I wrote this poem in December of 2022.

I try my best to take delight in my life and enjoy everything good
but fuck it, if I have to be honest with myself-
sometimes the depression gets the best of me
and I drink and write sad and pathetic things
about how I want to cut my wrists and watch the blood leave my body
maybe I’m just embracing the cliche of being a tortured artist
or my darkness needs a place to fucking go-
at least I’m now acknowledging it instead of suppressing it-
and I almost spiral into a cycle of self loathing
but instead say “fuck it- this is who I fucking am sometimes”-
An emo girl caught up in her trauma and hormones-
Wait-how did this poem turn into–
Oh yeah-the prompt delight
well whatever this is its the best drunk and depressed me has to give
to my creativity tonight