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Megan Sep 8
This morning I woke up with my hand hurting again.
I wake up most mornings with an ache of some sort,
whether it be physically or emotionally.
I thought, not for the first time, about how
I'm too young for this.
See, I was born into this life with a prescription for
pills written into my ribs.
I've been popping them since before I knew what
they meant, or how they destroy my body.
I haven't always been this achey, but I have always
had something wrong with me.
Anxiety stole my childhood, left me running for the
glowing exit sign that is the end of my life.
And I'm not saying I didn't have a good childhood,
but I grew up fearing that toothpaste would **** me
if I accidentally swallowed too much of it.
I still reap the consquences of anxiety to this day.
I grew up with knee problems and anxiety,
grew into depression and now I have to take pills
just to feel normal again.
And sometimes it doesn't work.
See, some days I feel like a regular kid.
I wake up, go to school, come back to family where
I don't have to wonder if they love me or not.
On these days I feel like I can accomplish anything.
I feel like the world is in my hands and all I have to do
is try.
Other days I'm a walking suicide note.
My bed is quick sand, drawing me further and further
into the black that I can't find my way out of.
There's a tornado sending my thoughts into a spiral
and I'm too dizzy to fix this.
When you're this sad, there is no such thing as a
"minor inconvenience."
Everything that stands in the way, small as it may be,
is another reason on my ever growing list of why
I shouldn't be here.
I stayed up until 6 o'clock this morning wondering
why I haven't signed my name on the goodbye note yet.
I didn't reach out to anyone but I still cried when no
one noticed how broken I am.
But why would anyone notice in the first place?
Why would anyone care?

This morning I woke up with my hand hurting again.
As I was taking my daily pills, I wondered, not for the
first time,
If I took enough pain pills, would it cure my aching
soul, too?
olivia Feb 14
dreadfully and drearily so she picked around her nose where her ring used to be

full of dead and destruction she ripped out pages of John 3.16, where her crown chakra used to feel free

wistfully wishing for her black jeans with a string instead of a zipper; she now wears a gown

wondering why, she contemplates in her midnight blue constellation journal: to down-
right mortify me,

to make a mockery, to….to, to…. to…. find me in case I pull the fire alarm and try to escape

she puts together puzzles with her mother’s name in cursive in the bottom right corner and puts them together with tape

begrudgingly so she ties up the used new balance sneakers she borrows and moans

she wants to move her body, for her form has been stagnant, oh how she wishes to roam

jogging, running, sprinting from the wolves to the butterflies and bunnies

painting a stain glassed window as a holy shrine to The Queen of The Goths, she’s so spunky

wondering where her soul’s mate could be in a blizzard this thick

but she knows she’s been a real witch, flying into her alter ego’s psyche on a broomstick

if she can infiltrate her reflection in the mirror she’ll catapult into outer space

although, around her neck, she’d much rather wrap a shoelace

In five days time, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, not only does the doggy door open,

so does the front door, who had the key? Will the door be closing?

Jogging, running, sprinting from the eyes of the doctor to the arms of the unbroken

My feet are swollen

My hands need lotion

My thoughts are golden

I am coping

He is coping

We are coping

They are unbroken

Over a basket of fish and chips, I realize I was chosen

Is that a ****** up notion?

I just don’t want to feel hopeless

Is this excess of energy a bad omen?

Back in the free world now, I’m so scared of my spirit being stolen

But my energy is as vast as the ocean and potent

I win, I win, I win !

But the imperialists are closing

Sara Kellie Jan 14
It's a risky idea
you should give it some thought.
The wheels are in motion
and all stock is bought.

I'm thinking so fast
and I know what comes next.
No longer enthused
'cause my hyper can't last.

Did you take all your tablets?
The one's that restrain you.
Taking off in your spaceship
that's called hyper mania.

Super-thusiastic poetry
by Kaydee.
Bi-Polar Disorder Factsheet link;
Another day, another ache
my mind is just a total blank
I punch these keys, to no avail
but won’t allow myself to fail
I feel so useless, feel so dumb
I struggle, but the words won’t come
a waste of space, a waste of time
I lost that spark I had inside

I used to have so much to write
sometimes it’d keep me up at night
now where it was, there’s just an ache
my mind is still a total blank
still punching keys, to no avail
another try, another fail
I’m such a failure, i’m so dumb
these ******* words won’t seem to come

a waste of time, a waste of space
my failure stares me in the face
or maybe at another time
I can put something in these lines
or maybe some good tunes would help
no, i’m just lying to myself
I lost that spark I had inside
my life is just a waste of time
re-post from Dec
Colten Sorrells Dec 2018
until I lost some weight
now people fear I’ll waste away
too quiet
‘til I speak my mind
now they’re all ******,
wish I would die
wear too much black
wear pink one day
now everyone assumes I’m ***
work out an hour,
now I’m crazy
I take a break
now i’m too lazy
the truths I tell
become a lie
all people do is criticize
too meek
too weak
an ***
too crass
It doesn’t change
until I die
nobody will be satisfied
can't please everybody... or, anybody, in my case. But f**k 'em
Elisabeth Nov 2018
laying in a warm patch of sunlight surrounded by dandelions

and an orange glow peaks through my closed eyelids

leaving an ache behind my forehead


of no more teary days

no more chilly hands or goosepimples

of a day when my patch of sunlight lasts for an eternity

and the sun never sets in order for the moon to rise

and I never get cold
Lynn Nov 2018
The world is keeping secrets from me
maybe that the reason I bleed and fall
maybe I'm just growing closer to learning it all.

Maybe that's the reason I plead
for some sort of secret sweet release;
so I can learn the secrets
that the world keeps from me.

Jamie Lee Oct 2018
One X on the calander and a cup of luke warm coffee
The sidewalk chalk is like padlocks on my feet,
But they cant stop me
Through a static phone line, I can still hear you talking
Nothing of the nice sorts-
It is impure and not godly

Your perception of me slips through the cracks of you teeth
Bitter and raw things you breathe
Your voice is muddy and meek
Another X on the calander
Not a lot of sleep in between

I am wondering where your love went, because it doesnt live here
How many Xs on the calander?
A few weeks? A month? A year?
Both the liquor and the answer is clear

Long car rides spent swallowing sentences
Its a muffled radio, singing along with the tention
Where did you heart go? Every beat a lease of absence
Where did you put it? In a drawer or a cabnet?
How many Xs on the calander will it be till I once again have it
Anno Oct 2018
I have this announcer
In my head
Speaking through a mic
broadcasting my sensational endeavor
I decided to do that year
only to follow up half way
Because of manic episodes
Composed of unorganized perfection
And useless, jumbled words
That often didn’t make sense
But the announcer never failed
Using their echoing voice
Overpowering all other thoughts
Would debut some idea
Making me feel
Abigail Sep 2018
My worry consumes me
My thoughts are scattered
Much like the trash in my messy room
My heart aches so terribly
I can feel the pain of it in my belly

The sharp pieces from my broken heart spill from my mouth
They cut the people I love wide open
They bleed out
Suddenly, I am sick of me

I wonder how I got this way
Was it the hand slipping under my shirt, unwelcomed?
Was it because of all the spoons with burnt backs?
Was it the visions of my mother’s swollen face?
I want to know what the **** it was that made me so hideous

Alas, I don’t have the answers
And while the weight of the world is not on my shoulders
It is certainly on my mind
It is certainly in my heart
And I pray that one day I might rest
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