Women Buried
Depression is not easy.
But if I open up about self-harm, please don’t tell me
that it makes it difficult to be my friend.
My mother is not always there for me.
But if I am explaining to you that I miss her, please
don’t call me a brat.
Two women who are gradually becoming buried
underneath heavy concrete
do not need more hate.
They do not need more redness in their brains.
They do not need every button pushed across their stomach and their chest.
They need some kind of a hand to hold,
a flashlight at the end of the cave,
a joy to look forward to.
Turns out that wasn’t you –
And I’ve tried pulling you out with me.
I can only hope somehow you find an air pocket.
Please, just be okay.
—
Heather Boyd is a Southern Californian poet who drinks a lot of caffeine and just wants equality and peace in the world. She has been published in Aberration Labyrinth, Sisyphus Quarterly, and Lummox Press as well as posting work on her Tumblr page heatherfeatherpoetry.tumblr.com.
