Desperation, draw me not like magnets pull
But once again let saneness possess me in full
Do not ravage me like a loin upon its prey
Block not the seeds of thoughts that come to save the day
Like limbs of a tree in the presence of a gale force wind
The heavy weight of thy encumbrance makes me bend
As a cookie being crushed underneath a fisted hand
Sapping my power, I become a broken man
Hope beyond my greatest self, suddenly appears
Dashing all desperate thoughts, releasing all my fears
Focused like a camera’s lens, my eyes see a way
Attitude and mindful thought, must have their say
Ideals forming one by one, possibilities
Desperation lost this time, healed is my choice of realities
Being pulled under.
Like a lily pad going ‘boop.’
Bobbing around, then nothing.
No amount of clearing my mind will undo it.
A spider whisper.
He likes me.
Prickling like his legs.
As if I’m in a dome.
Pulled under.
There are other people who have the slobbering feeling under their hair.
Faded out.
Like a pinecone with its edges shaved.
Fingers focusing.
With gripping finger pads that do nothing.
And the kitchen is always a mess of weird things.
Bugs and things.
My edges shaved down and caved in a little.
Grappling under the ice, but there’s no water, just feet of ice.
Someone else used to live here.
He was like a centipede to me.
Everyone is like a centipede to me.
Climbing the walls.
So am I.
Always around in the basement.
Depression.
Is when you are a spider, centipede, lily pad, or pinecone.
And could get crushed any moment.
But you don’t.
Pocket-Gazes
Night depressed—
black spirits, spiders,
demanding, retorting,
an empty vessel, titanic with trauma.
A downturned smile, flagellate,
disillusioned, demoted, disinterested—
dystopian dysmorphia.
Dolls.
Masks.
Spills.
Blood.
Oxygen.
Water.
Decaying. Degrading. Devolving.
Despair, disaster, disappointment—
disappear.
The lexicon collapses inward,
a ladder whose rungs only fall.
Sand sighs. Water shifts.
Hands disembodied.
Faces detached,
checked out.
I flail,
a swimmer drowning in a teaspoon.
Watermelon empathy—
bloated, barren.
A clock face melting, Dalí’s sky.
I am Picasso’s fractured mouth.
I am Van Gogh’s shell-ear,
smashed on the rocks.
Amy Winehouse cries, hollow,
vodka-veined, restrained
inside a music box.
Maya’s muteness.
Florence’s failure.
Mary Seacole’s poverty.
Nightingale’s lamp guttering.
Angelou’s song stilled.
Seacole’s hands trembling empty.
Yet outward—
instead of inward,
instead of into my pocket-gazes—
there might be,
just might be,
a shimmer of stardust,
a touch of moonlight.
Hope, a dot of light
in a cavern of dark.
And yet,
it illuminates the sky.
Never been to jail,
But my thoughts come,
Tattered and confined,
Like the two cellular bars—
That confine me.
Where there once was room for two
Now stands a solitary mast,
On an empty prairie
Whose sole conversation is—
Whispers to the wind
Where we used to laugh,
Now only silence's tyranny rules—
And dead signals from you.
The nights now fold like collars
And I button the silence over my throat
Tightly, chocking...
Enervating.
Storms are normal, they say.
But this came like the devil’s wind—
Stripped the roof, left me clutching splinters.
When I needed your anchor,
I found only static.
Like the noise before the storm
Now these distances are cold—
To the touch,
And without coverage.
Now I teeter,
Rust consuming my base,
Like a diseased splinter.
Should I rush the edge?
And take flight
Or harness my emptiness
On the masts high?
Or medicate to cure—
This disease?
Confined, drink won’t satiate
And hope is a sardonic—
Voice
Should I shout?
So you hear my cry
Or should I stay this way?
Let the signal die
Or stay,
And fight—
The demon in my ceiling?
Or pull the chord…?
I felt it break,
I saw the shards,
the frame hanging limply
in it's wake as it crashed down.
