I hide 

under covers

behind doors

inside houses

that are not big enough to hold my depression.

This body is too small

to confine all this pain

and nothingness.

I am overflowing. 

My mind told me to run from life

and this tired body complied.

But now my weary feet need rest.

I am exhausted from the business of evading the truth:

I am not okay.

I don’t know if I ever was.

In this healing process I try to remember

these covers

behind the doors

inside the houses

were not designed to cradle me forever.

11/53