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An angry poem from the mind nobody understands Don't tell me to breathe when I'm choking on pain, Don't tell me to smile when I'm drowning in rain. Don't tell me I'm fine when I'm breaking inside, I've mastered the art of pretending I've tried. You don't live in my head when the demons awake, You don't feel the damn ground underneath you all shake. You don't hear every thought screaming out in the dark, Or feel your own mind tear your soul apart. Mental health—what a beautiful lie, They say they understand, then they turn and walk by. They preach about kindness, then judge what they see, They want the old version, not the wreckage of me. I'm angry as hell at the cards I was dealt, At the things I remember, the things that I've felt. At the nights I begged for some peace in my brain, Only to wake up and do it again. I'm tired of explaining the tears in my eyes, Of swallowing words while the anger still rises. Tired of being told that I'm making a scene, When you haven't a clue what my silence can mean. My mind is a prison with walls made of fear, Where the ghosts of my past never disappear. One voice says I'm worthless, another says fight, And they both keep me company deep in the night. I can love you like heaven, then fear you'll be gone, I can break into pieces and still carry on. I can hate what I'm feeling, hate what I do, Then hate myself more for believing it's true. And don't call me crazy like that's all I am, You don't know the battles, you don't give a damn. You see the explosion, but never the spark, You judge my reactions, not the wounds in the dark. Where the hell is the help when you're losing your mind? Where's the love when you're struggling, falling behind? They say, "Reach out," but they don't want the truth, They want pretty little stories, not the ugly proof. So here's my damn truth, let it burn through the page: I'm exhausted from fighting this war every day. I'm sick of the stigma, the shame, and the blame, Of being treated like illness is all that I am. MY MENTAL HEALTH IS NOT YOUR ENTERTAINMENT. My pain isn't weakness. My scars aren't a statement. I'm more than the chaos you think that you see, But God knows how hard it is being me. And if I seem cold, it's the fire I've survived. If I seem distant, it's how I've stayed alive. If my anger comes roaring, don't assume that you know— Sometimes rage is the only way hurt gets to show. I didn't ask for this war in my head, Didn't ask for the nights I lie wide awake in my bed. I didn't ask for these battles, this weight, this despair, Or to fight so damn hard just to breathe in the air. So don't offer judgment. Don't hand me your shame. Don't tell me to change when you don't know my pain. Stand beside me in darkness, or get out of my way— I've fought too damn hard to be silenced today. THIS IS MENTAL HEALTH. Not a trend. Not a game. Not a weakness to hide. Not a reason for shame. It's the war no one sees, It's the scream with no sound, It's the fight to keep standing When your world crumbles down. And I'm still fucking here, Though the darkness runs deep. I've survived my own mind On the nights I couldn't sleep. You can judge me, dismiss me, Pretend you don't see— But you will never know What it takes to be me. My mind may be wounded. My soul may be scarred. But I'm still standing here— And I've fought fucking hard.

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