I never wanted anything but her,
so I kept the curtain open.
But now the glass shines, where it was
embedded deep inside my disembodied soul.
I try and try to pick up the pieces
but they cut at my skin.
I struggle through the pain
the glass still shines without her.
I can fix the shards
of the window
but there is nothing
left inside.
I could reach for the pieces
but all that would do is hide the tell-tale tracks
of a poisoned soul cut too deep,
to ever be whole.
The more I try
the more I scream.
That's the price
to ever love again.
Glass scattered
to the mist,
but that's what I get
for feeling this…
I am suddenly walking so much slower.
Drowning in my deepening sadness,
As the autumn leaves shower
Unto me as I feel life is meaningless.
Geese are never all alone.
They live everywhere together.
But I am an ugly gosling always alone.
Meanwhile my family has each other.
Geese are always flying free.
While I live so flightlessly,
They live their lives and just be.
I am on my own and free, but I'm lonely.
Having a run, but not in hand,
Excited for I know my prize is grand.
It’s time to draw, but not from the deck,
I drew too much, now my figure’s a wreck.
Making lines, my soul further in debts,
I add more lines, I like placing bets.
Instead of pounds, I use my own,
A little more cautious, now down to the bones.
A little on edge, for my cover mustn’t be blown,
Acting as stoic as possible,
Expression like stone.
I try and do my best bluff,
But maybe I didn’t try hard enough.
I might tap-out, for luck’s not in my favour,
My turn is overdue, I should’ve signed that waiver.
Knowing if I lose, the cost will be major,
But I’m not too scared,
For my life is something I often wager.
I'm nobody
An empty face
Nothing here anymore
Just a blank space
Wandering the world
Alone and afraid
I catch my reflection
As I watch myself fade
There's nothing inside me
Just an empty black hole
My heart doesn't beat
It's just a charred lump of coal
The world doesn't want me
My family is tired
My friends walked away
Left me fighting this fire
I'm screaming so loud
But not being heard
Slowly fading away
Till I fly Like a bird
Mind's minute mirage may muffle,
But biding by blinding brings burns.
Severely she'll sunder, so scuffle,
'Til tomorrow, tomorrow turns.
Said you could
Hold it; hold fast
Hold me
That you weren't
Scared
Said the storms
Were worse at sea
That you saw
The sadness underneath
That you loved
The taste of smoke and ash
Of the flame
That burns through
Me
Then suddenly it stops –
The mind of much –
But not enough –
It stops to pause in thought.
And blinking by a lifetime,
The thought pause never stops –
Though fate appears a riddle yet unsolved,
Its edges blurred, its pieces hid from view,
By Nature’s grace my worldly needs resolved,
Her gifts like morning rain, both rich and true.
Yet in my heart love’s branches twist and break,
A garden bright but strangely bare of bloom;
Misread affections, words we can’t remake,
Bring shadows creeping through my inner room.
Some pattern weaves itself, unseen, unkind,
A cycle spun of silence, doubt, and fear;
And though my cup is full, it leaves behind
An echo where love’s music should appear.
If heaven grants me every other part,
Why must a puzzle still divide my heart?
pages of haiku confetti in the wind
Is it selfish
to want to be myself?
Even if that self
doesn’t care as much
as who I pretend to be?
Is it selfish
to want help
even though sometimes
I don’t want to help others?
Is it selfish
to be tired of being leaned on
like a tree holding stones?
Even if my trunk has bent
beyond repair?
Am I selfish?
Specific Types of Depression Poems
Read wonderful depression poetry on the following sub-topics:
anxiety, clinical, cope with, dark, deep, hope, inspirational, loneliness, love, metaphor, sad, slam, overcoming, rhyme
and more.
Definition | What is Depression in Poetry?
Poems Related to Depression
distress, downheartedness, unhappiness, desperation, bummer, melancholy, heavyheartedness, heaviness of heart, bottom out, hard times, rainy days,