In this spoken‑word piece, Antonio Matta recites a poem he wrote at age 13 that uses vivid bodily metaphors—feet of gloom, heart of contempt, a chest broad with pain, etc.—to describe the all‑consuming nature of his early depression. He explains that each line was not merely figurative but a literal diagnosis of a child who could only translate mental anguish through the language of the body. Matta reflects on the isolation he felt, the lack of treatment, and how that darkness forged resilience. The video is framed as a tribute to Mental Health Awareness Month, urging listeners to recognize that adolescents can be silently suffering and that mental wellness is as vital as physical health. He stresses that listening, while essential, must be paired with guiding individuals toward peers or professional help. The poem is part of a larger collection of over two dozen poems in his novel Love Is in the Eye of the Beholder, which follows a woman’s journey through clinical depression and therapy. Matta positions the verses as survival mechanisms turned into art and calls listeners to seek support, emphasizing that a single conversation can be life‑saving and encouraging the audience to purchase the novel as a means of finding resonance and hope.
Chapters
Anatomy of sadness. Feet of gloom. Heart of contempt. Stomach ailing, consuming, intestines disposing. Ears curved but not bent, hearing words of one cent. Chest broad with pain. You can call me built because my tears fall like rain. Teeth yellow with fear, grinding joy. Phallus of a hermaphrodite, warm moist womb of misery, penis a knife, soul torn to shreds like that of a goat's bite, nose aware of the stench of foulness filling the air, arms and legs long, no power, no strength keeps me weak unable to carry on. My hair's not nappy but woolly like Jesus who just like me was at times unhappy, waited for a resurrection 3 days too long, but my angels sing a melancholy song. My mind full of thoughts, getting heavier. My eyes change color like the leaves in fall and glow like a cat's when night falls. I wrote this poem at 13, when darkness was my only companion. Each line wasn't a metaphor, it was a diagnosis from a child who could only translate mental anguish through the body's language. Feet of gloom, heart of contempt, chest broad with pain. Depression colonized every organ, every limb. Looking back at that isolated boy, I'm struck by how he crafted art from despair without knowing if dawn would ever break. No one knew. I suffered in silence. No one treated. I navigated those shadows alone, with only the words to make sense of senseless pain. This video honors Mental Health Awareness Month because there are 13-year-olds right drafting their own anatomies of sadness, believing solitude is their sentence. Mental wellness deserves the same attention as physical health; they're interconnected systems, with a fracture in one affecting the other. Sometimes, compassion is simply about listening, creating space where truth can breathe without judgment. But listening alone isn't always enough. When someone shares their darkness, help them find peers or professionals who understand mental illness and can offer pathways toward healing. I don't regret those untreated years. That darkness carved resilience into my character like water shapes stone. But survival shouldn't depend on chance. No person should navigate those waters without a compass or guiding stars. Anatomy of Sadness is one of over two dozen poems in my novel "Love Is in the Eye of the Beholder," which charts a woman's journey through clinical depression and therapy. The collection doesn't flinch from darkness but refuses to surrender to it. These aren't just verses; they're survival mechanisms transformed into art. If you recognize yourself in these words, if your anatomy feels mapped with similar territories of pain, you don't have to wait for the storm to pass. Reach out. Support exists. Treatment works. A single conversation could save your life. Pick up "Love Is in the Eye of the Beholder" wherever books are sold. Sometimes finding your story reflected in another's journey becomes the first step toward reclaiming your own.
