Best Multiple Personality Poems
Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD)
is no longer correct politically.
The correct term being used presently
is Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)
Please make a note of it if you please
or you'll offend my alter personalities.
Yes it's plain for all to see.
Yours truly is crazy certifiably.
I have the ability to be really cool
An' a capability to be evil cruel
I play it straight while acting the fool.
I am a thief, and a saint
I'll weep when I take
Try and keep some restraint.
I'm never the same man, two days just a chance
I change my name more than you change your pants
If life is a game, who now must dance.
Life is what you want it to be
It helps to have multiple personality
Someone to change into, when I'm sick of being me
Don't wanna be chained to, just being Me.
When she's with her family,
she can be a child,throw tantrums
get mad at anything-
she'll never grow up in their eyes anyways.
When she's alone,
she's relieved,
suicidal,
she feels lost and
so alive.
When she's with him,
she feels beautiful,
he tells her she's perfect,
she knows its what best friends say.
When she's with her girl friends,
she can be
crazy wild angry sweetheart,
baby girl.
When she meets a stranger,
she's the angel,
the mystery.
and
When she's with HIM.
shes NOT with him.
she feels pathetic.
My doctor says I'm mentally ill
I say I have superpowers
My family says I'm going insane
That I've not been myself the last couple of hours
"Stop acting like a boy", I hear
Yeah Susan that's kind of hard
I wish I could take control again
And show you it was never me from the start
I want to be alone in my body again
But then again so do they
I don't know where they came from
All I know is they're here today
I don't really know what time it is
And recalling my doings are hard
Sometimes i go lost, gone completely
Others I watch from afar
Atleast I have a friend though
And my life's never a bore
This is me or us signing out now
6 , 7 , 8 out in core
There are so many voices heard and unheard in me.
I want to listen to the silences that are making noise inside.
You define me a “you” though.
One voice orders me to go,
(Or should I say I?)
Other pleads me to remain,
(Or should I say I?)
One bullies me,
(Or should I say I?)
One empathizes me,
(Is it the prime me?)
Which one is mine?
Or
What do I want?
Or
Who am I?
Perhaps I should call her who reside
Deepest inside my heart and have a walk together.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a schizophrenic
And so am I
I hear voices,
They tell me what to do.
Sometimes I listen,
But they want me to kill you.
I don't want to do it,
It wouldn't be fun.
So listen to me
As I suggest you run.
Run so I can't follow
So these voices won't make me take your life.
Run far away
So I don't have to use this knife.
I also have Multiple Personality Disorder
One part of me doesn't want to kill you
But the other part of me does.
I want to slit your throat and watch you bleed.
I will eat your dead corpse
And feed your bones to the pigs
And crush your skull to give to the field mice.
Don't eat or drink,
Don't even blink.
You know the rules,
or so you think.
Your head was clear,
but now a flood.
She's in your mind,
she's in your blood.
She's at your back,
don't turn around.
She won't give up
until you've drowned.
Can't you see?,
don't be so blind.
She plays the game,
she's in your mind.
~Written in 2001, when I was twelve~
This is about multiple personality disorder.
If everything was meant to happen and there was a so called 'God'
Than why is it that there's so much pain?
We weren't born in this world to inflict damage to ourselves
Or have it directed towards you from another source
If Jesus died for our sins
Does that mean we were already born tainted?
What about the babies that are exposed to drugs, nicotine, and alcohol when they were still in the womb?
So is it inevitable that their going to come out with defects and become an addict?
Where about's do they go when they die?
Can they never wash themselves clean?
Or did they not learn any lessons in the past life
so their made to go take a walk in somebody elses shoes
Getting tested from 'up above'
To see which path you'll take if there's a fork in the road
We were never not born
Just in a different form
Are miscarriages not an accident, but the fact that the fetus/baby didn't obtain a soul; it had no energy
Are multiple personality disorders caused by lost and lonely souls who'd committed suicide?
And had to relive their existence with out a quiet mind.
If there were five or more personalities the chit chatter in that persons head would get very noisy
It could be a low volume one minute, and the next be complete chaos
Every personality fighting to receive some love and attention
That person with the illness in the first place must be very sensitive
Not a lot of amour to protect them
They get over-really stimulated by their environment
And the lost souls latch on to them because they have a weak resistance
Every being must have some form of a mental illness
There's just different degrees
CHRISTMAS AT THE CUCKOO'S NEST
Of all the holidays that come and go
Christmas is the one that we love best.
No matter how crazy, it just goes to show
we love the yuletide in the cuckoo’s nest.
We deck the halls with scat, and shirts
and wait for Santa all month long.
Cause when we catch him he is gonna get hurt
but we all love to sing Christmas songs.
Singing carols just fills up the hollow void
left by those who were able to forget me.
It does not help that they call me paranoid,
I sing “Santa Claus is Coming…to get me.”
The dark end of the year makes us feel pessimistic
so we gather to sing Yule songs round the tree.
Like all of those diagnosed narcissistic
singing “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing … About Me.”
We try to stay busy, doing brisk calisthenics
and writing letters home to those who are so dear
and singing along with the many schizophrenics
asking musically “Do You Hear What I Hear?”
Guys with sexual identity crisis, playing on the recorder
for pyromaniacs constantly re-lighting their cigar.
and because they have multiple personality disorder
singing “We Three Queens Disoriented Are.”
We hung Holly because we heard we were supposed to,
but she went home, so we hung her in absentia.
“I’ll be home for Christmas”, but if I’m overdue
it will be because of my senile dementia.
The patients who are manic insist on decorating the walls.
Which I guess is better than being withdrawn,
except that they are always wanting to “Deck the Halls
and the Office, and the Beds, and the Staff and the Lawn…”
Christmas is depressing, even to those on the outside,
and the long dark days don’t bring spirits any higher.
But I've had enough of the many suicides
singing “Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire.”
“I Look Like a Hippopotamus for Christmas” is a tune
that always gets sung by the anorexics,
and we hear “Tables in Boyland” every day around noon
as it gets mangled by the many dyslexics.
We may be crazy, we might be weird,
but none of us think Christmas is for fools.
In our blissful ignorance we are sometime feared,
but we still wish you all a very cool Yule!
contained within crooked pages lies the secret of happiness its a secret noone will ever
find though because the world would fracture into infinite equations quasars would
eviscerate limbs and render human speech impossible which would be catastrophic in the
grand scheme of things i only wish to last forever or maybe for what i write to outlive me
somehow even though im not exactly keats or yeats to be recognised in multiple dimensions
and by multiple personality disorders of the same fictious person would be somehow
endearing albeit somewhat scary and improbable momentous thoughts tend to surround us when
we least expect them to but be it writing a terrible poem about a daffodil or being
punched in the face or travelling through wormholes of improbability at seventeen thousand
times the speed of light at the end of the day when all is done and said humanity is rubbish
Her stage is set
lighting casts a soothing glow
he flirts and fantasizes
his desires will soon be known
a game, a tease, each other pleads
playing as they please
until both bored you see
tossed aside with yesterday's ride
real hearts relegated to cry
waiting and withering within reality
lust just a fake faux pas
so seemingly innocent
requesting of peace for pause
herein lies love without feelings
an euphoric exhilaration
not explained to the weak
driven and determined
foraged but not forgiven
in a monolithic
multiple personality twist
ered, just like I would be if I ever found myself in Gossip Girl’s contrived version of New York
City’s upper east
side on a (b)lust
ery day and I saw prettily-pressed preppy clothes clinging to the perfect pie
l (skin in Spanish. Duh. Who doesn’t (k)now
that?) of Chuck
Bass, the hottest fictional character ever to grace a fashion-forward, self-destructive-lifestyle-
glamorizing teenage
soap opera. Granted, frost
bite has a better personality than Chuck Bass, but ahh… sigh…he still drives me loca.
There. That digression has kept me from going completely loca
but don’t think my unrequited lust
for Chuck Bass has in any way diminished my unrequited lust for a pseudo-intellectual Frost/
Nixon movie discussion party. Ha! I jest. Of course I mean for a frosted sugar cookie. So
let’s ditch this piece of
pie,
go searching for a sugar cookie, and end this Chuck
Palahniuk-esque multiple personality disorder now.
Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I’ve got an (echo)loca(tion) ability for sugar cookies like
bats have for bugs.
“What about the pie?”
you ask, “We can’t just waste it because of your irrational lust(y) cravings.” I know you’re
right so I strike a
compromise. While you’re lacing up your Chuck
Taylors, I patiently allow the waitress to box up the pie as a possible post-frosted sugar
cookie supplement, even
though if we had abandoned the pie, I’d be bathed in beautiful frosted sugar cookie-ness by
now.
Monstrous
gruesome
hideous
odious
nefarious
ugly
yet
imperious
brainy
grainy
strainy
cranny
and
snooty
about
petty booty
passionate
in dark
quite stark
shameless
deceptive
grave
terrible
she is screw brained and gets in brain.
MPD-Multiple Personality Disorder
Mingling showcase crowds gathering amid the contemporary chambers
Within this the modern day museum of the poisoned pilloried minds....
Subjugation piercing the thresholds beneath conscious perceptions views!?
Gazing as deeper into the contortions abstract of framework they go
Entranced assimilations aside artful disassociations; brushed with black
And blues colours and hews, of acrylic paintings hung upon the galleries
Mesmerizing, paradoxic walls growing collection in....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....Extramurals multiple personality disorders?!
I feel I'm on a razor's edge
twixt madness and sanity,
disturbed derangement,
orderly rationality,
alternating my being,
a multiple personality stance
not willingly on my part.
Why must we have war on a lovely planet>
The horrible fear is
that I prefer the dark moments
when cruelty surfaces
in my alter ego,
when an invariant being
is hell-bent on destruction.
Then my razor blade flashes
in the dim lights of dark allies,
blood sprouts from some jugular veins,
forming a red oozy river
that covers the smell
of the godforsaken place.’
War is so dreadful.
Then do I become sane
and cry in pain
for the victims’ deaths.
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