Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Locked in an insane             asylum they are called crazy by all. Sitting, sitting, staring; Ranting about aliens, watching the toddler     float, floating in the air in front of them. On a schedule,     tick, tick, ring goes the bell. They believe what        you or I will not. They see the world the way we        never will. "You're delusional, up is up, not        umop Wrong is wrong,        not write." But what if, not impossibly, for the              better, not him or her is delusional, but        you or I?
0
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
Delusional
Locked in an insane             asylum they are called crazy by all. Sitting, sitting, staring; Ranting about aliens, watching the toddler     float, floating in the air in front of them. On a schedule,     tick, tick, ring goes the bell. They believe what        you or I will not. They see the world the way we        never will. "You're delusional, up is up, not        umop Wrong is wrong,        not write." But what if, not impossibly, for the              better, not him or her is delusional, but        you or I?
I was just thinking about how people with mental disorders, specifically psychotic disorders, are deemed delusional. Wouldn't it be interesting if they aren't crazy but that their minds have developed a new sense, so they can see, hear, or know things that we, without the new sense, can't? If that were true, then really we are the delusional ones.
emily-bonson
Written by
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem