The power of this poem lies in its refusal to aestheticize or philosophize despair. Instead, Cathy Xinman‘s verses unleash all the senses to stage a primal hunt against it. What “I Am Despair, Who Are You?” confronts is not a private emotion but the shared existential anxiety of modern humanity: in the emptiness of midnight, how does one face the beast called “despair” and prevail?
This is not a poem of reflection, but of action: to feel it, to harness the terror it brings, and then to run—until self-defence is achieved. It is a fierce, raw, and untamed poem, charged with the wild strength of life. It proves that the highest poetry is often born at the most dangerous edge between emotion and reason. It does not offer answers; it is itself a victory of survival.
I Am Despair, Who Are You?
by Cathy Xinman
I am death—who are you?
I am despair—who are you?
Death has arrived formally—
that feeling,
so vivid,
nasal mucus of immense pain surges forth.
It rides a windmill, rides a carriage;
you can only lie down, lie down.
I don’t want to approach again
this death in the dark night.
Such a beautiful day
lies right before my eyes—
that is my lake of sorrow.
I only approach it by daylight.
The sun is out;
I dare not go out.
Only in the dark night have I approached death.
Lyrics where the soul pours out and tears surge
need no composition.
The deepest sorrow is a hidden thing;
it needs no singing.
The rain is already desperate.
Do not let the sleeping window hear—
inside are sleep ears
eager to pry.
How ashamed I am,
crying freely under the streetlight’s glare,
weeping with the cold.
The approaching sound is faint,
yet clear, like a robber, like a rapist.
Momentary fear clamors in my mind:
This is not death.
I am still alive. Looking around,
rain strikes the roofs of parked cars.
Do you come to terrorize me?
On the empty streets,
like an army vast and mighty—
I have only one life,
not enough for you to lift a finger.
I ran away.
I have been defending myself.
How lonely pain is—
only tears.
This is a night
when everyone is asleep.
The eerie rain
falls on the roadside car roofs.
It suddenly occurs to me:
inside sits a terrifying person.
Walking the streets at night,
I am just like everyone else.
I begin to run.
This is not death—
I am still alive.
Only tears and mucus
choking my breath.
On the midnight street
terror stirs lively in the trees.
I defend myself.
Raindrops hit the roadside car roofs—
there must be a terrifying person inside.
I never thought
it would save me.
From here,
I run off.
The concrete road, rough and uneven—
I did not fall, I did not fall.
Terror rescued me.
The breakthrough is complete.
Death—
I no longer wish to use you.
Its clamour
is unworthy of fear.
Cathy Xinman writes poetry in English and Chinese. Find her English-language collection, Where You Love Yourself, on Amazon. You can also hear her poetry on her TikTok page. She is also editor-in-chief The Best Poems of the Year by Chinese Poets & Writers of the World 2025. People with Chinese ancestry can submit poetry to this anthology in Chinese or English by emailing cnawpress@gmail.com.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or mental health matters, you can get help here: Talk Suicide Canada: 1-833-456-4566 (phone) | 45645 (text between 1 p.m. and 9 p.m. PDT)
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