"woodard" poems
My Phone explodes with text after text
People wondering who and what's next
What party is that? Who's boyfriends is this?
An destructive illusion of bliss
Be careful for you might miss
The noises, the voices, creating a cacophony of choices
Hang with them, joke about serious things
But all this fake ******** brings
Is plastered smiles and fake laughter
But no one knows what goes on after,
After I leave the party, the hang out, the game , school
I close my bedroom door and the tears began to pool
I can't keep up
But i can't give in
Because then my mind wins
And it is a dangerous game
For the mind cannot be tamed
It is wild, thoughts running free
Over and over engulfing me
In bubble Of doubt and self loathe
The sadness becoming my cloths
wrapping me up, all nice and tight
I won't put up a fight
So I relish in my loneliness with delight
It is there where I can rest
No texts, no parties, no tests
Nothing can touch me but my emptiness
And though it be sad
It really isn't bad
Because i don't have to wear a mask
Force laughter
Fake a smile
I think I'll stay here for a while
This is what happens when your mind gets to tired and broken
Listen to these words I have spoken
Bipolar, depression, and anxiety ****
They cannot be fixed by just taking a pill
Kids, adults, and teenagers need to be to educated about these things
And what we can bring
To the table of ideas and research
It is absurd
To think that these things are a "phase"
It's time we call it what it is
Not inncocent
Or pretty
But harsh and gritty
It is more than a thing, it is a condition
And I am a witness of this
Pandemic of Mental Illness
By Kennedy Grace Woodard
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
They say society will accept us. They say be yourself. And then they hate you for it. They say "your ok". They say i will never leave you. They say they won't hurt us. They say the world is a good place filled with good people. Don't they know we are corrupted? We are a poisoned youth. Made out to be something we are not. Infatuated with the image of perfection. Of beauty. Trying to fit a mold that changes everyday. They say society will accept us. And all thus time they act like they are telling us something new.
-Kennedy G. Woodard
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC