Long Mental illness Poems
Long Mental illness Poems. Below are the most popular long Mental illness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mental illness poems by poem length and keyword.
Suddenly every voice is a tiny conspiracy
They’re swarming around us – I just know they’re out for blood
A love like ours invites all manner of jealousy
Everyone wants to rake us through the mud
A little paranoia sometimes works
Dealing with authorities and jerks
It helps if you can see things from above
I’m panicked and sweating through the night
I’ve lost control, but that’s all right
I’m losing my mind so I must be in love
Suddenly, every sunset is a parabola
The coordinates of feeling all lined up on the grid
I thought I had found the elements to the formula
So I kept my secret drafts and documents hid
‘cause a little paranoia sometimes works
When dealing with authorities and jerks
It helps if you can see things from above
I’m panicked and sweating through the night
I’ve lost control, but that’s all right
I’m losing my mind so I must be in love
I’ll send you my good intentions
That is, if I haven’t cracked
In my present state, I dedicate
A statement you can’t retract
Suddenly every stranger has a spare key
To the front door of our domestic tranquility
Yeah, a little paranoia sometimes works
When you deal with authorities and jerks
And it helps if you can see things from above
I’m panicked and sweating through the night
I’ve lost control, but that’s all right
I’m losing my mind so I must be in love
I’ve lost my mind so I must be high on love.
© 2018 by K.C. Dovoric / Broken Pilgrim Songs
From the minarets the call to prayer resounds
Breaking the peaceful silence of the dawn
In its undulation of fervent fanatical need
And all across the world the daily call spreads
Making non-believers at least tolerant
Of the mysterious words and haunting refrain
Lulled into acceptance as by a snake charmer
Women too now rising up
In the name of liberation
Fervently fanatical in the need
To have it their way,
From conception to abortion and infanticide
To now the freedom to filicide,
Have it their way
A brave new Burger Queen world
Without compromise or sacrifice
For the only job they were born to do.
Meanwhile the minaret keeps up its call
Loudly proclaiming to the faithful
Ignorant and deluded,
And increasingly deserving,
“Make Misogyny Great Again”.
(9/13/26)
I know a place that we can go
to escape this dreary prison
The floor right there
secures the stairs
that lead up to the room that's hidden
While walking down don't turn around
the dark can find your fears
The sounds you make
can truly take
the place of your worst Nightmares
So bring a light and hold on tight
don't stray from where your headed
There's many rooms
doors of doom
and a path that leads to heaven
So listen close to the wooden ghost
that stands at the top and glares
He'll let you in
with a grin
then point but please don't stare
He's the nervous type not real bright
still willing to point the way
So walk straight down
then turn around
make sure the dark is kept at bay
Once you find the words that rhyme
a door should open after
So walk right in
let us begin
the journey to a greener pasture
I bet you thought you were close
to the end of your twisted stay
Truth be told
you can never go
this is your home till the end of days
Find the room that's made of balloons
and snuggle up under your blanket
Never try
to leave at night
or the beast will feed on your carcass
Now you've been told what you already know
about your wonderful vacation
So take the drugs
they give with love
so we can leave this dreary prison
R.K.H.
8/12/2020
I lived once in a land before the light
where shadows ruled and terror was the king
Sable dark did fall upon me every night
and flittermouse did brush me with their wing.
There was no day to shine away the fear
so terror ruled, malignant, endless black;
eyes closed or open, demons still appear
and, as in life, to stab me in the back.
Darkness in my head, darkness in my soul,
and in them both, the devils now reside;
what little left of me has lost control.
Or did they simply ask, and I complied?
I still live in a land without the light;
where I can’t tell the daytime from the night.
In the tapestry of life's intricate design,
A journey filled with love and loss intertwine.
From childhood's embrace to the call of duty,
A path of resilience, courage, and beauty.
Blessed I was with parents whose love knew no end,
Guiding pillars, companions, forever friends.
With every step, their love paved my way,
Teaching lessons of kindness, all through my day.
I joined the Marines to see the world's vast expanse,
Encountering new cultures, taking a chance.
In the midst of service, love's light I did find,
Meeting my soulmate, destined to be mine.
Love at first sight, a bond unbreakable and true,
Discovering in her, my reflection, a clue.
Embracing the role of husband and father with all of my might,
Living my life, filled with love's pure light.
Tragedy struck, tearing apart my happy home,
Loss of my wife, and mother, I was left alone.
Grief's heavy cloak enveloped my days,
Yet through the darkness, my spirit would not be swayed.
The strength of a woman, my mother so dear,
Fighting through pain, and facing her fear.
Caring for her, as she faced her final fate,
In her grace and courage, with God there's no debate.
Through loss and pain, my writing became a guide,
A channel for emotions, for tears I had cried.
Penning poems of raw truth and grace,
Touching souls, shining a light in that dark space.
Seeking to share my words, to reach those in need,
To offer help, hope, in every word indeed.
