When Depression took control,

Its first mate Anxiety at its right hand,

Nothing could be done.


Years had spun by,

Logic as my guide,

Emotion an alien concept.


How could I fight my new antagonists,

The villains to my heroine,

When I didn't have the weaponry?


How could I identify them,

Their backstories,

When I had no clue where their roots lay?


Trying to fight a losing battle,

Using every bit of logic I had,

I shoved at my monsters with all my might.




Stuck on my knees,

Trying to hold myself up,

I was ready to quit.


Never a heroine,

Not me.

I was weak.


As they moved to deal their final blow,

As I prepared my last breath,

A guiding light appeared.


Words flowed from me,

A medley of analogies and metaphors,

Streaming into line.


As every line formed,

As stanzas crushed together,

I felt myself grow more powerful.


I could beat my monsters,

Destroy my demons,

Annihilate my antagonists.


Armed with poetry,

I knew in my heart,

I could do anything.

This poem is about: 


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