C.R. Monteiro

Some words are kept to survive. Others… are bled to be free.

Even broken things bloom.

I’ll show you how I did.

This book? Written in between sobs. In the dark. At 3 a.m.

I didn’t write it to be pretty. I wrote it to survive.

I didn’t see the light. I just kept walking until I wasn’t in pitch black anymore.

Sometimes healing is that quiet. That slow. That invisible.

But if you're still walking — it counts.

Five. That’s how many nights I begged not to wake up.

And yet here I am.

Still breathing. Still writing. Still hoping someone else makes it to morning.

August 12. Poems from a Depressed Heart

Grief doesn’t knock. It leaks.

Through sentences. Through showers. Through fake smiles and “I’m fine.”

I didn’t write this book for applause. I wrote it because I was leaking.

Some nights, I whispered my name out loud just to remember it was mine.

I had disappeared into silence — and this book is how I clawed my way back.

“These aren’t poems. They’re what was left of me when I couldn’t scream anymore.”

Poems from a Depressed Heart Drops August 12

Hi. I’m just me.

I write things because that’s how I release what I’ve kept inside for too long.

When I bleed in ink, things start to make sense… Are you like this too?

For now, my words will land here.

I guess if you’ve found your way here, maybe you’ve been looking for something… some truth, some light, some understanding.

If any of my words feel like yours, stay a while.

I’m not here to teach or preach — just to be honest.

My first book, Poems from a Depressed Heart, will be out soon.

It’s not a book meant to be pretty, but it’s real, it’s raw, it’s true.

My truth… but maybe it’s yours too?

Welcome to my little firefly field… full of light and dandelions.

You are — your heart, your mind, your soul — safe here.