Most Days

Some days chase me 

Making me run from the Devil himself

Though even the Devil doesn’t make me run as far

Knowing Depression can knock my very breath away

With just one thought.

But some days chase me anyway

Making me some nervous shell

Of the confident woman I pretend to be.

This strong beautiful woman

I’d love to be 

And not look like.

This woman who walks through the flames of Hell

Unscathed save the soot 

Dancing on her bare black shoulders 

Like some invisible cape she earned

Or a badge of honor

Symbolic of her valor.

But some days scratch and claw at my heels

Desperate to draw blood

Though this blood,

I throw fistfuls of gold glitter into

All to fool myself and others this is ichor

Dripping down my chin

Resting between my breasts and filling my mouth.

Yet I stroll forward

Though glass stabs my soles

And my eyes burn from the fumes

Fighting my own Depression most days.

Sanaa Mirz

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