Long Mental disorder Poems
Long Mental disorder Poems. Below are the most popular long Mental disorder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mental disorder poems by poem length and keyword.
(This piece is dedicated to those innocent youths gunned down inside institutes of learning, by guns improperly regulated, and utilized by cold, heartless entities who committed these crimes without an iota of guilt or remorse. It is also a bold criticism to those lawmakers who are just as frigid and have done nothing about it and are more concerned about political contributions going to their coffers).
Clarity Of Purpose
Adolescents prodding elders for elucidations responded to evasively
Probing Machiavellian faces heralding scathing biases superciliously
Hindered and challenged fiercely resisting like the endangered tiger
Opposing mortal greed searching for answers revitalizing will power
Bullets impale youths with weapons running rampant on the streets
Second amendment used as shield whilst corpses bloodstain sheets
Talking heads blatantly blamed mental disorder as the sole offender
While the fragmented system of law abandons to uphold a defender
Mired in the abyss of ambiguity noble objectives negates doomsday
Induced by human instincts defying monsters lurking along the way
The mind ponders are they worth venerating if they conceal disgust
Clarity of purpose stained with wicked machination morph into dust
Written:
02-05-2018
Galveston Cruise Terminal
Texas, USA
Blood Money
Ransom for a trade
Hostile blood money
Vendita for the victims
Bad guy on the run
A bloody weapon in hand
Manipulation runneth
A destructive mind-set
Mental disorder unbalanced
Morally wrong with a motive
With madness, no care for others
Another body bag
Murder mystery unsolved
With no boundaries
Another murder just for the money
Money for ransom
With blood on your hands
Dead presidents in green
Bloody bank note bleeding
Greed follows a dead end
No one wins
Another lost soul
Just for engraved images paper note
Blood money never ends
Another victim up ahead
Another story to write
Another violent villain
Hunting in the night
Only to worship money
Poor Steve Cash decided that he wanted to die.
When we lose a good person, we always ask why.
He made "Talking Kitty Cat" videos and that was great.
But when he took his life, it was something we would hate.
Steve suffered from a mental disorder and it was a terrible ordeal.
He was Bipolar and I'm Paranoid Schizophrenic, I know what it's like to be mentally ill.
When poor Steve took his own life, his fans sure didn't love it.
If I could've talked to him, maybe I could've talked him out of it.
I would've told Steve that life is worth living even if a person is mentally ill.
If you have a mental disorder, hang in there, I know what you're going through and how you feel.
[Dedicated to Steve Cash (1979-2020) who took his own life on April 16, 2020.]
You see the ones who thing gender
is something plastic you can change,
people who back in better lines
were locked-up for being insane,
people who think a basic fact
older than the species itself
can just be changed if you ‘feel so,’
you think we would get them some help.
Instead thy have become a cult,
their words like religious belief,
rather than teach these people fact
they put them on hormones quickly.
Put them on drugs that ruin health,
weaken skeletons, increase cancer,
put them on drugs that sterilize
to indulge mental disorder.
Cut off their parts, they don’t grow back,
doom them to a life in-between,
permanent change for unstable minds,
doing such a thing just sounds mean.
Explain that cold reality
does not give a damn for their thoughts,
they claim you are ‘denying them,’
their whole life is recognition sought,
and if you choose to refuse that,
to not be a part of the lie,
they try to sick the state on you,
to hell with your rights, just comply!
Explain that their suicide rates
do not decline after the snip,
they make up words like ‘transphobic,’
but that will not save them from it.
And worse, they aim this stuff at kids,
people much too young to consent,
to the point that tell the schools
to {hide" this all from the parents.
They are cutting up our children
for a chance that cannot exist,
the modern human sacrifice,
an evil that somehow persists.
A belief system so absurd,
nnd brings out tragic results,
blood magic has not gone away,
it just calls itself the trans cult.
Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration;
I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden:
Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut -
Spiraled surface-scratched immortality
Dimly azure, aglow on videotape,
Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand.
An organic player-piano ceaseless
In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside,
Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song;
Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake
That ricochet ripples, careening whispers
Through rendezvous dreams.
Seductive susurrus, sentient, shadowy,
Teasing temptation longed to taste;
Siren’s breathiness gurgles in devilish dive,
Swooshes, swoops, swallows. Tickles.
Siren’s breathless gurgle chokes drowned lies.
But…so serene. Feather soft tranquility.
Lyrical folly forbidden. Salmon pink.
2/3/2017
_____________________________________________
Writer’s note:
Told as a pet parakeet (while his owner listens to Radiohead’s song Videotape) whose cage is hung in the window of a cottage overlooking a stream through an orchard while the sun goes down who was a fish in a past life but, sadly, drowned due to a mental disorder which caused him to believe he was a bird and, consequently, spend all day trying to fly out of the water…until the day he refused to use his gills to breathe since, after all, birds don’t have gills.
