Coping with Depression

Morning light,
like aged ribbons through the blinds,
rouses me before the clock. I fight
the urge to hide my eyes and drift
back into the dream like the days before.

I get out of bed, and head to the bathroom.
In the mirror, I sneer at the stubble peppered on my face
like grains of sand. I remember my baby’s grin
when he explored it with curious hands.

I still shave to sustain my feminine features,
though I do not look passable to those
who will not see me. After three years
on hormones, I can say I like my soft skin,
and 12-year-old breasts.

A hot shower, the first in four days,
awakens my brain and my bones.
After a morning ritual of coffee, a bagel,
and some poetry, I’m ready to feel the sky.

©Josslyn Turner 

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