Tag: poetry

By Miguelina Patxot
My depression is mine.
It’s not to be displayed like China wear.
Not to be expressed like a speech.
Not to be shared like a meal.

It’s solely mine.

Seldom do I show emotion that could be read as weakness.
Not because I’m fake,
not because I’m pretending,
but because not everyone deserves to know that much about me.

The truth of who I am
is not something everyone can handle.
And I don’t expect them to.
I don’t want them to.

This is my burden—
My cross to carry.
Not everyone deserves to see that side of me.

My energy is sacred.
I give it to the ones I choose.
But what I never share—
what I cannot share—
Is my sadness.

This sadness that only escapes in the shower,
when I’m alone.
In the middle of the night,
when sleep won’t come
and the only cure is a quiet, desperate cry.

Sometimes I walk—
just to walk the demons out of me.
They live not only in my past,
but in my present.
They linger,
intrusive,
persistent.

And most days,
when we battle,
I win.

But victory doesn’t mean peace.
These demons cast a shadow over the sunshine of my life—
a darkness so thick
I can barely crawl out of it in time to survive.

Yet somehow,
I do.

Exhausted—
I do.

Out of breath—
I get up.
I smile another smile.
Exhale another heavy breath.
And live—
to love again.

Still, the darkness whispers:
You are not woman enough.
Not mother enough.
Not enough.

The weight on my chest
is nothing compared to the noise in my head.

As a mother,
I feel like a failure.
I have not done enough.
I have not loved enough.
I have not been enough.

As a wife,
I feel the same.
I have not done enough.
I have not loved enough.
I have not learned enough.

Sometimes I wonder—
was this blessing wasted on me?
Do I deserve the life I have?
The joys I’ve lived?
The love I’ve been given?
The moments we’ve shared?

Sometimes I wonder
Has my life been a waste?
Do I deserve the love I get?
The warmth of their hugs?
The acts of kindness?
The laughs we’ve shared?

As dark days shade a cast over my thoughts, all I can do is wait til the torment of this sadness
passes by like clouds crossing a tired sky.