Since Psychiatrists have lost their superficial reputation,
applied philosophy as metaphysical existents is the realization.
That ideology proofs the infinite potential of the mind,
by the soul enabled life force that provides all challenges behind.
Mental surface impressions making the mind to an emotional sponge,
whereas spiritual aspiration are the negating conscious for once.
The mental eye blinded by immediate result and satisfaction,
while the soul knows the purpose related determination.
Not given the real source enough attention introspective,
creating lost personalities in related circumstance respective.
The individual soul as part of cosmic consciousness,
create the prowess of the involution of karmic justice.
The mental disorder is the lack of true intuitive perception,
the logic contaminated mind as handicapped conception.
Digging deep into profundity is nothing new,
ancient theories provide lots to ponder on and to chew.
Mindology just another name for the same problem,
peoples superficial thinking and not getting to the bottom.
A life without end in sight! Fed up, I hibernate.
A sleep like the dead, until I wake,
I yawn, nod, doze and wake again.
Yet I feel lethargic and tired.
Why wake into full aesthetic consciousness?
Why should I not grab forty more winks?
I wish my vitality infiltrates my essential existence,
but the going is truly tough.
It's like crossing the black Styx
wading across a bottomless ford,
as if I have been condemned to Hades.
I tremble into awareness, search for reconciliation
sacrifice a peace offering to my merciful Lord.
Can I find redemption? Should I plead insanity,
mental disorder or lunatic madness?
Maybe 'tis what I should have done,
instead I wake, work hard, test my tired arteries,
hear the creak of arthritic bones,
do gratifying things, like every workman should:
until I sleep the repose of the just.
3 December 2020
An SO contest
Placed 2
DISTURBED MINDS
Pete was a handsome young boy, only fifteen years of age,
Had PSYCHOSIS, his reality severely distorted, a mental disorder,
Felt that his brain was contained in a wrought iron cage,
Knew that ultimately, his life would be harder and shorter!
Pete’s father, was the local village mayor, his mother a social worker,
His father had influence and could exercise force, he had LEVERAGE,
After a FRAGMENT of conversation, promising his son was no shirker,
Secured him a job with the carpenter, a daily lunch and a beverage!
Pete would BEVEL, making slopes and angles in wood and stonework,
But was disturbed, his mind chaotic, could see it in his eyes,
He met Kylie, a young girl with the same condition, this did perk
Pete a little, visited a DERELICT house, confused, neither world wise!
They often discussed how different and unwanted and crazy they were,
And came to a firm decision, a determined blood RESOLUTION,
They would die together, and hugged and kissed, their beings astir,
No more meds, feeling bad or ugly stares, they would find a solution!
They made love, not knowing why, and began quickly walking home,
Passed a SINKHOLE, so dark and deep, if water could find a route,
To disappear, so could they, jumped in, so no longer did aimlessly roam,
Life was a cheat, gave a wrong ILLUSION, no one heard either shout!
EIGHT WORD CHALLENGE POETRY CONTEST
SPONSOR KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN
Greatness Arising
From the ashes greatness shall arise
I am the cold hard truth buried beneath your darkest secrets.
Your bull.
Your drama
Your nonsense
Your karma
your lies.
You will never break me no matter how hard you try.
I am connected to the universe
The stars above me
etched into my eyes
I am a Magical
Mythical
Mystical
Mythological creature.
I am a Bi Polar soldier
Living with a mental disorder.
Out of time.
Out of touch.
Out of date.
Out of reach.
Out of order.
Written by Adrian Bogdal 10/11/2025
I could go on and on aborting the rough indulgence of the brain, body, mind, soul, sanity and the art of the heart
Nothing zips in how my mental state can have its way around each and every day. What we call “High and lows” I can experience them or expect them to take its theme in any moment now in which ever manner.
Living with Mental disorder is exhausting. By the end of the day I'm ridiculously tired From overthinking in fighting anxieties, intrusive thoughts and suicide ideations. When the sun finally sets, I'm hanging by a thread.
Hoping and wishing that tommorow will be less atrocious than this...only to wake up to the same inch every single day
I can’t even imagine how calm could a brain be
The pledge of chaos to be altered before night time it’s already being procrastinated by my being
The content of the urge to die constantly
The rawness essence how my mental state doesn’t wait for a start or an end but the fact that the rest of my life this weight that it has over me takes its inherent mark it’s like a white sheet marked with a dark dot in the middle no matter how you cut the paper in order to remove the dark dot it only carries a final fate to shred it instead
Being alive is like being asked to give up your house that you built and lived in it for years and asked to live in it for the sake of safe keepings
The humane and sorrowful need to be heard and understood (inevitable vulnerability)
Harvesting to cope and actually have a defence mechanisms just to make my breathing bearable
Although we all going to die one day a daily dose of allurement of death is needed
Torn in between dark and grey it all looks the same
The battered hope that someday…eventually…maybe things might get better?
It doesn’t get better than this
Ashleigh Ngoqo