Mental illness, struggles, faith's ebb and flow,
Uniting humanity, in joys and in woe.
I hope my verses find wings to reach far and wide,
To touch hearts, to heal, and in love abide.
In sharing my story, my voice it finds its power,
An offering of empathy, in life's uncertain hour.
I can only hope my poems are a beacon of light in the night,
Shining for those who may have lost their sight.
A testament to resilience, faith, and love's grace,
In a world that yearns for kindness as it's embrace.
With each stroke of the pen, my story is told,
Of love, of loss, of courage so bold.
In sharing my journey, and truth leaving nothing unspoken,
May hearts be lifted, and barriers broken.
Thank you for reading my tale of joy and woe,
I hope my words continue to inspire, to grow.
For in storytelling, I find my peace, and in the memories I hold deep.
And in love and faith may our souls the Lord shall keep.
When they take you in the ambulance-
It’s like you’re renting death.
No flashing though.
And the sirens don’t turn on.
Because it’s just me in here.
And there's not any kind of rush.
They would do CPR on me if they had to.
But I promised to survive until we got there.
When they take you in the ambulance-
It’s a real drive, and a real turn here and there.
And you’re feeling death rummaging.
But it’s just an EMT taking out the next syringe.
When they take you in the ambulance-
There’s meaningful chatter.
I think it’s real because I feel the turns in this box.
As I speak out a few times as if it’s nothing.
When you get to the hospital-
That’s when the sirens squeal and hurt.
And it’s unspoken and stuff in there.
Crayons and old magazines.
Maybe decaf coffee if you’re lucky.
I’m in the hospital.
This is where they drop you off when you’re not dead.
But it’s all an above ground graveyard with bars so it’s bad.
There are people crying and no one rushes to them.
I’m in the hospital.
They drew up another syringe for me.
I can thank them or not, nothing matters.
When you’re in the hospital it’s like you’re renting it.
They drew up another syringe for me.
Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy
Parent presents herself as distressed, concerned, loving
Major caregiver to child who appears perpetually sickly
Child’s symptoms are exaggerated
Worse yet, sometimes falsified by mother
She might contaminate the urine samples
Child gets better in hospital until mommy dearest visits
What is happening?
Nurses are the first to suspect
Doctors do not want to think this way
Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy
A mental illness whereby a caregiver
Starves or poisons child
Sadly, many of them are health professionals
Wanting others to consider them saviors
As they save their child once again from the cliff of death
I dropped a pill on the floor.
I found a speck of dust on it.
Brushing it off.
I take my meds on time.
Mostly on time,
Sometimes not.
The way a train is not always on time.
Sometimes, a train just blows past.
Monday.
I ran out of meds last Monday.
Now it is Friday.
I wish I had simply filled the script.
But instead, it is ripped.
Tearing through the trash.
I shouldn’t have been so rash.
I shouldn’t have skipped that refill.
I wish I had all my pills.
Sunday.
Ignoring all the calls.
Muddy footprints in the halls.
As if someone came in from outside.
But it’s just me who cried.
He hands me my meds.
On Sunday at 11:43 pm.
They ask me what is race —
I say: a border drawn in skin,
a lie that learned to breathe,
A wicked seed planted from within.
It’s not blood. Blood doesn’t know color.
It’s not bone. Bone doesn’t hold grudges.
It’s a story — told so long,
so loud, so often,
we mistook the telling for the truth.
Race is a costume
A made up competition
Of existence.
HIS-Story made us wear.
Prejudice is the cousin
Of racism for they both go hand in hand.
While they prevent every color and creed from coming together and joining hands.
Some days it fits like armor,
some days it cuts like wire,
but underneath it, every time,
is just a person
asking to be free
of the box somebody else built.
So don’t ask me what race is.
Ask what it costs.
Ask who it protects.
Ask why we’re still drawing lines
on a map that was never really there.
The diagnosis came
As a bit of a shock
I am starting on Alzheimer’
Slowly tickling clock.
Will I be watching in horror
From a near zombie state
As my body develops
Into a thing I would hate.
Unable to speak or
Express any thought,
Fly in spider’s in a web
Pulled relentlessly taut.
Will it be a prison.
Will there still be a me.
Will I be mind trapped
Struggling to get free.
Or will the real me
The spirit and soul
Have been wiped out
As I lost all control
So in one way
Avoiding the mental hell
As my body became
Just a physical shell
Feeding and moving
But the real me is gone
Just a querulous nuisance
As this condition grinds on.
Will there be a kindness not,
Being aware, in not knowing,
As the me is erased
By this disease’s growing.
Is this my future as
I try not to despair
Reduced to a hulk relying on
Loved ones providing my care.
So, pity them not me
As the process grinds on
For by that stage that me
May already be gone.
My oldest and dearest friend is now almost totally mentally consumed by this
awful beast. I am trying to understand what he is going through.