I hide
under covers
behind doors
inside houses
that are not big enough to hold my depression.
This body is too small
to confine all this pain
and nothingness.
I am overflowing.
My mind told me to run from life
and this tired body complied.
But now my weary feet need rest.
I am exhausted from the business of evading the truth:
I am not okay.
I don’t know if I ever was.
In this healing process I try to remember
these covers
behind the doors
inside the houses
were not designed to cradle me forever.
11/53
