There is a winter in my head almost all year round,
even when I remember that I could warm my bones and go outside,
but something stops me, and keeps me here,
and keeps me in.
And I keep myself, in clothes that cover skin
to remind me not to show myself off and not to let anyone in
for the risk of making them as cold as I am,
and there are blankets and covers and duvets
making cocoons in 90 degree heat but I am still
shivering and my parents say it's the fever but
there is a winter in my head
and that's what depression is.