Mental Illness Poems

Walk In The Park

How are you with long walks
At night through the park
Where shadows pepper the imagination
And thoughts flow on
With nothing to hold them back?

I love to take those walks in the dark
Both alone and with my friend,
Deep through our mind
To visit lost images,
Memories that live in the shadows,
Remnants of the past.

Do we remain in the shadows
Where my

Mental Illness

(“Perception and Reality Merit Badge”, 2015, original oil)

Mental Illness

Everyone with a mind is mentally ill
At least at times
And certainly to someone else.

A concerned doctor
The kind who could bestow such a label
Could say, why are you so sad
When Life is so good
You must be mentally unwell.
Why are you so happy, you must be unwell
When all around

is this even poetry anymore

i tried to end it all last night
i failed, obviously
it's so crazy to me how life goes on
when it almost didn't
i talked to my friends today
laughed with them
smiled as if everything was normal
but i doubt they could tell anything was off
i even hung out with a friend
and i love to hang out with her but
i

No one tells you

No one tells you how to smile when your throat closes with every breath behind that smile.

No one tells you how to move forward when the chain around your neck drags you back.

No one tells you how to be positive when your own mind digs into you with horns and a tail.

No one tells you

you were almost my savior

i'm at the bottom of the ocean
forty feet down
stones tied to my feet
trapped
i'm drowning
air in my lungs
can't breathe
suffocating
vision going black
i feel you
your hands grab me
pulling my up
saving me
thirty feet down
there's hope
a sliver of it
i'm almost gone but
maybe we'll make it in time
twenty feet down
you're still holding on tightly
i trust you now
you'll bring me to the

my poor ass

Trump's MDs now searching the pool
Know organ transplant prolongs rule
For match perfection
Without rejection
His kidney must come from a mule

sheet data error

The leech boasts he ends many wars
With each speech Trump’s truce total soars
His confused amount
And White House account
Are summed-up trysts with Epstein's whores 

My Process

My process is like dots. 
Not stars, just nothing dots. 
Rearranging. 
Tangled netting and dragonfly parts. 
Whatever I can grab and throw in the shopping cart. 
That sinks through the tile. 
I thought things were solid for once. 
Then the holes got torn up. 
And the dragonfly eyes too. 
Disintegrated. 
In such a poem which

POTUS-pimp of the United States

The Oval Office looks gaudy 
And outshines the King of Saudi
Trump’s ugly deco
Gives off an echo 
Of a bordello that’s bawdy 

OVER THE INFLUENCE

My lungs fill as I inhale the smoky haze of the September breeze.
Overcast skies stare down on me until the guilt drenches my bones.
A puppet to the pressures of most I cannot control, gnawing at my ears until the only thing I hear is the deafening sound of my own thoughts.
I no longer wish to

Grief Is a Beast With Weary Eyes

Grief is a beast with weary eyes 
Waiting on a chord unfinished—
The tinny purr—
A waving growl of tambourine,
Death’s rattle sounds the closing bars,
That dissonant finale.

Crest on crest the ocean marches,
Leave forever in their wake,
Repeating patterns, variations,
Enigmas do their shadows make.

Dawn’s dunes of drought, by dusk
Drowned out by moon’s dictates,
Rhythm of the days; advance—
Recede, advance —

Beyond the Blackbox

Attention:
This one is the problem child.

Mom and dad deny autonomy
take authority over a diary
supervised at all times; no privacy
door hinge wide open
so why are the walls closing in?

This home is an emotion free zone
Mom says save it for therapy
but stops taking me
says my borderline personality is burdening this family’s budget
believes I’ll be cured if she

Hesitation my friend lets die together

Hesitation greets me like a neighbor
Boring its eyes into my skull with a friendly smile
It has no face and no skin
It doesn’t even have eyes

The morning air is hot and solid
Like water but thicker
My hands are sweaty and covered in blisters
And my legs, do not respond

The air of dirty mornings
Shifts in scent
Till the sour tang

''Maybe they want a dictator''-Trump

Johnny get ya' gun
Red-Coats in D.C. - NO VOTES
BLEED FOR LIBERTY




_______
Notes:


IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT 

FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CRIMINAL NO. 


v. GRAND JURY ORIGINAL 


DONALD J. TRUMP, VIOLATIONS: 


Defendant. Count 1: 18 U.S.C. § 371 (Conspiracy to Defraud the United States) 


Count 2: 18 U.S.C. § 1512(k) (Conspiracy to Obstruct an Official Proceeding) 


Count 3:

Maybe they want a dictator - Trump

Johnny get your gun
Red-Coats in D.C. - NO VOTES
BLEED FOR LIBERTY

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