For my depressed self

I am having the thought that:

I suck 

Like on an ice cube of ickiness

A lollipop of low self esteem 

A mint of melancholy 

A lime of languishing 

After a tequila of torture

And the salt of sadness

But it’s just a thought.

Actually:

I’m sleeping like a sloth

The queen of sloths, cuddling in her castle

I’m watching like a hawk

Absorbing AppleTV+ Americana

I’m reading like a ravenous worm,

The bookish kind, barbarically burrowing 

I’m listening like a bat

So I can query and question and quiz 

My poems will remind me of glory past 

and glory to come

But I am also valuable 

In my quietude 

My animal forms

Are valid parts

Of me.