Insert Sad Ass Title Here

Your suitemate said you might be.

You wanted to laugh in her face,

But you kept it inside.

Because grandma said black folk don’t get depressed.

Your mama says you don’t sound the same over the phone.

But she’s not even around to know what the fuck you

Should and shouldn’t sound like.

“Ma, I’m just tired.”

“Yeah well, you sound dead.”

You didn’t talk to your mama for two months.

Some days you don’t have the energy to fake it.

So you sleep through your classes.

And wake up only when you know you’re alone

So you don’t have to paint on a smile.

Every night you say a silent prayer before going to sleep.

Your prayer is simple.

You ask for a tomorrow.

Then you ask for a tomorrow better than your today.

Then you pray for everyone you love.

Then you pray for forgiveness

For not actually wanting tomorrow.

You sit down one day and write a poem about what you’re feeling.

Because once the aching reached your fingertips,

The only way to get it out was to put it into words.

So you write this poem

Then read it aloud at an open mic only to find that ain’t shit poetic about it.

Why?

Because, poems will end.

But this, whatever it is, won’t