By: Adam Levon Brown
I wear scarves like sleeves
because I could not, would not
feel my emotional headlock of grief.
My teeth are broken and missing
because I refused to acknowledge
that I, too, feel pain.
My back is damaged
from putting too much weight
on the bar of pseudo-toughness.
There is a mark in every corner
of my being which proclaims
keep going/stop going simultaneously.
Depression, I keep close, like ice
to icebergs, I am a frigid, freezing mess
who turns the temperature up just to stay alive.
The mirror glares at me with remarks
which Medusa’s snakes yearn to crawl
on to, nihilism portrays its ill-kept scalp.
I blink every time the lights flicker
and pour myself darkness in cups
of mutual disdain which yells at me to lift weights.