“The Tides of Myself”

A moment of self-reflection

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Anger flares, Depression fades —
Or does she linger, a shadow in the passenger seat,
Waiting, watching, for her turn at the wheel?
She’ll return, I know she will.

That fear never dies.
For now, anger, she drives,
Until “normalcy” crawls back into my skin.
I eat again, the food no longer curdles in my throat.

But did anger truly vanquish depression?
Or does it merely pause,
Taking turns, each emotion needing a break from the relentless cycle?
Is this the calm between storms,
Or the eye of the hurricane?
How can I feel peace when I don’t know what comes next?
Am I truly better?

My words —
No, my poems —
They stir concern in those around me,
As if they see what I’ve only just begun to grasp:
This need, this ache,
For validation,
To be seen, to be heard in my struggle.
Why does this recognition feel so foreign?
Have I not met her before?
And yet she clutches me tight,
And I could weep,
Because my poetry has done something,
Reached somewhere deep.