"stigma" poems
Females and males are one in the world,
although that is not the belief that has been furled.
We are told that one gender is better than the other,
it seems it's just one stereotype; one after another.
Equality can become realised if only we believe
and take the initiative to take action and achieve.
Why shouldn't men and women be treated the same?
To have equal rights and equal pay, that should really be our aim.
Men, gender inequality is your issue too,
although you may not agree, I'm afraid it is true.
You should have the right to express your emotions and be what you please,
You should not be pulled back by stigma, but instead be who you are at ease.
Instead of fighting, we should be pulling together,
and make this journey a joint endeavor.
We are of equal value if only we open our eyes,
at the heart of change is where we become most wise.
Now or never? If not us then who?
the interest in this movement must come through.
Equality is not a privilege but a human right,
all genders on the spectrum should be able to shine bright.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Is it not easy
to greet to someone
whom you never spoke
for a very long time?
Among all people,
I am the only one
you've always bypass
to talk to
I know the hindrance
why we ward off each other
just to make ourselves
escape the stigma
Curiosity gets bigger
Each time I look at you
Should I wait patiently
Or take the wheel further
One thing I could do...
All what I wanted to say,
all my thoughts about you,
are profoundly veiled
You and me
are the only ones
to know what's in...
where people shouldn't know
A storage box
of unspoken words
a birthday bag
of sweets
If you are reading this
do not assume
that I did them
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
I can’t listen.
My mind is a prison.
Tears fall down my cheek.
My confidence weak.
No appetite to eat.
Thoughts race and prevent me from sleep.
Bags under my eyes.
Whats that in the sky?
They tell me its just a phase.
ADD isn’t real.
Why is this such a big deal?
Little do they know it ruins my days.
Can’t focus in class.
Teachers think its a load of crap.
No one understands that this isn’t okay.
I try so hard.
I studied all night!
But I always seem to fail.
Look at my medication.
Look up the facts.
When will they realize ADHD is real.
Reality and daydreams.
Which one is real?
Which is more important;
The lesson in class, or the color of my nails?
My confidence; frail
My complexion; pale
My mind?
A jail.
But I put on a smile.
Make life seem worthwhile.
Because once in a while I can finish a task.
But pretending i’m fine.
Missing homework deadlines.
It’s like i’m hiding myself with a mask.
Don’t get me wrong.
Some people have it worse.
At least I have a roof over my head.
Although i’ve cried.
I’ve never considered suicide.
But others wish to be dead.
So treat me with respect.
Break the stigma.
And educate yourself.
ADHD is real.
It’s an unfair deal.
So you can choose to understand mental health.
I don’t have enough focus to listen.
And thats what your missing.
This is not a choice, this is something I dread.
So next time you judge me.
Next time you label me.
Remember, some with ADHD wish to be dead.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.
When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.
The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…
But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.
* * *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?
* * *
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.
* * *
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.
* * *
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.
* * *
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.
* * *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
A monster appears
like one from your childhood
An inner battle commences
Between the bad and the good
At first, you'd find them in movies
or under the bed
Now as you grow, you fear
The monsters live in your head
Disguised as shadows in night,
New monsters now appear
These monsters are sneakier,
They know what you fear
Struggling to breathe,
your eyes filled with fear
Trapped, alone, no where to hide
Can't escape, it's far and it's near
This monster is tricky,
It plays tricks on your mind,
You plead for it to stop,
But there's no where to hide
This monster knows you
It makes you question your past
With a bleak outlook,
You wonder how long this might last
The one place you felt safe
Before this monster invaded
Now your mind is no solace
Every good memory faded
How do you run from something
That plays tricks on your mind?
How do you know who you are
When it's yourself you can't find?
How do you feel joy from
things that now trigger pain?
How do you move forward with life
when only fear remains?
We all grow up
It's a natural part of life
No one ever warns us though
That life comes with great strife
No one ever tells us
To be afraid of our thoughts
Feeling lost and alone
With many battles still to be fought
Once this monster invades,
It's hard to get back
To a life once lived,
Before this monster attacked
Our parents warned us of
the bad guys outside
They never told us
of the ones in our minds
And now this monster has control
You no longer recognize the mirror
You pray for this to end,
For prayers fall upon deaf ears
You question your sanity,
You question your morals
This monster knows how to torture
To envelop you in its toil
You know you have a battle ahead
This monster can't defeat
Crippled by the past
You must overcome and beat
This is an illness
This is internal torture
But you mustn't forget
You've got a bright future
You must fight on,
Between this inner war
Good versus evil,
What do you fight for?
