"clinically" poems
Split Personality
You wanna know what goes on in my head,
if you only knew, you would drop dead.
Anger, depression and suicidal thoughts,
maybe its all those little brain clots.
Conceited, vain and very egotistical,
confused, shocking and very mystical.
I'm eccentric, bizarre, and always unconventional,
my vision is always three dimensional.
I take the path that's less traveled,
things I do leave people baffled.
Even I don't know what I'm doing,
but trust me, I always got something brewing.
I practice in the art of deception,
I'm admired by my depth of perception.
I don't know wrong from right,
I see everything in black and white.
I'm a man you don't wanna meet,
I lie, steal and always cheat.
I'm flirty, ***** and very perverted,
if we're alone, I will leave you deserted.
I'm **** hot and always aroused,
every girl I have slowly browsed.
I love assault, ****** and ****
but I only write it for an escape.
Inside my head is torture and pain,
I'm certified and clinically insane.
Sometimes I take my medication,
when I don't, I'm on a permanent vacation.
I'd do anything to become famous,
even **** Donald Trump in his ****
I've crossed over to the dark side,
to hell, I've already applied.
There is no help for me now,
before I go please give me a bow.
I'll accept a standing ovation,
sick and tired of all the aggravation.
I used to be so nice and kind,
into heaven, I got denied.
Don't pay attention to the things you read,
I entertain you til my fingers bleed.
Ask anybody, I really a great guy,
just like REO Speedwagon, its time for me to fly.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Often times people say go to the gym, “It’ll make you happy, and you’ll feel energized!”
These are some of the things I’ve experienced or thoughts I’ve manifested over my teenage years. Ahh yes great ol’ puberty! Onto adulthood, yikes!
Go to the gym and lose that extra weight that your family and so called “friends” have been passively judging you for.
Go to the gym, but don’t lift weights because you’ll get bulky, and no one will ever love you if you look like a female Hulk.
Go to the gym. Go to the gym. I hear this left and right. But I fear that I’ll embarrass myself and that everyone is watching me.
Anxiety and panic attacks hold me back. And what happens when that clinically depressed person is told time and time again to “just work out” and “get out of bed; it’ll make you feel great?” What if they just came down from a manic episode and crashed? What will people say then?
Well I know what I want to say:
This isn’t as simple as the morning blues or that feeling you have after listening to a sad song that reminds you of your past. (Not to disqualify those emotions whatsoever.)
Depression is the ruminating thoughts that no one loves you or ever will. It is feeling so empty that your appetite is nonexistent and your motivation to do what you once loved is gone.
Anxiety is holding your breath and forgetting to breathe, so you just sit there in pain until finally someone or something reminds you to release.
Release all that you’ve built up. Stop the isolation, and share what’s on your mind. It’s not easy. Trust me I know.
Two days ago I went to the gym, and yesterday I went to the gym. Can you guess what I did today? I went to the gym despite every fiber in my being telling me I couldn’t.
I had the support of my mom and sister. Find a gym buddy. Start small because all the machines and strong people can look intimidating. But they all started somewhere and now you can too.
Make a goal. Something that is not too small or too large. For me, I’m training for a 5K that’s in the beginning of May. It will be challenging yet doable.
Sometimes none of us knows what we’re doing, and that’s the beauty and challenges of life. Don’t quit after one try. Your journey is now starting its new chapter. Stay in the present moment, and keep going. I believe in you.
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 1:14 AM UTC
Fat was the first word people used
to describe me when I was a kid
And that didn't bother me much
until I found out it was supposed to
By the time I was fifteen
I knew what it was like to be clinically
overweight, underweight and obese
It was the year of menthol cigarettes
and baggy clothes
Hunching naked over a scale shrine
Mixing ***** with vitamin water,
complimenting each others thigh gaps
*The year breakfast tastes like giving up
and the only time you feel pretty
is when you're hungry*
Not obsessed with being empty
but afraid of being full
Replacing meals with more practical hobbies
like planting flowers or fainting
And ever since I started evaporating,
girls that never spoke to me,
stopped in the hallway
and had the audacity to ask how
And when I told them I was sick,
they told me I was an inspiration
How could I not be in love with my illness?
