Most Days

Sometimes anxiety and depression come back. They arrive, and slap you up the face, reminding you that, in times of weakness, physical tiredness or emotional fatigue, they will sneak up, and slither into your mind, infecting all self worth. I keep reminding myself to 'ride it out', because it will pass. It may take some time, but it will pass.

Most days my mind is clear

And I can work, walk, chat, smile, manage.

Most days my heart is light

And I can plan, move, clean, write and paint.

Most days I don't care

About what he, she, they think or say.

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But sometimes

A weight of fatigue, of numbing

Empty, apathetic nothingness

Presses, like a heavy body.

Energy, and creativity,

Confidence and worth

Are suffocated and muted

Under the selfish imposter.

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Most days, I am light

And I walk with purpose, smile with feeling.

Most days I am me, and I matter.

Most days.

Some days I am tired

And my foe, he knows it.

Some days I lose,

But most days

I win.