I don’t always know who I am,
but I know I’m not the kind of girl
who can be contained
in thick black eyeliner
& lace underwear.
I’m not audacious enough
to know what I want
& what I am made of.
The anxiety
of being looked at,
of being looked into,
can make me fold into myself.
I am still learning I am too many
things to explore all at once,
& unfolding
is a petal-by-petal process.
I remember the young girl I used to be,
sitting on my father’s lap,
his chin resting on top of my head,
his newspaper folded
the same way every day,
a girl with inexhaustible longing
for more—more of what?—
who was told who to be
& when to behave.
The girl I am today
is still eager for fire,
& still terrified to burn.
I once played a game of
“let’s pretend to be
anything but me”
& wrapped my leg over the back
of a motorcycle, hoisted myself
onto the cracked vinyl seat,
& the hot air ran its fingers
through my hair &
fumbled my budding breasts shaped
like unopened lotus blooms.
Guilt, euphoria,
& dim apprehension
stirred in this temporary wild girl,
as I tried to imagine
the woman I would become
in twenty & some years.
Would I become someone soft
whose arms are an oasis
or would my tongue cut & terrify?
I’ve learned since,
that I’m sometimes
wicked, broken, & lost—
& sometimes
I live my life with a chattering passion,
& also with devotion & charity.
I’m a jigsaw puzzle
still waiting to be solved.
I’ve come to accept
the dry, parched desert
inside of me.
If they cut me open
they’d find the Sahara.
Sometimes, the world
gets so big so fast
that I can shrink
& fall through the cracks
like an ant.
When the night is furrowed,
the clouds are bruised
plums, I’ve come to accept
that I will turn in circles,
until I no longer
know where it is in this world
I can hide.
I dream that I can no longer feel
my own flesh, my hard-jutting bones,
the soft places, folds & crevices.
I become plenty of nothing.
My changes are like
the motion of the moon:
one night, a crescent cupped gently
like an open hand, the next, a round
cast iron skillet that might break you.
I will remember
that the moon
has her cycles,
& so do I:
continuous in my
waxing and waning.
Outside the window, a breeze comes up,
a phantom thing
from out of nowhere,
& blows seeds
from an acacia tree. I hear a motorcycle,
& I see a wild, wild, girl hoisted
onto the cracked vinyl seat,
the hot air running its fingers
through her hair. & I want to tell her
that I still don’t know what I want
& what I am made of.
Sometimes, I am an oasis.
Sometimes, my tongue cuts & terrifies.
But I’m okay—even when I’m
wicked, broken, & lost, I
live my life with a chattering passion,
& also with devotion & charity.
*** An excerpt from Happy, Okay?: Poems about Anxiety, Depression, Hope, and Survival
Confront Depression, Anxiety, Grief, and Loss through Poetry
Are the usual depression books helping you find a path to healing? No? Try this poetry collection especially for those dealing with mental illness and for people closest to them.
Create hope for the future. Paloma is faking it. On the outside, she’s A-Okay. She’s electrified at work, there is a cadence in her step as she walks her dog, she posts memes on Facebook, and she keeps up with most relationships. Looks can be deceiving, however. Inside, Paloma is just going through the motions, and she feels like things are spiraling out of control. But when things are at their darkest, dawn arrives with clarity and focus, and with it, healing. Paloma learns to value small glimmering moments of joy rather than searching for constant happiness, thus building hope for her future.
A manifesto for life. Happy, Okay?: Poems about Anxiety, Depression, Hope, and Survival is not simply a narrative spun in verse by a masterful poet. It is an invitation to readers to shake off the stigma and silence of mental illness and find strength in the only voice that matters: your own. It can be an electric roadmap to healing and a manifesto for wholeness.
In this inspiring and heartwarming book, you will:
Understand how to make happiness a decision, even when you don’t feel it in your bones
Find out how to exercise patience and self-acceptance
Attract hope and purpose back into your life
Fans of Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur, The Witch Doesn’t Burn in this One by Amanda Lovelace, Depression & Other Magic Tricks by Sabrina Benaim, Our Numbered Days by Neil Hilborn, or Nothing is Okay by Rachel Wiley will love Happy, Okay? by M.J. Fievre.