depression and my guardian angel by Marissa Gates

my guardian angel—
she has a harder job description than the others.

instead of watching me
from a distant puff of heaven,
every morning, she must
sew my silk skin around her
so I don’t have to say
one more apology to my body.

she has to remind me to breathe;
puts her lips right up to my lungs
and blows.
she puts her heart into mine
just so my limbs can know what warm is.

she must put everything she has into
extinguishing those black fires
in every hiding place inside my head.

and I’m still so tired and
buried and burned,
but I know it’s never been the fault of hers.

she whispers to me late at night
that it’s not the fault of mine.


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