Rooms | depression | c. unknown
A poem I wrote in the middle of an insomniac episode.
Roam my corridors And enter every room, Sleep in their beds And peak in their drawers. Some rooms are small, pink, Littered with crayons, Scissors and destroyed jeans. Others filled with Hundreds of unnamed tomes. They’re covered in dust; Maybe you can find them a home. There are rooms I never open But you’re welcome to try Unless they crumble Under your touch. Wander through, This place can be your home. I could make you a room.
Thoughts on the “Rooms”.
I’ve had insomnia since I was in elementary school and its only recently that I’ve received treatment. Before then, I’d spend hours and hours circling—or what I call “spiraling”. Unless you have insomnia or depression, this sort of thing is difficult to explain. All my attempts to be understood by doctors, family, and so-called friends chalked my sleeplessness as something I could simply power through. Just exercise. Just take melatonin. Just pray. Just journal. “Just” until the sleep comes.
Most of the time, the sleep evades me. As a result, I can’t remember when I wrote poems when I’m deep in my depression. For example, the longest I’ve been awake is 36 hours; even that number I don’t entirely trust because I’d been up for so long. There’s no telling when this particular poem was written or why.
What I can say, in hindsight, is that “Rooms” encapsulates a deep desire to be understood. I imagined my mine as an endless corridor, a labyrinth of memories waiting to be unearthed. From my earliest childhood memories to now, there’s so much to know, but—at the time—I had no one to listen.
SABLE will be writing more about depression.
Thank you for reading my work. This is one of many that I’m pulling from my archives. I’m organizing all my poems by themes. So far, I’ve written about family, eros (romantic, passionate love), and depression. Also, I post on my feed poems that don’t quite fit anywhere. If this interests you, I’d appreciate you subscribing, sharing, or commenting.
Either way, I’m grateful you’re here.
Blessings,
SABLE