Fight for love,
Fight to win back your mind
Fight for family and joy
Fight for what you still must find
Monsters can attack
Anyone, anytime
Lest not judge
For you never know when a monster might prey upon YOUR mind
Author note: end the stigma of mental illness. Talk about it.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure
Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,
Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,
The dusky skin and frizzy curls,
Braille like pimples on the face
Discoloration, bumps and pores;
This Body shaming, I shall pass.
Writhing in pain and humiliation,
Drenching in rage and insecurity
While I lie,
Society curses me
Defining and redefining my chastity;
'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.
You set the monster free and blame the ****
This Victim shaming, I shall pass.
Beige and ebony;
They call me names blatantly
Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.
Laugh and scoff all you want.
Harass the Black, detain them,
Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.
This Black shaming, I shall pass.
Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,
And seeking refugee in collective blame,
Let's construct our utopian world
Acknowledging all freaks and flaws
This Shaming, we shall pass.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
There's a flower in between the rocks
Undesireable unless one seek the flower
In cravices in the shadows of ***** towers
Procure trade on whims of nameless men
Openly or in disguise she thrives due to
Demands, in decadence of her world
The underworld enslave her soul
Like the geisha in *******
Decries a social stigma
Imposing upon her
Remove her off
The streets if
you will
But
She
Will
Come
Back sprouting
Amongst people and rocks
Enticing yet perceived as weeds still.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
Drip yourself into a cup
Fill up your body with antiquity
Let the collagen insist
An allegory of Capricorn
Memories crystallised
Settled in
Forevers harvest
Insensitive
Misconstrued chemical
Collective symmetry's sin
A condition, livid
Fleeting in Human imagery
Ships break
Loop our tongued
Hands, tossed in Dramamine
Whittled in a succession of malleable fashion
Talent spilled spread in supper
Collate our atrophy
And drink from baroness
Flavours tarnished
Super-collider
Blood soaked in Gematria
A garden of totality
High brow comparison
Entitled in your vacuous stigma
Forever burning
In the lesser key of Solomon
28 daemon
Tessellation in trigonometry
Temperance towards an infinite
Champion of mind, complex
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I could tell you more about the hurt
inflicted into us by what we thought was love
and to find it be an inevitable pain
followed by tears that flow off the face
and the guilt that maybe it was out fault.
we NEVER get the love we deserve,
manipulated and programmed the generational stigma
to love one more than yourself and unfulfilling
what we as the human race should've
been instilled with was self love.
too busy lost in the social media haze of
losing yourself into everything that we
forget to love ourselves
forgetting we have to do that before we
can truly love any one person.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
After I thought it through
the stigma felt abused
I cycled through the minds of others
exposing their consensus to my senses
for better or worse, I don't discriminate
I do, however, hate
without a second thought
suddenly, void of reason
in passing or in wait I would
indifferently abuse the scarred stature
what remained was waste
letting me think is a sin
there is no god who can forgive my mind
not that I condone the plundering of others
it's just that my father will never know.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Depression is not a phase
This is a point i want to raise
Sufferers, do not seek attention
As the stigma likes to mention
Its a mental condition
Just as harmful as an addiction
Listen
And take it serious
Depression is not a phase
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
The progression of Huntington's disease often leads to the need of a wheelchair. My husband resisted using a wheelchair for many years, even though his poor balance and tiredness meant he was prone to falls. I didn't exactly pressurise him into using one. To be honest it was not just because it was another sign of loss of independence, but it would have been harder for me too in many respects.
What I wasn't prepared for, when the time came, was the social stigma attached to wheelchair users insofar as becoming a kind of non-entity! In a weekly blog I wrote in 2008 I wrote about the first time I took my husband out in a wheelchair. It angered me how peoples’ attitudes seemed to change overnight.
Walking down the High Street,
Hand in hand like lovers,
The couple blend into the crowd,
No different from the others.
As the years go by though,
His body having changed,
Has sadly meant a wheelchair,
Has had to be arranged.
Strolling down same High Street,
The woman now behind,
Her lover needing pushing,
Steep pavements so unkind.
Entering the bar now,
With awkward navigation;
People jump to open door,
Aware of situation.
“Thank you” says the man in chair,
When wheeled into the place;
“Welcome” say the helpers there,
But all avoid his face.
Carer gets the “Welcome” mouthed,
No looks with him they share;
Let’s treat this fellow human being,
As if he wasn't there.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Coming down and over
With a narcissistic tide
Daddy's little nightmare
but to momma she's alright
Punched with independence
to hide her own stigma
Breaking hearts left and right
Out for lust, not love
Regurgitating phrases
as if anything was new
Somehow I was blind enough
to ever be with you
I'm never turning back again
You're only burning time
You have taken happiness
But you'll never take my pride.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
This transparent veil to cover transparency is suffocating me.
I want to rip off this fabric and know that when I touch your flesh you feel the compassion, not the contact
I want to knock teeth when we kiss and hear thundering laugh and not the muffled titters of nervousness
I want 10 minutes to go by and we're already buried deep in our conversation via messages
Because I don't care. I don't care that there's this new found stigma that caring is out and mysterious is in. Because I don't care if you text me without a reason, because oh hey! I was just thinking about you! Because I like your company, because I'm tired of deciphering ambiguous words. Because life isn't a god **** code. It's thrilling, it's open, it's here. I'm here.
I want you to know I'm here.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
As a young girl,
I was taught that I only needed 3 things in life to be happy.
First, I needed a husband. I needed his love and I needed him to take care of me. I also needed to make him happy so that he would never leave me.
Second, I needed a family. I was told having a family would be the greatest joy I’d ever experience and would keep me satisfied for the rest of my life.
Third, I needed a beautiful home that other people envied.
Well..
I grew up.
I experienced all these things
but yet,
I am more unhappy now than I have ever been.
My home feels less like a home,
and more like a prison.
because I am bound to it.
I am bound to that home,
simply because I am a woman and this is what women do, right?
Because my gender defines me and confines me to this one lifestyle.
After all,
this is what my mother and her mother did,
and they seemed content.
But why should this be it?
I don’t even know who I am!
Ask me what I do,
I’ll tell you
“nothing, I’m just a housewife”.
Ask me about myself,
and I’ll tell you about my family.
because I am not my own person.
I belong to the stigma that my gender should define who I am
and put boundaries on my capabilities.
That I am limited to certain tasks
and I cannot be anything more than I am expected to be.
I have created this illusion that I am satisfied
when I am not.
I am disappointed and I’m wondering if this is it.
Is this really what I am made for?
My life is like clockwork.
Everyday I go through the routines,
over and over,
silently praying for the day when I am free to be whomever I wish.
But for now,
I am nothing.
I am only a housewife.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To come alongside.
In words of comfort.
Words of love.
To the divorced.
Who feel like they've failed.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the mentally ill.
Whose tormenting thoughts are a living hell.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the lost teen caught up in the downward
spiral of addiction.
Where escape from life is so appealing to them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the homeless man without a dime.
Whose every moment is a struggle to survive.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the child in the classroom who doesn't fit in.
Who needs an aide to settle them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try?
To accept.
To comfort.
To...
love.
To hold out our hand.
And then...
watch God heal.
The broken hearts.
Of the marginalized.
From the pain
of
the
stigma.
Of those who don't fit in.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Dear Readers,
Tomorrow (10th of September 2016) is a day called Suicide Awareness Day. And I believe it is nothing to be ashamed about. Every 40 seconds, someone is dying because another person did not speak up. This needs to stop.
There are truly beautiful souls out there that are suffering and battling with their thoughts and minds EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I'm not putting it light. I mean EVERY SINGLE WAKING MOMENT OF EVERY SINGLE DAY.The stigma that revolves around suicide , depression and mental health in general needs to permanently dissolve.
It is PERFECTLY OKAY(to talk about your mental illness and/or your struggles...it is not at all healthy to keep heavy struggles within yourself. There are people out there that truly care and that truly want to help...and I know that seems like a lie when you are in a very dark place and that is EXACTLYwhy people need to start speaking about depression and suicide almost as if you are talking about having a cup of coffee. "I'm having a cup of coffee" can be said easily and without any fear, and that is how people who are suffering from ANY MENTAL ILLNESSESshould be made to feel.
We deserve to feel SAFE, SUPPORTED, LOVED , APPRECIATED , UNDERSTOOD. We do not deserve to feel **MISUNDERSTOOD, UNAPPRECIATED. ** And we do not deserve to be looked at or treated as parasites. People with mental illnesses have emotions too, and perhaps too many. People with mental illnesses deserve extra understanding, care and love.
