Stephanie Bennett-Henry puts depression into poetry.
Don’t tell me you know
about giving up
until getting out of bed
feels like a battle
you didn’t get to suit up for.
Don’t say you know
about giving up
until you stop giving a shit
whether you wash your hair or not
and it doesn’t bother you to say that.
Don’t pretend you have a clue
until you know right from wrong
and choose wrong just for
the fuck of it, just because
that moment is all that matters
and you’re stuck in it
like consequences didn’t exist.
When you stop talking
to everyone who ever mattered
because you just don’t have
anything worth saying anymore.
When you remember yourself
before you stopped living
and you roll your eyes
like even then you didn’t matter.
When your whole world fell
a long time ago,
nothing phases you now.
You sit there dazed over
at the disasters that don’t…
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