My eating disorder was the most
interesting thing about me
But how lucky I am now to be boring
To look at a sandwich
and see just a sandwich
Not half an hour of sit ups
or two spent hugging the toilet
This is the year I find more productive
things to do than googling the amount
of sugar on the back of a
lick and stick postage stamp
The year the calculator in my head finally stops
The year that I eat when I'm hungry
without punishing myself
And I know that sounds stupid
**but that **** is hard**
If you're not recovering, you're dying
When people asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up,
I said skinny
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Afterlife Airlines.
I’m your pilot, Captain Meta Physics.
Please fasten your sleep belts
as we are about to leave the body.
Please direct your attention to your stewardess
while she demonstrates safety procedures.
In the event of a drastic reduction in karma,
a mask will fall down from above you.
Place it on and breathe deeply of pure love.
Should those passengers who are clinically dead
find themselves returned by a surgeon’s skill,
the life raft under your seat will inflate
with a new sense of purpose.
After take off the stewardesses will serve milk and honey.
For your entertainment, the movie is
anything with Shirley Maclaine in it
or there are seven channels of chi
on the chakra-phones being dispensed soon.
For those contemplating joining the Tantric Mile High club,
please be considerate of your fellow passengers.
We’re making good time because
the breath of God is always behind us.
Below us to the right is the Ocean of Ego
and to our left some passengers may glimpse
the chain of islands: Faith, Hope and Charity.
We’ve been advised that it’s a little busy on The Other Side
so we’ve been placed in a holding pattern
on the astral plane.
Passengers are reminded to retrieve all emotional baggage
for security reasons
and please help Customs
by declaring all religious preferences.
Ladies and gentlemen, we’re cleared for landing now.
On behalf of the crew, I hope you enjoyed
your transdimensional flight with Afterlife Airlines
and we hope to see you aboard again soon.
Please fasten your sleep belts,
we’re coming in for reincarnation.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
I'm paid to paste this smile on my face
Though it's rarely ever there
Because money doesn't motivate the clinically depressed
As much as we all would like it to
No, I won't make it easy on you
It sure is hell isn't easy on me
Driving through town with my music loud
And a pain so heavy I can barely breathe
Trying to drown out the hurt in endless caffeine
That only makes my heart race faster
And my breath more shallow
And most nights it seems I'm fading
Into the hell that is this life
Because I feel almost nothing
Except the shame and guilt that comes with existing
And my counselor says that
dissociation occurs most
with having done something awful
But how can I explain that
Simply living my life
Feels like an awful thing
And my heart tells me that
Death is my destiny
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:34 AM UTC
It starts off that one plus one is two,
Even for the average person this is true.
NoW tAkE tHe ClInIcAlLy InSaNe,
OnE pLuS oNe CoUlD bE tHrEe,
Do NoT MiStAkE tHiS fOr SiMpLe SyNeRgY.
ThEy ArE mEsSeD uP,
nOt RiGhT iN tHe BrAiN.
As for the geniuses, they ask why.
1+1=2.
Wait what? How is this true?
Where's your proof, I demand it!
Prove to me this absolute hullabaloo!
So now the only question is,
Can you define the way one thinks?
Hold that thought, grab that pen.
You start to write it down, and then realise..
**** No ink.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
He looks down at his bruises,
The bullies they do this.
She looks down at her scars,
The bullying went way to far.
He smiles,
But the bullying has broken his heart.
The bruises, scars, and broken hearts,
Show nothing in comparison,
To the mental scars.
Why can't they like me,
Why do they hurt me.
These questions come to them,
Daily.
Have you heard these wretched names?
Ugly
Fake
Or even,
Clinically Insane
Have you ever stopped to think,
The pain has made them this way?
No they are not,
Ugly .
No they are not,
Fake .
Never have they been,
Clinically Insane .
But this pain,
Is more potent ,
Then red wine,
On white sheets.
Causing them not to,
Laugh,
Smile,
Or wish to breath.
Bullying,
Don't you see what you have done?
This pain,
Cannot be undone.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
They could not bring my body back,
They tried so diligently and then and that,
I soared about myself to know and see,
That I was gone now, gone so physically.
In all the struggles, the doctors, to save my life,
In all the crazy moments, my daughter and my wife,
Knew I was gone, dead so they say in science clinically,
But they could not know I'm here and now I still see.
A minute, maybe more minutes on a cosmic clock,
Began to tick so loudly, how could I make it stop?
Then tears from those who waited in the room nearby,
And how they would begin to be disillusioned and cry.
With that all gone, so instantaneously I began to be,
Inside a world, so lovely, and so beauteous to see,
Where peace so sweet surrounded my soaring soul,
With peoples of all nations, both young and old.
I knew now, God loved all, regardless of their beliefs,
I felt the love, engulfed the peace, in my new relief,
Began to hug those both near me and so very far,
I made the journey to Heaven, where we now are.
But such sweet joy and contentment was not to be,
I heard an angel tell me so kindly and gingerly,
That I must return to continue my Earthly life,
To share the word and love my daughter and wife.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
They could not bring my body back,
They tried so diligently and then and that,
I soared about myself to know and see,
That I was gone now, gone so physically.
In all the struggles, the doctors, to save my life,
In all the crazy moments, my daughter and my wife,
Knew I was gone, dead so they say in science clinically,
But they could not know I'm here and now I still see.
A minute, maybe more minutes on a cosmic clock,
Began to tick so loudly, how could I make it stop?
Then tears from those who waited in the room nearby,
And how they would begin to be disillusioned and cry.
With that all gone, so instantaneously I began to be,
Inside a world, so lovely, and so beauteous to see,
Where peace so sweet surrounded my soaring soul,
With peoples of all nations, both young and old.
I knew now, God loved all, regardless of their beliefs,
I felt the love, engulfed the peace, in my new relief,
Began to hug those both near me and so very far,
I made the journey to Heaven, where we now are.
But such sweet joy and contentment was not to be,
I heard an angel tell me so kindly and gingerly,
That I must return to continue my Earthly life,
To share the word and love my daughter and wife.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
Silently, "I need to tell you something."
I approach. Falter, walk away.
I need to break this bond I have with silence,
This unhealthy affair I have with solitude.
I haven't even the energy to pull the words up from my stomach.
I heave,
Retching out nothing but bile and air.
I have so many things to say,
Passing fruitlessly through the space between my ears.
Speaking of space, that seams to be where I exist.
It's either that, or this is Purgatory.
Hell.
Too much conscience to be clinically depressed,
Too far gone to be "normal",
Nothingness.
"This is what it feels like to be a ghost."
To no one, again.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
I may only be seventeen years old, but I can already tell you this
that I am sick and tired
I am sick of the people who are judgmental and the people who are unkind
The people who tell Atheists they are going to hell and the people who mock Christians for wanting something to believe in
I’m sick of the hateful way people speak to each other and how everyone tries to form some kind of negative opinion about one another
I’m sick of the bullies in school who drive kids to suicide
and the parents who never taught them to be kind
I’m sick of macho boys thinking its cool to hate and easy girls with zero self-esteem
but more than that I'm sick of the society that made them feel this way
I’m tired of the snobs who turn up their noses at self-expression and of the hipsters frowning upon the so called conformist squares
I’m tired of making my own life choices based on a fear of someone else’s negative reaction I’m tired of people who look for the flaws in my life instead of basking in the beauty of their own.
I am fed up with people who complain about the clinically depressed and the people who spitefully use their own rain cloud to block out the sun
I’m fed up with people who don't know how share and people who take advantage of their friends
I’m fed up with cheaters, liars and the inconsiderate
All in all I am fed up with cruelty itself
It serves no purpose other than to blind people from the beautiful reality of our lives
Hatefulness needs only to be replaced by love and acceptance and then perhaps there will be an overall higher level of happiness
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
White, calloused hands
Gripping white soft belly
Bushy white hair
Rubbing clean white face
Unfurling smoke rising
Rising like the tide on a full moon
Into blue sky
Blue as the ocean itself
Lakes north of the Twin Cities
Life living liberally under rocks
Death staring darkly from the depths
Moon glowing brightly above
Train brakes screech
The passengers rustle a bit
Black as the night
Hard as a rock
Rampant youths file into the alley
Raging inside
Ranting out
Rigid bones cease
The drug addicts plead mercilessly
With their alter ego
More more more
**** **** ****
The businessmen do their fast walk
And the women do their little sway
Walking dogs and walking strollers
Clinically insane they repeat
Dark blond hair
Ripped jeans
Tighter than skin
Gay shoes
Beautiful brunette
Big *** ****
Smirking smile
She knows she’s hot
Random dudes street talking
Random chicks street banging
Random kids street dealing
Random guys finish the job
Men in work clothes
Buy love symbols for their niece
And rock shows for their nephew
But nothing for their sons
Watching the sunset
Watching the moon rise
Watching the tides roll
Watching you fake it all
Justine took all the pills
She’s passed out on the futon
This basement gives me chills
I think I heard someone call 9-1-1
Someone in uptown died tonight
Shot
On the street
Blood rained like rain
Red towels from the hotel
Stolen again
Marriot’s free swimming pool
Cost me 800 dollars
*** and drugs combined
Rugs and thugs
And enemy teams
Gunshots, gun fights
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
I am now clinically insane.
Or in much kinder words, lovestruck.
You are my serotonin.
My current favourite drug.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
This is a psalm by my friend Mad Pastor Grovell
Praise the Lord with the sound of the trumpet!
Praise the Lord with the psaltry
(whatever on God's green earth that is!)
And with the harp while you are at it!
Praise the Lord with the tambourine
(another queer one!) and with dancing!
Praise the Lord with stringed instruments and electronic organs!
Praise the Lord on the loud cymbals and gongs
(and the high sounding cymbals too)!
Let every thing that breathes praise the Lord
(even midgets and the clinically obese and perverts)!
And that includes YOU - so get praising Him straight away!
Get down on your knees, blow your trumpet,
Rattle your silly tambourine like a mongo!
Clash your assorted cymbals and play with your *****
Sing songs and hymns and cries of adoration to the Heavens
And clap till your hands are bleeding with joy!
Be a one-man band of earhole-busting praise for the Lord!
Praise ye the Lord lest He smite thee totally ******* senseless!
Or else WATCH OUT FOR THE GOOD LORD
WILL BASH OUT YOUR ******* WORTHLESS BRAINS
FOR YOUR FILTHY SEX-SINS AND ALSO CONDEMN YOU
TO AN ETERNITY OF PASSIVE ****** IN HELL!
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
there we were, late for takeoff
and too early for landing.
all bruises and tears,
and ringing in the ears.
there we were, barely standing.
we were clinically, morbidly,
gloriously grotesque,
and **** picturesque,
nonetheless.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
all i've been able to think about lately
is a poem written by fingers on a keyboard
attached to a left hand not yet responsible
for being blistered with cigarette burns
or lifting can or shot or handle to lips
with which to stain -- barley, hops,
potatoes, rice, and alcoholic love.
and i've been thinking about how i felt
after i read a poem written the night
before by a left hand now singed
and swollen, and guilty of lifting
many such apparatuses bearing
many such inks to blot out
mistakes and scribble over
all the misjudged words
that have spilled from
lips stained with barley,
hops, potatoes, and rice.
and i've been thinking about
the content of that poem,
and about how differently
i thought of it two nights ago,
before i got my own matching
business card with a followup
appointment for next week,
and a matching warning
to allow 24 hours notice
before changing the day
or time of an appointment
in order to avoid being charged;
and with it came the opportunity
to write my own poem about it:
Christina M., LMFT,
Wed, 4-17-13 at 4:00 PM,
and it has a sacramento street
address with a phone number
i have no intention of calling.
and i've been thinking about
how i met with her today,
and what we spoke of,
how i told her about drugs,
and how i told her about drinking,
and how my grades have been slipping,
and how i realized that
my poem is his poem,
just eleven months too late.
and that's why i told her about
this party i went to this weekend,
and how i'm passive, and i have trouble
speaking up for myself when i need to,
and how we sang until i left the room,
and how i went outside in the cold
after i came back inside to notice
something i wasn't expecting
to make me sad, but did.
and this person with whom
i have another appointment next week,
and most likely the week after that,
for however many weeks it takes,
told me that it helps to tell a person
how you're feeling without
gluing strings to the information,
or getting upset, or lying,
and so i guess this is an attempt,
albeit one made out of cowardice
and impatience, and some desire
for there to be an easier way
to tell a boy i've loved him
ever since i found this stupid website,
filled with his stupid words,
and his stupid poem about
a stupid girl he used to date,
that clinically broke open
my amygdalae and upon them
tattooed every feeling
of which i was never sure.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
never content:
withholding love out of what?
