Channel: BREEessrig

Category: Comedy

Tags: sierra demulderartbutton poetryexplaining my depression to my mothermental illnesssarah kayspoken word poemanxietyslam poemshane koykzan to this daybell hookspoetry slambree essrigneil hilborn ocddepressionpoetry

Description: This poem is for anyone who has ever been called overly-sensitive. TRIGGER WARNING: This video contains metaphors of self-harming behavior. written by: Bree Essrig directed by: Steve Zaragoza twitter.com/stevezaragoza youtube.com/stevezaragoza director of photography: Zack Taylor instagram.com/zacktaylor92 "Mermaid" track composed by Steve Zaragoza FOLLOW ME EVERYWHERE: YOUTUBE: youtube.com/c/NuclearFamily TWITTER: twitter.com/BREEessrig TUMBLR: bessrig.tumblr.com FACEBOOK: facebook.com/BreeEssrig INSTAGRAM: breeessrig SNAPCHAT: breeessrig FULL POEM: Mermaid We’ve been at this party for a good three hours we’re right on schedule for my famous party trick. Wait for it…It’s a panic attack! And because you’re dying to get out of this moment, you ask “are you okay?” Honey, I may know nothing of the word of God but my eyes have baptized the shoulders of anyone who has ever asked “are you okay?” This one goes out to anybody who has ever been called sensitive. Depression, or somehow managing to stretch the coastline all the way to my mattress. Not to brag, but I can lure the Pacific to my pillow, and sail all seven seas in one sleepless night. Not to brag, but my eye sockets were featured on the news for solely sorting out that enduring, sapless California drought. the truth is, I’m about as okay as Noah trying to build an ark while a flood is actually happening. Anxiety, or biting and tearing at my skin as if it were difficult plastic packaging. Not to brag, but when my incisors unzip my hangnails, I make the raw nerves foxtrot to the flutter of my pulse Not to brag, but one time I ripped open my chest, wrenched apart wrought iron rib, and pulled out a grenade. the truth is, I’m about as okay as David trying to take down Goliath with a slingshot full of daisies You see, my mouth does this really embarrassing thing where  it sobs when it really wants to scream and every cry for help is made to feel like some twisted plea for attention I offer to let people in, but that doesn’t stop them from Big Bad Wolfing the safe spaces I have built from positive affirmations and five-second breaths It’s a good thing my dad is in construction or I’d have never learned how to rebuild this fucking sauna I call a body. We are conditioned to step on each other’s feelings with our big fat feet to extinguish hope with flip flop and heel how many broken-winged butterflies have been smeared by apathetic Uggs because it is easier to put something out of its misery than to wait until its return to the sky? I know that sometimes, speaking to me is like swinging frying-pan fists at humpty dumpty My mouth should come with a trigger warning that blinks “Do you even lift, Bro? Cause shit’s about to get heavy.” Even on my good days, I still find myself huffing my way through “happy hour” but what everyone doesn’t seem to understand is that telling me to “snap out of it” is like telling Niagra to stop falling! Yeah. Everybody is sad, but Not everybody constructs planks in their spare time Not everybody explodes when they perform a classic cannon ball But me…I’m less ship, more wreck my head is an anchor and my heart is a life vest I’m half-human, half-fish How else do you explain the way I breathe under water?