Martha

She said ‘I use this to judge my mental health’ 

I said ‘I’m fine’
I looked anyways.
Told me I had depression,
To see a doctor.
This was in grade 9.
I already knew.

She read my cryptic, depressed poems,
Told me I’d thrive,
Looked at my blogs,
Encouraged me to write,
Knowing it was my only coping strategy.
Seemed to understand.

She introduced to me Shane Koyczan,
His spoken word works becoming an anthem,
To my seemingly insignificant life.
He taught me that I could be more,
Told me to write everyday, that I could become great
Reinforcing the ideas of my English teacher.

Without all this, I might not be alive,
Might have attempted suicide a final time,
Might have overdosed,
Might have drunk myself to death,
And believe me, I came close,
But I might not have a tattoo inspired by the English language,
Or one from my favourite poets poems,
Might not have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder,
Might not be on psychiatric meds,
Might not see my doctor weekly,
Or my psychiatrist monthly.
Might not be starting a poetry night,
To help others cope,
Might not go to school to be a teacher like I’ve always dreamed

I didn’t appreciate her at the time,
Though now a big part of my heart is dedicated to her teachings,