Depression Ribcage

My depression

is an exposed ribcage

and I drape hope

like a secondhand

jean jacket upon my shoulders.

But, my torso

is still open,

still exposed

with my ribs

stark white teeth

trying to bend 

into another smile.

All I can do 

is to find solace in words.

Tear them out of used dictionaries

and warp them into flowers.

I turn each syllable

until every sentence is delicate

and blooms from shredded pages.

I layer each piece

between the gaps of my ribcage smile;

stack the stems of my experiences

into layers of pain, joy, and relatability.

I let them blossom from chest

and I make a garden within my depression,

so I can regrow my heart, my happiness

and my life again.

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