jealous I was not in that place anymore.
I said thank you, but what I really wanted to tell you
is that sometimes it is better to stay consistently black. Watching the rain water the roadways today,
my emptiness felt like mourning for my former self
who turned the roadways soft because I loved too roughly.
It reminded me of the change in my backseat
that we saved in a jar with sober eyes like moonshine,
planning trips with quarters. The moment I met you, I thought my depression was cured
because I worried about you more than myself.
I cashed in the change when we broke up,
kept the fifty dollars,
and left the jar on your doorstep
for all of the times you made me hit the floor so hard
I broke the sound barrier. I did everything right. In class today, I learned that depression often forms because of loss,
but even when we uncover our lost possessions,
depression remains.
It is so easy to keep recycling soot
and smearing the remnants on others.
And the cycle repeats until our organs
are too covered to care. All of the places that gave me comfort
now just give me an escape
to pretend that my life hasn’t been buried beneath me.
And I am so proud of myself for making it.
I know now that empty is a synonym for too full.
And still, the colors outside change like broken bones. I did everything right.
I thought I did everything right.”
when i’m an old lady i want to be one of those women that has a house full of potted plants & weird rocks & crystals with a cluttered garden that just looks after her animals & paints & minds her own business with her crazy hair. And i’ll go visit my friends to have tea & they’ll be happy too
