You’re gentle and kind
Your love is divine
Your breath is what keeps me alive
The touch of your skin
From the brush of your hand
Knots me again and again
When I’m not feeling touchy
It’s your smile that undoes me
And keeps me from drifting away
At times I am distant
But know that I’m listening
To all the words you have to say
So keep this in mind
When I can’t find the time
To express love in all of these ways
My favorite part about creating Depressed House Husband has been connecting with readers and writers. Not just on my own site. I love checking the blogs I follow and discovering new people. Engaging in comment conversations.
I’m not on Facebook or Instagram, and Twitter likes don’t move me, but I swell when I see a like on my posts. Because everything I share here is true and authentic.
In addition to the entire blogging community, a special thanks to everyone who shares their story of mental illness. It was hard seeing anything clearly at my lowest point, but knowing there were others suffering as I was would have been huge. Your stories help me and so many others in ways that experts can’t. All of you are a big reason why I wanted to start blogging.
Thanks again! I’m honored to join such a wonderful group of people. Some of my favorites I’ve found in my month of blogging:
Just let me go
At least let me try
Yes I can
I know I can
So what if I fail
Maybe you’re right
Of course I’m safe
It’s not dangerous
I’ll be careful
I have to
I need to
I’m going to
I don’t feel good about it
But better than if I don’t
I can’t wait any longer
I want to
Let me get this out of the way. After one attempt, I’m done drawing pictures for my blog. Moving on.
Like all writers, I have a ton of incomplete works on my laptop. Some I’ll come back to. Others ran out of steam when I realized I had nothing more to give. Poetry isn’t like that. I can free a thought or an idea from my mind with one line. Word count doesn’t matter. Chapter length is irrelevant.
I’ve only shared one poem on the blog and I was sweating as I touched it up and posted it. Until last year I’d never written a poem down. A concept or a couple of lines would pop in my head, then I’d let it go. I didn’t think they were worthwhile or good enough. Not even for myself. But the only qualification for writing poetry is meaning. Meaning for yourself. Others may read it and not see anything, but they’ll probably see what you’ve described or a totally different meaning.
When I first wrote my poems down, I worried about the number of lines or syllables and rhyming patterns. What the hell is a haiku? Then I found free form poetry, which sounds silly because it’s just poetry without rules or guidelines. But I needed this affirmation. Some of my poems rhyme. Some don’t. Some of my poems have structure. Some don’t.
Some poems are better than others and some people are better at writing poetry than others. It’s true. But that doesn’t mean your words are any less powerful than theirs.
I’ve watched less and less football over the years. I usually don’t watch unless it’s the Titans or Vols. That said, I had no interest in watching the Super Bowl, but I’m glad I did.
A friend invited me to watch the game at his house and I spent the morning talking myself out of going. We hadn’t had a good morning and deciding not to go would have been easier. I wouldn’t have to think about going all day. I tried every excuse. I don’t care about the game. It starts so early. I don’t want to drive there. I don’t want to drive home. I don’t deserve to have fun. I’ll get pissed when the Patriots win.
I’m so glad I went. It was the first time in a year I hung out with two of my best friends. I wasn’t even awkward.
It was like we’d been talking every day for the past year. And the Patriots lost!
One other thing. I’m going to start drawing the featured images for my blog posts. Other than a select few, I hate searching for images. I can’t draw, but this seems like a fun idea at the moment.
As you’ve no doubt seen, I attempted a football helmet for this one. Going back to my last post, now I’m thinking about Hannah’s nickname for Clay.