Blue’s Blues

a poem about depression. does it ever fade or will it ever get better? the blue of the sky and the blue of the river and the blue i feel aren’t the same in shade, but maybe one day i will find it a little easier. to live. to exist. without feeling these pangs of emptiness, of sadness.

Happy is foreign on this tongue,
bleeding out softly against a blanket
of gold-drenched skin,
gleaming like stars beneath sunlight. 
I cut it out of the sky and try to fit
it inside me, fill the empty 
bullet holes from the past eleven years.
It’s the year of choosing myself:
the first act is therapy, for the third time.
Maybe this time I can carve the sad
out of my body like a turkey on
Thanksgiving, yank out the meat with
my bare hands, all bloody and dripping.
Body too empty with losing parts of me,
I poured gasoline into my stomach
to feel the burn of being alive.
A barren soul with brown soil eyes,
the colour of dirt and loneliness, I
emptied the sky of its blue of bliss and
held it between my teeth. It’s lodged
between the spaces of my ribs,
sinking into a ghost town.
The blue stains my teeth and tongue,
a splash of stars glittering in daybreak,
a feathers weight settling.

Sumaiya, x

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Sumaiya Ahmed is a freelance journalist and writer, aiming to break down the boundaries of cultural stigma and shame attached to mental health and sexuality within the South Asian culture, and bringing marginalised topics to light.

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