Wednesday, June 29, 2016


Summer is for bare hands popping bubbles and tossing balloons;

For bare feet feeling the soft green grass;

For bare legs that want to show off a year’s worth of work;

For bare bums of babes that refuse to put on clothes on such a beautiful day;

For bare hearts ready for the ultimate summer love.

Why then do I feel so melancholy, depleted, apathetic, meh?
Have I experienced something so special, so sacred that I cannot recover?
Am I going through the grief cycle and finally hit the depression stage, where I sit
Waiting for acceptance?

I’m tired.
I’m tired from the preparations and anticipations of rejection.
I’m burnt out from setting up high walls to protect me from a small word.
There are things to do: chores, errands, but I feel like sitting here doing
I sit here watching YouTube, searching for the meaning of
Depression? Maybe, but I feel fine as long as you don’t ask me to do
Depression, except the pills say I should be fine.
Depression, except yesterday was okay.
A hug, a touch, a familiar voice, I feel alive,
I feel.
Silence brings apathy on a summer’s day where the ground feels warm beneath my
Where I see green grass, blue skies, and children chasing the ice cream truck.

But I see it all from my living room window

and feel it briefly as I walk the dog in and
Barely acknowledging, barely aware, where I feel I could burst into song or


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