Lannie Stabile
When Depression Talks Over Me
When I said I was just beginning to heal,
I meant pieces of my past have been breaking off
in painful, messy ways,
and I thought the cobbles and pebbles
would bind together to form neat stepping stones
so, I would know where the hell I'm going
But they've washed away in a flood of self-deprecation
I am honestly rubble at this point
A body pile that was once shelter,
was once woman
with a doorbell and hands and Imposter Syndrome
Don't waste your time rifling through this chaos
If you’re looking for a way in,
just know, the door did not survive the storm
When I said I could breathe again,
I meant my body has unwedged itself from beneath a boulder
It is damaged and flatter than any tone I can dredge up
when I tell you, “I’m just taking it day by day”
I am salt and flour and sugar
I am built from three levels
of a special kind of perdition,
rolled into my own stubborn boulder
with a self-centered center
Then stretched from one end of the earth to the other,
my skin thinning every time I realize I’m not a perfect anything,
until you can finally see through me
When I said I recently learned how to cry,
I meant my emotions tried to drown me in my own fucking sea
I was not born a social animal,
and I've never learned to talk to boats or fish or sirens
Anything that might carry me to the gasping shore
So, here I am, choking on a petty memory,
as the tide rushes down my throat
I remember the first time I unhinged my jaw,
vomiting the swollen stories,
watching them gurgle in the open air
I wanted to swallow them down again, like eggs,
whole and white and weak
I thought, if I was lucky, maybe they would lodge there,
in that perfect space between mind and gut,
and I would finally have a physical reason to collapse
When I said I was starting to feel like myself again,
I meant in the night, I met a monster who looked so much like me
that when she offered up some rest,
it felt natural for her to slip into these dark, weary veins
I licked a shattered mirror once,
searching for the flavor of pieces
that could no longer recognize
their misanthropic edges
She, rather I, tasted like teeth and knees
I’ve tried washing my mouth out with carbonated therapy,
but her, rather my, desperation lingers
When I said the future looked brighter,
I meant I’ve been hurling toward an angry star, combusting all along
I meant pieces of my past have been breaking off
in painful, messy ways,
and I thought the cobbles and pebbles
would bind together to form neat stepping stones
so, I would know where the hell I'm going
But they've washed away in a flood of self-deprecation
I am honestly rubble at this point
A body pile that was once shelter,
was once woman
with a doorbell and hands and Imposter Syndrome
Don't waste your time rifling through this chaos
If you’re looking for a way in,
just know, the door did not survive the storm
When I said I could breathe again,
I meant my body has unwedged itself from beneath a boulder
It is damaged and flatter than any tone I can dredge up
when I tell you, “I’m just taking it day by day”
I am salt and flour and sugar
I am built from three levels
of a special kind of perdition,
rolled into my own stubborn boulder
with a self-centered center
Then stretched from one end of the earth to the other,
my skin thinning every time I realize I’m not a perfect anything,
until you can finally see through me
When I said I recently learned how to cry,
I meant my emotions tried to drown me in my own fucking sea
I was not born a social animal,
and I've never learned to talk to boats or fish or sirens
Anything that might carry me to the gasping shore
So, here I am, choking on a petty memory,
as the tide rushes down my throat
I remember the first time I unhinged my jaw,
vomiting the swollen stories,
watching them gurgle in the open air
I wanted to swallow them down again, like eggs,
whole and white and weak
I thought, if I was lucky, maybe they would lodge there,
in that perfect space between mind and gut,
and I would finally have a physical reason to collapse
When I said I was starting to feel like myself again,
I meant in the night, I met a monster who looked so much like me
that when she offered up some rest,
it felt natural for her to slip into these dark, weary veins
I licked a shattered mirror once,
searching for the flavor of pieces
that could no longer recognize
their misanthropic edges
She, rather I, tasted like teeth and knees
I’ve tried washing my mouth out with carbonated therapy,
but her, rather my, desperation lingers
When I said the future looked brighter,
I meant I’ve been hurling toward an angry star, combusting all along
Biography
Lannie Stabile, a Detroiter, likens the process of creative writing to spanking ketchup: grueling, but necessary. Works can be found, or are forthcoming, in The Hellebore, Rose Quartz Journal, Cauldron Anthology, Monstering, and more. She is penning a novel and chapbook, and recently became Project Manager of Barren Magazine.
Twitter handle: @LanniePenland |