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It starts like static-
a flicker in the dark,
a shift in the air
before the collapse.

I'm washing dishes.
I'm crossing a street.
I'm laughing-
and then I'm not.

Something small tilts the world.
My chest tightens,
my skin doesn't feel like mine,
and the moment swallows me whole.

I hate how they still live in me-
their voices in the corners,
their hands on the memories
I never wanted to keep.

The anger simmers
under every surface.
For what they did,
for what they didn't,
for how they shaped me
without permission.

I trace the outlines of what could’ve been-
a word spoken,
a door opened,
a version of me
they never got to break.

But the past is a house
that locks from the inside.
I scream through the keyhole
and call it healing.

Some days I am a person.
Some days I am a symptom.
I carry both
without dropping either.

I live with tremors.
I move through fog.
I smile like nothing cracked,
and shake
when no one is looking.

And still-
somehow-
I stay.
I breathe.
I come back
to myself.

Again.
It doesn't ask.
It never knocks.
It just shows up-
mid-sentence,
mid-step,
mid-me.

My body remembers
things I don't want to.
Fluorescent lights,
locked doors,
her voice like venom,
his hands,
the smoke thick enough
to erase a home.

I'm split between moments.
One version of me
is pouring coffee.
The other is back
in a room I begged to leave,
screaming behind my eyes
while my face stays still.

And people say
"but you're safe now."
Like my nervous system
understands logic.
Like my skin
doesn't still flinch at kindness,
like safety is a thing
I've ever known for sure.

I carry too many names.
******. Liar. *****. Crazy.
He. She. It.
I carry too many versions of myself
that other people made
without asking.

And I'm so ******* angry.
At her.
At them.
At the system that locked me up
when all I needed
was to be held without harm.
At the fact that I'm still here
trying to make something soft
out of what they left jagged.

Sometimes I wish
I could go back-
whisper to the kid
who hid under blankets
trying to disappear.
Tell him: you were right.
Tell them: it wasn't your fault.
Tell me
I'd get out.

And I did.
But sometimes,
parts of me still don't know that.
They shake,
they shut down,
they show up uninvited.

And I breathe,
even when it burns.
And I stay,
even when I want to run.
And I write,
because it's the one place
I get to be the one
telling the story.
The shadows seem real to me
Do I work for the KGB?
Why is the sun always following me?
If you will just let me be
I have schizophrenia
Or is it all just make-believe
I’m left living with schizophrenic tendencies
Trying to live this life-Maybe I’m ready for the next…..
I didn’t really wanna die
My life is one big mess
Take the blade away
Away from me before I plunge it deep
I’m contemplating suicide but only scratched my cheek
Yes, take this blade away from me
Before I fall down and black out
Agony is all I see as I turn to lash out
I promise I’m not afraid of the secrets that I keep
I’m left feeling kinda burnt out
Their haunting me
Like I’m some sort of creep
A monster
They’re watching me even as I speak
My mother believes that I’m a good son
She believes she can see past all the horrible things I have done
Little does she know
I’m not anything as good as her other one
The definition of failure
I don’t compare to the good son
I am the black sheep
Always on the run
The white ghost of all the horrid things I have done
Haunting everything in front of me
Made a mess of my life
Everything you see
Schizophrenia is horrible
A disgusting disease
In my head there is no room for me
A wolf in sheep’s clothing
To the sickness I am bound
Something is wrong with my head
I’d be better off dead
Just take the blade away from me
Stop the damage already done
I’m begging you on my knees
Which Version of me do you believe?
Schizophrenic catastrophe
I’m begging someone to help me please
Defeat the ghosts and demons that I see
All the pain that lives inside of me
I’ve struggled here for so long or  maybe I haven’t tried enough
I am a freak
Afraid to speak
All I really wanted was someone to believe
Just to give a little ****
I have waited here for so long but nobody ever showed up
I have schizophrenia that is inspiration behind this poem. Nothing more nothing less. I really hope you enjoy it. If you do leave some feedback please or if you feel better and different about it leave some feedback, please
Bri 6d
The spotlight is on her
She’s glittering, eye catching
She’s loud with her thoughts
Deafening with her feelings
Everyone knows what she’s been through
Everyone knows how she hurts
I’m in the shadows
The background dancer
They don’t know
I hurt just as much
Maybe more
She’s labeled it
Depression, anxiety, and ADHD
She’s diagnosed
And everyone knows
She gets help
While I push it down
Away
Because she’s in the spotlight
Not me
Kalliope Jun 6
I'm walking in the rain.
My hair is wet.
My clothes are drenched.
I'm not running.

I'm walking in the rain
With no umbrella,
Pulling a suitcase
Of baggage I can’t seem to get rid of.
There’s mascara all down my face.

I'm walking in the rain.
The thunder is loud.
The lightning is blinding.
The wind tries to push me fast—
But I'm walking in the rain.
I hope it washes me away
Kalliope Jun 6
To breathe but not explode,
A feeling a time bomb will never know.
Exposed without safety,
Of course I'm ******* crazy.
The panic is attacking,
A safe space I am lacking.
That's just her behavior,
Way too stubborn to accept a savior.
After the scene is said and done, there's no one left around- I'm the only one.
I write to be real
In life I'm just convenient
C May 31
Gargantuan slack-jawed
hunchbacked
creature pours itself over the seams of its dresses and kills flowers as it
drags pale soles across the eggshells
littering the ground.

We must starve it;
We must **** it;
When it looks in the mirror it cracks it.

Then heinous beast
no more shall feast
and emaciated it shall become.
A shell of a thing, a carcass in fact,
the meat falls off the bone,
but its brain is still intact.

Poor thing.
Warped thing.
You wouldn’t think she’s human,
this thing.
Like apeneck sweeney, but worse
Kalliope May 15
My hair is unruly,
I don't like my teeth.
I haven't seen my debit card
in three ******* weeks.

If I'm not early,
I'll be ******* late.
"Just be on time"—
my brain doesn't work that way.

I did three loads of laundry,
yet have four to fold.
I planned to make a salad
but the lettuce has mold.

The lettuce has mold?
The lettuce has mold.
I swear I just bought it,
I didn't think it was old.

What day is it?
Do you know the time?
I can't find my keys
but I'm thinking in rhymes.

Did you tell me the date?
I'm sorry—I forget.
I'm sure that you did.
I just haven’t remembered it yet.

A mile a minute
is how my mind goes.
Do you want to rearrange the living room?
Should we go to Lowe’s?

These boxes I found
haven’t been opened in ages.
I found an old journal
and sped through the pages.

I should throw it away
but I think I might keep it.
It’s treasured this way,
and no one learns my secrets.

I’m sorry I’m on a tangent,
did we have plans?
I’m sorry to abandon,
I live in my head man

I’ve got so much to do,
I couldn’t possibly go out.
Have you seen my bathroom?
I must clean the grout.

You can stay if you want,
in fact, I’d like that very much,
if you don’t mind my gibberish
and constant running amuck.
Is there cure to this chaos?
Am I forever lost?
Neglecting everything,
Until its covered in moss.
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