So please, do not be afraid to speak up. Speak to your loved ones; a simple
"Are you okay? I just want you to know I love you and appreciate you" could save someone's life.
- Crimsyy♡
#health #wellbeing #mind #suicideawareness #awareness
Ps: Please repost this if you agree and to show support to those suffering from depression. I promise it won't ruin your profile. Thankyou so much.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Smiling politely in the local store,
another happy shopper that most would ignore,
but what torrid secrets lay under her grin
the tainted stigma of that hidden sin,
she wraps up her fears with the things that she’s bought,
packed into bags without a thought,
the knots in her stomach drive her insane,
for she knows that tonight there’ll be anguish and pain,
She drinks her coffee and stares at the clock,
It’s ticking hands seem to laugh and mock,
her doleful eyes are starting to mist,
as she thinks of the bruises made by his fist,
Violently thrown onto a bed,
pinned down and stifled as if she was dead,
pretends not to feel the hatred and pain,
as her virtue is stolen again and again,
She’s sick of the broken promises and lies,
prays to a God who never replies ,
Its all tucked away where no one can see,
longing for the day that her soul will be free.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
We have souls that are plunging off this planet,
in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos-
fearing the hurt is never ending,
leads to renovations of existence.
To silence the beating
of a heart,
to end a life.
Morality is stuck behind
the gates of purgatory
& society is too scared of
what will happen
if we use our mouths for
meaningful conversation.
Indeed.
A tourniquet can stop the bleeding,
but can’t do justice for spread of infection,
or the scar serving as a reminder.
People are dying from depression-
faulty chemistry in the brain.
As well as suicide.
It is the crying of phantoms,
never to be heard-
wanting change,
a re-birth,
of the contorted humanity
we proudly call ”life”
Ache that’s carried lifelong,
but never resolved.
Truthfully,
those vague questions
don’t save lives.
Death knows this,
of course.
He is an omniscient force
lingering in the scenery.
Possessing the inability
to tolerate the teasing
and the wagers.
Coming to collect early
because, we’ve begun
to shatter
every fragment
of light
life reflected.
Now,
Darkness makes him feel welcome
and entitled.
KRM
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC
I am a helpless hopeless witness
sitting idle on a courtroom bench
as if in church
kneeling backwards beneath slanted
stain glass
light
with my hands clasped tight
and pressed neat against my forehead
but there is
no
one
to pray to when
there is no faith;
I am invisible in the eyes of a clairvoyant god.
My heart beats rough
almost
p
o
u
n
d
i
n
g
straight out of my chest
to the beat of the grand judge's gavel.
"Guilty,
guilty,
guilty,"
they chant, and
"Selfish,
selfish,
selfish," too.
"We find the defendant cowardly."
They never even put me on the stand.
They will not sentence me to execution--
for that would be too kindly.
I am destined to a life
of praying for death without parole
and folding
a plethora of pervasive glances
tightly between the
lines
on
my
palms.
They shoot their looks from
all
different
angles,
and
even with this accumulation of grayscale smoke above my head,
I
can't
escape
it.
After every much belittled blink
they taunt me with another slice of glass
that scrapes off my skin cells
one
by
one
and leaves my body hair in a standing ovation
pulsing with anticipation--
but they never draw blood. A cruel
and unusual punishment.
At confession I can never find the breath to reveal
the heart I've taped to my chest to keep from f
a
l
l
i
n
g
or the soul in my hands that's been
crushed
between sweaty fingers.
How can they punish me when I am already a walking jail cell
with skinny white lines for bars on my wrists?
I am to repent until I am no longer human, but here's the thing--
I never was.
I am much
much
more.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
sex-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are
we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
**** *** thot, *****
these and much much more
***** ***** and traitor
see you all later
******* druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
**** ****** loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
Patterned dots, existence connects
An anther to a stigma, reproduction
The pollen withers, pollution subsides
Colonies of bees vanish in the wind
Toxic genetic food wins in binge
Mother earth cries in pain, an ail
Food chains and supplies cut short
Globalised mass production of poison
Supermarkets stocking “all season”
Consumerism monopolies swell
The environment abused and misused
Plastic bottles displaced, a chemical sludge
The haunted “great pacific garbage patch”
Littered garbage, debris and chemical sludge
Humanity displaced, dissociated and divided
Ruining sea waters , floating landfill fueled
Probability of heightened population
Global panics, mimicked maniacs
Reductions of resources to feed all
Unsustainable long windy farms
Big roads, buried bills, stingy reality
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC