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Thomas W Case Mar 2023
Another visit to
Med Psych;
the withdrawals are
I’m emaciated and malnourished.
With the exception of
one meal every few
days, I’ve dined on ***** and
wine for my sustenance.

I check out a lap top from
the patient library, and
try to get the poems organized on
my flash drive.
Concentration is elusive.

The psych doctor decides
to have me committed.
She’s concerned about my
worsening health and depression.
I guess I can’t  
blame her, but what
bird likes a cage?

I try to talk her
out of it,
but she’s resolute.

The next day, just
as the deputy is
serving me the
committal papers, I have
a seizure—a bad one.
My lips turn blue.
I **** myself.
The doctors pump me full
of Ativan.  Everything is a  
blur for the next
Slowly, softly,
my mind comes back.

I get a room-mate;
turns out he’s an
artist, a fantastic
abstract painter,
his name’s Chris.
Chris gets the activity
director to bring
him some paints and
other art supplies.

He goes to work;
stabbing the paper
with his brush—
makes it bleed with
color.  He’s a young  
a madman and a  
I have my notebook and
my sword.
I pound out the word, the line,
my highway through this
silly society.

Chris and I talked
long into the autumn
night, locked in a  
cerebral prison.

The room we were in
was more like a Greenwich Village
beat pad than it was a  
hospital room.
Lalaouna Amina Dec 2021
When cruelty tends to be necessity
Man conspires with insanity
scenes from everyday life
Finn Dec 2021
Feeling the body split itself apart at the seams
and dissipate into single atoms
like tiny pixels on a screen

Only to come back to it
Having been in the middle of a task
But caught between surreal reality
and the phantom sensation of turning to sand
Someone asks a question
I smile
I forgot what I was doing."
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2020
I drown
Inside my sea

Crushing waves
Tsunami triggered
Withered morning
Grisha S Nov 2020
A girl not born but made with trauma

Her story so bizarre, it seems like a drama

But it's not

Her childhood, so terrible it was

None could face that amount of loss

The girl's mother was in her grave

Died at the hands of her father who treated the girl as a slave

He beat her delicate face every day

But no words ever came out of her mouth

For there was nothing she could say

Once she decided to throw herself into the river

So she could drown and leave this life forever

But a voice inside told her no

The voice wasn't hers

But it was calming and slow

Days after, she discovered more voices

One different from the other

But they all told her one thing-

Things would get better

One day, her father beat her again,

But the voice from the river now came out

That voice became a person and began to shout

The girl, proud of her voice

Took some clothes and a horse, and ran away

Because she would go anywhere but stay

She did not know where she was going to go

But she wanted to get away from that vile man she called father

She didn't care cause wherever she would be

Her voices would always be with her.

-Grisha. S
Traveler Aug 2020
We all have a shadow side
I’ve seen yours
Now have a look at mine
Opposite of my persona‘s fear
I’m not afraid of being weird
We are all perfect beyond our pride
Made of sub atomic light
How can one integrate
A stability lackImg wealth?
A fear the shadow
Cannot support the self
Who can embrace
Love without a wall
I’m already on the ground
So I’m not afraid to fall

Do you believe that you are above
Looking down from your love
Well that’s a projection
Of your greatest fear
So take the focus off
The broken mirror
Traveler Tim
Coleman M Lowe Jul 2020
Into this world world will come,
A few,
Very precious souls.
Who  will not fit
Into your cookie cutter molds.
To your ideals,
You try to make them hold.
And never realize,
They may be,
The purest form of gold
I wrote this when I watched the staff in a "mental" ward openly laugh and make fun of someone who was challenged when they attempted to make him the same as almost everyone else.I don't conform either and was quite upset by their actions and treatment of this individual. I simply say that they are "differently enabled" than others and  staff would have used resourse myuch better to find what the person was good at instead of forcing them to comply and making fun.
Iz Dec 2019
I remember the supervised showers
The crushed ice
The cries at night
The feeling of losing control
The idea that earbuds with the right twist and ties could make me die
The sewn on pillowcases
The weapon in scissors, mirrors, handles, sheets, bedposts, bags, shampoo, straps, glass, pens
The misdemeanor
The boy who’s anorexia was his slow suicide
The girl with two siblings that killed themselves
How everyone wanted to **** themself
The 7-year-old that only cried
The lime green hallways that haunt my mind
Found this poem from a year ago
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