As my head begins to spin,
and I'm told I cannot win,
over again and again
*
That this depression is forever,
That I can be cured, never,
That my mind is too weak,
To gain what I seek.
*
That I have no power,
and I'm as delicate as a flower.
That it is for chemical reasons
I've been depressed all these seasons.
*
I say to you, I can,
Learn how to stand.
I can make neurological connections,
I can take my mind in new directions.
*
I no longer care what I'm told,
I have no desire to be sad and old.
*
I shall succeed in my endeavor,
because I know I'm cleaver.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem