i'm sick
             of being
                             mentally ill
       but then
                       what would i write about?

It was December and the sun rested upon its cloud.
night.
I sang in the shower that night. I even combed through my messy curls. More pulling than combing. But I combed.
In the mirror. My reflection. It glanced at me and smiled back and even had the same beauty mark upon its lower cheek. We were the same.
I wondered what it was like to be the least favorite in the garden.
Did roses think lily’s were ugly? Roses were beautiful.
sad. Upon some time you would grow lonely. Tired. Un whole.
Empty. I was empty because I felt ordinary.
I was ordinary nothing too good. Not anything bad. Ordinary.
In afternoons walking past the roses I saw myself as a Dandelion. The ugly one.
The ugly duckling. The ugly flower. The ordinary.

You can’t treat me
If I don’t want to get better

Sorry,

E̴̘̹̠͍̭͒̉͜ṃ̶̺̰̲̟͋́p̴̧̛̳̠ȉ̴̪̒͑͐ŗ̴̝͍͙͔̀̄̅̌ė̴̽̓̎­̨͉̩̟̞̗̑


P. S. I don’t care

land of hills and fog,
moss covered forest and a
cottage in the dark



Please, oh please, lamenting weep,
please, don’t take my baby from me.
Within the woods and through the trees,
on the hills, I’m on my knees.
Please don’t take my baby from me.


Frigid sweat runs down her forehead
and she whimpers from her shivering chest.
Tried my best to sing her to sleep
but there is blood in these lullabies.

Her coughs are like shattered glass from her throat,
and her painful wails in these walls echo.
And though I wish this was all a dream,
I heard from the woods the old rallying cry.

I lie on the bed and clutch my child
and pray her soul keeps clear of the wild.
I bridle my tears so her armour’s not weak,
though in my heart it’s becoming a lie.

Please, I beg you, don’t take her away,
she was only just born the other day.
Let her step on the stones, let her be free,
let her remain, keep her alive.


Please, oh please, lamenting weep,
please, don’t take my baby from me.
Within the woods and through the trees,
on the hills, I’m on my knees.
Please don’t take my baby from me.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet