Tag: sadness

Tale of the Sad Girl and the Sad Boy

As some of you know, I have clinical depression. I treat it with medication and go to therapy, but there’s no magic pill, just as there are no magic words that will ever completely banish my depression. I manage it, and some days are better than others. Today’s not a great day.

Writing helps. This poem showed up and reminded me that I need people in my life, though my instinct is to withdraw and isolate.

Tale of the Sad Girl and the Sad Boy

I’m so sad, she said.
Me too, he replied. Let’s be sad together.
No, that’s a bad idea.
Why is that a bad idea?
Two sad people make exponentially more
sadness…it isn’t just taking your sadness
and mine and combining them–it multiplies and multiples
until you stop counting the tears and start measuring
sadness in lifetimes, entire generations lost
to the darkness with no hope of it ever lifting.

Oh, he said.

Yeah, she said.

And so they parted, with regrets,
but knowing they’d probably made the right decision.


(image credit)

Ebb and Flow

I started a new journal the other day and was freewriting when this poem came. When I’m plugged into the Cosmic Signal, I never know what’s going to bubble to the surface or who’s going to speak.

Ebb and Flow

Already spinning lies, I enter you.

Outside, the world floods with tears
as you open your carefully crafted eyes,
seeing only what you want to see.

We ebb and flow, ignorant of love.

The Good Not Done, The Love Not Given (Classic Poem Series #6)

I was digging through some old poems (by old, I mean written when I was in college, some twenty years ago) and came across this one. This, and the others I’ve posted in the series, are classic only to me, and I’ll admit calling this the “classic poem series” makes me laugh. 

I remember the context of this piece quite well; it was during a painful breakup. The girl about whom it’s written never read the piece (and is highly unlikely to read this post), which is for the best. I also remember a poetry mentor being critical of the poem, suggesting that I revise it more closely with Larken’s work in mind. I didn’t agree with her then…and I still don’t. The line was a jumping-off point and therefore served its purpose.

The Good Not Done, The Love Not Given*

If I counted the times
I blackened others
with my presence,
you would curse the sky
and dig for solace in the earth
you love so well.

You don’t know defilement like I do,
when it becomes a second skin.

I have fought our extinction
for long enough, but I remember
touching you in the right places
at the right times, and your manic
screams that told me I would live forever.

Sex is broken origami now,
paper-thin and disabled.

I could be a Zen master,
so controlled is my breath
when you walk by.

I break into your room later
and place pennies on your sleep-locked eyes.
Outside the night gathers on dark legs,
and I love everything except you.

*from Philip Larken’s “Aubade”