For my poem "On a Tuesday," I delve into the quiet struggle of finding a connection with oneself amid depression. The poem captures the tension between external expectations to "move on" and the inner pull toward honest, albeit dark, self-expression. In this piece, the therapist’s presence highlights the contrast between societal pressures to avoid sadness and the need to confront it to feel grounded. Each line traces a Tuesday therapy session, revealing the weary, yet oddly comforting, rhythm of living with and through one's own darkness.
The clock keeps ticking,
and dust swirls around my eyes.
My body trembles like an autumn leaf—
like the season settling its sadness these past days.
“You shouldn’t stay trapped in that depressed state.
No sad writing, or any blue muse.”
I shift my gaze to her,
but how could I say, this is the only way
I feel close to me?
In the arms of my own doom.
My therapist watches as I bounce my eyes
from wall to wall, trying to escape.
The hour comes—
rushed promises and goodbyes,
the autopilot takes control.
Body mingling with shadows outside.
Depression makes my head hang low,
searching the ground for someone’s lost luck.
But with no luck, I return home—
Hanging a sign:
“Mind is out of order.”
"On a Tuesday" - luna.writes.chaos
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