Depression monitors my movements
eyes me from across the road, waits

I struggle to define myself, here
at the margins of life, career lost

As teacher, days were outlined
bells, rubrics, and semesters

Now I must learn again, find
purpose in nothingness

Despair wants to move in, overwhelm
But I’m building my fences, regaining

routines – markers motivating
each day – a reason for being.

(This poem is a response to my weekly challenge: define but don’t reveal. Image my own.)


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

21 thoughts on “Routine”

  1. Your poem expresses the feeling of needing to be vigilant against depression very well. It is such an insidious thing, sneaking back in without our even being aware that it’s happening.

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    1. It really is. Especially when it is in response to a loss or other circumstance over which we have no control. Might as well put out a big welcome, open for business sign, lol.

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