I was raised by a mentally ill father.
Because there is comfort in numbers,
I, too, was afflicted by a similar disorder.
It’s difficult to separate the person from the sickness,
Sometimes we become the shadowy monster,
Embrace it with wilted roses,
Knowing too well that of everything else,
The disorder will still be there,
My shadow has been dormant.
My father’s is still active,
Sometimes when we meet it’s like a perfect storm,
A tornado of comfort.
Someone understands the climate.
I take my father’s hand encouragingly,
He turns to run, squirrely,
The shadow greets me with open arms.
I love the shadow as much as I love the man.
After all, there is comfort in numbers.
No ship goes sailing without sailors
or a crew.
When lighting strikes without warning
It takes hold in many forms
cruel and fast
it invades like a mist
One by one
Destroying the last chapter
cover by cover
The story unfolds
Of the greatest life untold
memories of music
Theses shall never be forgotten.
This life was lived
and continues on
Rest in peace my perfect one.
I hate myself
It's not a surprise
Most teens are
Filled with anxiety
Ready to jump.
I remember being 8
I've always thought that one day I would just get smaller
But I got bigger
And my circle of bullies got bigger
And my friends smaller
My sobs louder
And my laughs nonexistent
Here comes middle school
And the kids are even crueler
I wished and prayed that this fat would just go away
And I could have friends again
I lost more
And I gained some again
I got bullied for everything
And I hung my head in shame
I didn't speak
I wished that they couldn't see me
That I was invisible
Out of sight
Third but not last
My not so old friend
I sliced my skin more than once
Cried a lot
Discovered pieces of myself
And lost some pieces too
But hated most
Wished that it would be better
But it was all a lie
I didn't go to prom
I barely graduated
I was glad when I left
That I would never have to come back
I learned what my mental illnesses are
And the voices in my head aren't real
But I can't stop them from saying these terrible things
I'm stuck in my own mind
How does that even happen?
Well it did
And now I can't tell the difference between me and trash
Because we're so alike
Nobody wants us but ourselves.
Not like we'd let anyone in anyways
We're too broken to love someone else
Too ashamed to tell our secrets and how much we've failed
Too scared of letting go
Of the things that make me us safe.
We're fried in the head
Too much to manage.
But they don't know how crazy in the head we really are.
From the icy talons,
Of deathless sleep,
Or sleepless death.
Heartbeat pulsing in my ears,
Rattling in my chest.
Leaving me helpless,
Struggling to catch up,
And now I lay awake,
Trapped in fear,
Knowing I am unable take,
My final breath.
My pen feels weak and underused of late
so much unfolding on this side of the gate--
illness prevails, my body wracked with pain
Seems anymore I seldom ever seem to gain
a step forward without taking two steps back--
wondering what it is that my psyche lacks
other than the stamina to withstand illness and strife
Surely, surely this is not the rest of my life?
©Pamela Rae 07.19.2017