This morning I woke up bitter 
again
for no reason other than I sleep on my anger
and it resonates in my head
and I wake up miserable and ask myself
What about me?
What do I get?

(When we were young, we chased dragonflies.
Now, I don’t see any anymore
and I wake up bitter
and you don’t.)

In the end I didn’t tell anyone
because I didn't want anyone to know
how much this bothered me
you on top of life
(I didn’t need this right now)
since I told everyone I turned in my applications late
because I didn’t want anyone to know
I didn’t turn them in at all
due to self-sabotage so acute
one day, I’ll cut off both my thumbs
(and you’ll go to Oxford.)

I thought of all this
(and how you could always read faster than me)
as I eyed the lady at the desk nervously
waiting for her to leave
so I’d have to use the self-check-out machine
because most of all
I didn’t want anyone to know
I left the library that day with self-help books.

They didn't help. (Nothing did.) 
A friend asked me to explain
I told her about sleeping all the time
even when I was awake
about shadows and noise in my head
I told her about the taste of ashes in my mouth
I told her I didn't know what I was going to do.
(Your depression loves you
and you let it love you)

In the end, neither of us went to Oxford. 
I (and both my thumbs) ended up at a university better than yours.
We don't speak anymore.
I don't cry anymore.
I am not asleep anymore.

I dragged myself out, kicking and screaming.
I never told more than one living soul
I couldn't let it be borne into the world, 
a great flapping black creature
I couldn't let the word crawl out of my throat,
smelling of ashes and decay--
d e p r e s s i o n.

I pulled myself out. I did it alone. 
Now when I think of you--
resentment. a quiet sadness (at best).
you never knew. 
(that's okay.)

This morning I woke up
For me.
For a new day.
I will wake up every morning.
For me. For a new day.