the pacing
of the pattern
is getting closer…

how did weeks of
inspired writing
followed by
existential creative despair
turn to days
to maybe hours now?

i’m losing concentration
faster than i’m gaining traction
and i just want to be able to stick to a day
and live it all the way through
without naps interrupting
or needing something to drown out my thoughts…

i keep having impulses to do things–
wanting to sew, but on the days i actually have time,
i sit down to a project;
it all feels so overwhelming
and at the same time meaningless.

it’s hard to battle the depression in your head
when it’s both a foreign invader
and your closest, best friend,
[and also, in many many ways,
just yourself.]

this poem is a mess
but so is my head lately

(and in an hour or two,
i bet you anything
i’ll be fine)