fear? envy? greed? sadness?
how i long for peace, stability and change...
a constant contradiction. barreling from heart to heart -
never finding ground long enough to lose myself
in someone else’s arms.
feelings stronger after i tear them out.
have to look at them in the air in front of my eyes.
bleeding, dripping their blood on the carpet,
heart beating in my hands.
to be clinically inspected and torn apart
only to discover that this was what i wanted all along.
like a tree, felled to tell its age,
dead, but finally understood.
too late to say,
“ah! look how old it’s branches, how deep its roots, how wonderful it’s shade!”
dead. dead and decomposing on the floor.
will i always glorify love lost over love in front of my eyes?
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if life could really be that simple?
I am twenty, confused, and clinically depressed
I went to therapy, then to inpatient, and now I’m home
to this house that I’ve known since birth,
Depression is not the only thing I feel, so it is not all of me.
But the path down this road has been long, and dark,
Going up hills and making turns, that got me lost sometimes,
But I’m starting to see the light of day,
Everything happens for a reason they say.
My journey isn’t over yet, but I’ll tell you what I’ve learned:
I’m not easy to understand, but nobody is,
at twenty, my age. But I know I am not just what
I feel and see and hear. Instead I am also what
I think, and say, and do. Aren’t we all?
The things that define me, aren’t only in my head.
They can be read, and heard, and seen,
My words spoken out loud, or written down are
The decisions I make, such as letting go, or fighting;
Telling a truth, or a lie; giving, or taking
I guess having depression doesn’t make me a good or bad person
Despite my disorder, I make ordinary choices.
So will my definition of me be alright,
Even if it means, I’m not always delighted to be here.
But I will be here
Just like you are, instructor.
You might be happy with life---
Yet you have your troubles, just as I have mine.
That’s human.
Perhaps you don’t want to be a part of some sad occasions,
Nor do I often want to be a part of them either.
But we are, and that’s life!
As I learn from my mistakes and hard times,
I guess you learn from yours—
although you’re older—and wiser—
and I have less life experience than you.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
am I clinically depressed
or am I just crazy
chemically imbalanced
motivationally challenged
or am I just lazy
attention deficit disorder
hyperactive distracted
interactive media addiction
progressive techno optimist
idealistic unrealistic
future obsessive affliction
am I terminally indecisive
or am I just manic
in need of professional help
to just get over myself
or should I just panic
am I clinically depressed
or am I just crazy
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
Is there anything more pure
Than a dog who curls up at your side
And leans her sweet meaty head against you
And falls asleep,
Dreaming her dreams as she snores?
A studied and precise move,
(the snoring is key for peak adorableness) clinically proven to woo your human into giving you a bite of her dinner.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC
Drown my sorrows
instead of myself.
My liquors top shelf.
She doesn't kid herself,
she's clinically insane
only alive for the game.
Sadness is all she gains.
She doesn't watch the rain,
she's too busy sleeping away the pain.
To keep herself sane.
She throws back the pills
with five in her grasp,
she keeps going and starts to laugh.
This is the way a psychopath acts.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
For those of you who don't know me...
My name is Corrie Brown and I struggle with depression.
I have family history of depression, and I am clinically depressed.
I have a lot of things go on in my life,
Between, being molested/raped,
having a druggy for a brother,
a family who is totally ******* up,
people betraying my trust left and right,
hurting me for the fun of it,
or to scare me for no reason....
I have done things I am not proud of,
I have been through things I'd rather forget,
but can't.
I use to cut my arms, just to escape,
when the pain became unbearable...
I am a tough girl, but I can only be tough for so long.
I spend everyday replaying things in my head,
my past mocking me...
To this day, my past ruins my present, and future.
I spend every night crying myself to sleep.
Thinking how much better off the world would be without me,
how simple it would be to die, and not have to worry anymore.
Life just doesn't seem like living,
if you live it crying everyday, wanting to die.
This is me, the me I don't show, because I have to be strong for everyone else. Be everyone's psych, rock, inspiration.
So for those of you who don't know me.... Here's just the tip of the iceberg of the crap that is my life.... You want to know why I am the way I am.... HERE!!
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC