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Personal Note:

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Poem

You see it’s complicated.
Just because his bones aren’t crumbling before your eyes,
And his organs are still vaguely breathing,
Well appear to be intact.
It must mean he’s fine, normal in fact.

Just because his skin isn’t blue and grey all over,
And his head isn’t spinning,
The voices still get to him.
Deep down beyond all the self-motivation talks
He still struggles to admit he’s wrong

Just because he can’t put himself through this for much longer,
the toil and torment you see in the news,
In front of your deluded eyes and mind,
this doesn’t reveal,
the secrets to your fogged mind.

You see, he’s not the stereotype, the typical
That society has taught you to look out for
And sympathize.
You’ve been hypnotized to call out 
“He’s just attention seeking”
When in actual fact
The cuts on his arms, are symbols of what’s wrong with the world.


You can’t see his ribs piercing though his dead, flimsy skin
The only visible damage is 
the blood stains on the floor
and the bloody razor blade 
shining under the expectations of his family 

You can’t hear his brain and body,
Working together, in conjunction,
Like a duet,
To slowly kill him off from this cruel world,
This cruel, judgmental society.
That we are forced to proceed to
This agenda of hatred
To leave no trace, of his sorry existence
To you he’s fine.
This is his normal.

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