A Sip of a Fermented Hope

A SIP OF FERMENTED HOPE

I wish my mental health were a language
that the world could understand and respect.
I investigate the clouds and the lake up north,
I feel I, somehow, belong between them.

On the other side of the world, I see myself
in the sobbing misplaced children from countries
like my own, where we question our humanity
as if we are the only ones alive while others live joyfully.

My parents were always against my way
of drinking liquor until I end up drunk and aggressive.
Who cares about me anymore? I only hold a sip
of a fermented hope, where I dance and sing alone.

If she ever comes back, tell her he’s not interested
to walk with her or to give her what she wishes.
My depression has conquered me. Congratulations, sorrows!
I am now the man banned from falling in love again.

I cannot say I did not miss staring at women near me.
I cannot say I did not feel some healing in my wounds.
I cannot say I did not enjoy speaking to a woman like you.
I wish to know that I am truly yours, but if not,

let me fall asleep with a bullet…