I want to say,
my depression is an angry deity, a jealous god
a thirsty shadow that wrings my joy like a dishrag
and makes juice out of my smile.
I want to say,
getting out of bed has become a magic trick.
I am probably the worst magician I know.
I want to say,
this sadness is the only clean shirt I have left
and my washing machine has been broken for months,
but I'd rather not ruin someone's day with my tragic honesty
so instead I treat my face like a pumpkin.
I pretend that it's Halloween.
I carve it into something acceptable.
I laugh and I say,
"I'm doing alright."