Each day is a struggle,
I try to keep a positive mindset,
No matter what try my best to keep it together,
Not always successful with it,
But all we can do in life is try our best,
If our mental health isn't healthy,
The rest of us won't be healthy.

Many want me to seek therapy,
But I am my own therapy,
God is the only therapist I need,
People always let you down,
God will never let me down.

We all heal in our own way,
We all deal with things in our own way,
Nobody can ever begin to understand my pain,
Talking about it won't help,
Some situations we have no control of,
We just have to cope the best way we can.

Laying in bed today, listening to tunes
          As I so often do
A feeling encroached, one I could not shake
          Or attempt to lose
The sound of sadness, through the microphone
          Blew the dust from my aging bones
Sunlight diffused, into the tomb
          Of my desolate room
Shadows scattered, from their thrones
          To reveal four walls of stone
Flowers dressed, this cold gray place
          Where I woke from rest
Bare and unburdened, my blemished fleshed took its first steps
          Bent but not broken, rebirthed, awoken

For so long I was upset about it,
As of a few days ago no more existence,
I feel no ways about it,
For so long I felt it inside,
But I didn't wanna believe it,
Now I see it was true all along.

Sometimes we can't help but try to see the good,
But in the end we see their was never any good,
Don't hide from the truth but face it,
Hiding behind those lies only prolong the pain,
I know it's hard to face but it's necessary to face,
That pain never goes away,
It only gets easier to cope with.

I no longer feel anything in my heart,
Losing everything does that to you,
I have nothing to lose or live for,
Some would say different,
But they don't even know my pain,
Nobody can relate or feel what I've felt,
In this cold world I feel like I'm all by myself.

Them thoughts get darker than you can imagine,
Sometimes I just wanna escape it,
But I don't have the courage to make that choice,
Many think it's easy to do it but it's really not,
We all have our own reasons for doing what we do,
They think they know but they really don't.

They be like "talk to me" but what's the point,
You can't help me with this pain I'm feeling,
Only god can provide me with the healing,
In the room staring at the ceiling,
Some days I don't know how I'm feeling,
This depression gets the best of me,
I don't know rather I'm coming or going.

I am not made of miracles or borrowed prayers.
There is no magic in my bones or mysticism to my name.
I am made of sweat,
Of salt stains on flushed cheeks.
I am made of blood smears
And too much hand lotion.
I am made of toil and trouble,
Of mistakes and rectification.
I am composed of ink and paper,
Of ill-remembered idioms and words I've absorbed from books.
My existence is fueled by a certain brand of sock,
A teddy bear given to me at birth,
And a desire to prove that I was more than what they told me
That I could be greater than what I thought of myself.
I am made of laughter and twisted humor,
Of Murphy's law and learning to conserve energy and care.
I am made of misbehaved neurotransmitters and wild thoughts.
I have a love of the night sky and swimming in cool waters.
My soul steeped in the desire to frolic and eat sweets.
I wear scars that prove I have suffered and earn me judgement,
But I have survived a world and brain designed to be my unbecoming
Not because I'm made of miracle or magic or prayers.
I survived because I'm made of attitude, resolve, resilience,
And a thirst to prove that I can.
Most importantly,
There always seems to be a flicker of something that promises me
That even in my worst moment, I should continue to live.

I may be an odd ball but I will make the ground beneath me crack open from my rage. I find that when I fight a war wits, the Earth Bites Back. Doctors in psychology, medical, therapeutic and logic all agree that I am crazy and insane. I have been through all of the scans, x-rays and tests for mental health. I have medications for my bipolar disorder and my high functioning sociopath-ness. The meds don't take away my creativity nor my high strung rebelliousness. I know how to take care of myself. My psychotic break was the worst thing to go through. I don't have all of my memories from that summer. I know how to decode my literary codes from that summer. I remember the mood swings, the restless nights, going to the hospital, my mom freaking out and me having no idea what was going on. That summer is all a fever dream to me.
The Earth Bites Back what some call crazy, I call genius.
The Earth Bites Back, I don't plan on relapsing my psychotic break.
Mentally, I sound like an alcoholic, too much stimuli and I am everywhere either too high or too low. The fall and winter depression is the worst too. All of the crying, all of the misery, all of the dreary overthinking and all of the sulking over the past.