Living With Mental Illness
No one understands you, not even you yourself.
Trapped in a cage that only you can see
The combination lock rusted shut since
You gambled away the secret numbers for some fairy dust . . . and a handful of beans.
I can't hate you for it, it is your cancer
You didn't ask for it, never wanted it, but it's yours, and so it is mine.
You can't escape those invisible bars and I can't avoid them!
I bump into them at every turn, until I am exhausted, bruised and defeated.
Sometimes you tell me that you are getting better.
You know this because you have more room to move within the boundaries of your cage.
At those times I am sad, because you cannot see the truth.
You have more room because you are shrinking -- the cage is as confiningly sturdy as ever.
You are sick, but we all suffer the consequences of your disease.
None of us can live until you choose to show your cage to those who can help.
You claim you hate your disease and its shackles,
But we are in the straight jackets wishing for release -- even death.
I love you. I hate your disease.
I love seeing the real you, but that is fading away.
I long for you to have a quality life, one without that cursed cage of fear
But until you open the door, neither of us will be free.
Written 2/24/2016
Edited for contest 11/28/2018
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2018
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