I've battled depression for years
Holding the tears
Fretting with fear for future,
apprehension for present, and
Regret for past missteps.
I've sat in my room,
Shades drawn and
Moody music on.
But I am not here to talk about depression.
I've held pills in my hand,
The weight of them strangely more noticeable than
When they were in the bottle.
I thought about the gun under my roommate's bed.
But I am not here to talk about suicide.
Today I cried for the first time in years
And the tears fell heavily, felt heavenly
As they ran down my face. As well they should,
Being that they were so inspired.
But I am not here to talk about being sad.
No, this is not an emo poem;
This is not a pity poem;
This is not a woe-is-me poem.
Ladies and gentlemen,
THIS is a redemption poem,
An ascension poem
Because a weight has been lifted,
Emotions sifted and the bad falls away
Like the chaff.
Truth has been told,
No longer to withhold my forgiveness,
Which was only truly withheld
By my pride anyway.
I once was lost but now I see;
Once was blind but now I'm found and
Though it may not have been that profound,
Those words resound like a thunder pound:
I'm sorry; forgive me; I love you.
The last phrase repeats in my head,
But it is not the echo of my own voice
I hear so clearly.
And though I know it's not enough,
All I can say through choked breath is