At the Bridge


Full for the child who is not
Healthy for those who’ve seen their bodies rot
Safer than the wife who is beaten every night
Being grateful for what you’ve got

Physically whole with all ten fingers and toes
Without pity—you invisible illness
And your family has not died off yet
Feel shameful, if not so blessed

True disposition no one would guess
Deny it’s ever mattered; take the numb-the emptiness
Still able to smile big, all cannot be so bad
All cannot be eclipsed by a few dark thoughts we’ve all had

You are with a routine for the ones always uprooted
And you grieve for every lie someone graciously accepts
Be at peace for those who only know unrest
And on your way in silence,
From those frantic about death


I almost threw the drawing of this painting away. It may not be the best but it turned out better than the disaster I thought it was going to turn into…The poem was written in a way to show how easy it is for me to minimize my depression and to align myself with the idea I should have nothing wrong with me no matter how bad it feels or how life threatening it may be to ignore. It’s basically about denial and trying to explain away things that really shouldn’t be. And maybe it makes no sense, but it’s here anyway.


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Filed under Art, poems

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