This is a poem I wrote about anxiety and depression when waking up in the morning.
I call this one,
Mornings Without Depression.
At first my eyes awaken.
In some mornings I feel already a call.
A call towards the day.
Life has begun.
Wake up,
Dear one,
Quickly,
Rush.
I try to relax her,
But she already feels like she's behind.
Everyone else is doing better than her.
Other mornings,
She's tired.
She says,
Just ten more minutes,
Because she hasn't had time to release all the light from the day before.
It's all built into her muscles and they're holding on tight,
Too tight,
And it's hurting.
So she retreats to her ten minutes more.
Occasionally,
Though,
There are some mornings in which there's no disparaging voice,
Just sounds far off.
Birds do gently falling from leaves onto the earth below.
And me,
In awe of her,
In awe of the sunlight,
In awe of my hands.
I can hear,
I can see,
And despite the scars on my arms,
I can feel.
Wake gently,
Little one.
I will take it slow for you.
The world awaits us,
But the world can wait.
