The Architect by Erik Johansson
I draw myself inside out,
the living me uncovered,
uncensored, rooms full of gems
and rotten fruit.
Vulnerable tastes like cheap wine,
the kind that gives indigestion,
a false bravado too drunk
to weigh consequences.
I am of wild dreams, foul words,
heart bleed, civil war between
night monsters and forgiveness,
and a mind that sleeps but never rests.
This blood letting of black ink collects
on white pages, spills around my feet
in an origami hell of crushing frustration.
I don’t know where I will stand after demolition,
when buzzards circle to pluck truth into rumor.
Freedom will leave scars, friends will try to rebirth me
to fit into their acceptance and enemies will gold eye glee.
I am done carrying weight, reorganizing my crazy,
dancing to the tune of suggestions I get over
what I am working through… I am doing all I can
to stand up while falling.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
Dedicated to those who struggle with depression.