Untitled by Dominique Holder Prince George County Youth Poet Laureate

Heat and I have an odd relationship
The moment the 80 degree sun rays peek into my corner of the universe and touch my skin
Something in my body combusts like fire lit in places that can only decipher the complexities of snow
And I sweat
I sweat buckets, perspire so abundantly that soon I am my own hurricane survivor
Sweat is a feature of the human body that received bad reviews on amazon
a state of matter that is kept hidden
To the conditioned mind that sounds disgusting

It’s the body’s way of getting rid of toxins so I am convinced
that this is my soul’s last hotlined dialed attempt to keep breathing
I sweat out my depression in the summer
Damp spots of all my silent tragedies
cover my t-shirts like crooning Shakespearean sonnets
trail ways of the days I never speak of liquefy and creep down my spine with excruciating slowness

The tiny droplets that freckle the bridge of my nose tell me of how
the oxygen confined in my lungs rumor about leaving, there have been complaints
that the price of living has just become too high
it seems inflation has wrecked the economic state of my heart
heard from the grapevine that my bloodstream grows tired of the scent that prescription pills carry

that my lips are terrified every time they speak out the keyhole
at the dope boys that show up twice a day
that my back can no longer bear breaking to climb flights of neverending stairs
to reach a place where the air is easier to

I don’t remember the last time my insides stopped gossiping
Depression is not something that is quiet
it’s moving, vibrating
Depression is a chameleon scam artist who tries to convince you
that sobbing is merely sweating with passion not pain

Summer is the only time of year when people hidden in the snow melt,
I melt
into storm clouds that rage without apology,
that aren’t ashamed of their nature, their being, that can stand on stage and talk about their depression
I sweat out my silent tragedies from the months of may until august.
Although to the conditioned mind it may be disgusting but to me it’s just a difference in language.

Can’t you hear my insides gossiping that I’ve survived from drowning yet once again.

Sofia Snow