Poem: Depressive is Pain

I am a Depressive;
Most of my life is pain.
My physical health is pain.
My mental/emotional health is pain.
My dysfunctional family is pain.
My deeply troubled lover is pain.

Though I love her,
am often happy to see her,
get fleeting moments
of happiness and warmth,
sometimes,
when we are together.

It's not enough.
My life still hurts.

I don't cry, like she does.
I get real quiet instead.
Slowly losing the ability to speak,
until I'm an unmoving, silent, human,
in pain.
So much pain that any word
seems pointless.

So she leaves me to my silence.
When I need her most.
To hold me.
To talk to me.
She doesn't.

I'm alone in my pain,
like I guess we all are.
She is not good enough
to make my life good.
(Though when she tries
she makes it better).

But no matter what she does:
I'll still be a depressive.
For the pain in my body,
for the pain in my soul.
I wish she could accept that,
accept Me
the way that I am.

And still continue
to love me.