Other peoples’ rhymes and emotions and
bitching
streams into my ears form the Detroit radio
that I hold in such esteem
much like I hold my family and friends, and even
the place
where I come from through I always slip into
such a black mood when I return here.

Oh Lord and Lady help me find the strength to
survive the days between now and when
those words
can burst forth and change everything in an
instant and help me find the strength to not
patronize
my family; they just might understand this time.
Lend me yourself for just this moment.
Help me find the wisdom to do what’s right.

I hate depression and what it does to me. I hate
the feeling of tears brimming under my contacts.
I hate feeling helpless and stuck and isolated and
hating
myself and that ever-growing circle of friends
and family. Is it being depressed or hating
the depression that makes me hide in sleep?

I wonder if I’ll ever solve the
puzzle
of my internal mutually exclusive dichotomies.
My existence on both ends of the spectrum. The wall I
feel between thought and emotion, the hate and love I
feel for myself, the import I place on
dreams
that I can’t hope to ever remember.