Details |
Dana Taylor Poem
An angry poem from the mind nobody understands
Don't tell me to breathe when I'm choking on pain,
Don't tell me to smile when I'm drowning in rain.
Don't tell me I'm fine when I'm breaking inside,
I've mastered the art of pretending I've tried.
You don't live in my head when the demons awake,
You don't feel the damn ground underneath you all shake.
You don't hear every thought screaming out in the dark,
Or feel your own mind tear your soul apart.
Mental health—what a beautiful lie,
They say they understand, then they turn and walk by.
They preach about kindness, then judge what they see,
They want the old version, not the wreckage of me.
I'm angry as hell at the cards I was dealt,
At the things I remember, the things that I've felt.
At the nights I begged for some peace in my brain,
Only to wake up and do it again.
I'm tired of explaining the tears in my eyes,
Of swallowing words while the anger still rises.
Tired of being told that I'm making a scene,
When you haven't a clue what my silence can mean.
My mind is a prison with walls made of fear,
Where the ghosts of my past never disappear.
One voice says I'm worthless, another says fight,
And they both keep me company deep in the night.
I can love you like heaven, then fear you'll be gone,
I can break into pieces and still carry on.
I can hate what I'm feeling, hate what I do,
Then hate myself more for believing it's true.
And don't call me crazy like that's all I am,
You don't know the battles, you don't give a damn.
You see the explosion, but never the spark,
You judge my reactions, not the wounds in the dark.
Where the hell is the help when you're losing your mind?
Where's the love when you're struggling, falling behind?
They say, "Reach out," but they don't want the truth,
They want pretty little stories, not the ugly proof.
So here's my damn truth, let it burn through the page:
I'm exhausted from fighting this war every day.
I'm sick of the stigma, the shame, and the blame,
Of being treated like illness is all that I am.
MY MENTAL HEALTH IS NOT YOUR ENTERTAINMENT.
My pain isn't weakness. My scars aren't a statement.
I'm more than the chaos you think that you see,
But God knows how hard it is being me.
And if I seem cold, it's the fire I've survived.
If I seem distant, it's how I've stayed alive.
If my anger comes roaring, don't assume that you know—
Sometimes rage is the only way hurt gets to show.
I didn't ask for this war in my head,
Didn't ask for the nights I lie wide awake in my bed.
I didn't ask for these battles, this weight, this despair,
Or to fight so damn hard just to breathe in the air.
So don't offer judgment. Don't hand me your shame.
Don't tell me to change when you don't know my pain.
Stand beside me in darkness, or get out of my way—
I've fought too damn hard to be silenced today.
THIS IS MENTAL HEALTH.
Not a trend. Not a game.
Not a weakness to hide.
Not a reason for shame.
It's the war no one sees,
It's the scream with no sound,
It's the fight to keep standing
When your world crumbles down.
And I'm still fucking here,
Though the darkness runs deep.
I've survived my own mind
On the nights I couldn't sleep.
You can judge me, dismiss me,
Pretend you don't see—
But you will never know
What it takes to be me.
My mind may be wounded.
My soul may be scarred.
But I'm still standing here—
And I've fought fucking hard.
Copyright © Dana Taylor | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Dana Taylor Poem
I wake each day with a thousand thoughts,
A heart that feels what others cannot.
I laugh, I cry, I fall apart,
While trying to make sense of my heart.
I feel things deeply, more than I show,
With storms inside that nobody knows.
One moment I'm strong, the next I'm afraid,
Wondering if love will slowly fade.
I love with a fire that burns so bright,
Yet fear that I'll lose it keeps me up at night.
A silence can hurt, a word can cut deep,
And memories follow when I try to sleep.
Sometimes I push the ones I need,
Then cry inside over what I've believed.
I want to be held, to feel I'm enough,
But trusting in love can be painfully tough.
My feelings rise like a restless sea,
And sometimes I don't feel like me.
I fight battles hidden behind my eyes,
While telling the world that I'm doing fine.
I've been misunderstood along the way,
With so many feelings I can't always explain.
They see my reactions, but not my pain,
They see the sunshine, not all the rain.
I've questioned my worth, I've questioned my place,
I've searched for acceptance, a little bit of grace.
I've wished I could quiet the noise in my mind,
And give myself the same love I give humankind.
But I am not broken, though I've felt that way,
And BPD does not define me each day.
I'm more than my struggles, my fear, and my tears,
I'm the strength I've been building through all of these years.
I'm learning that feelings, though heavy and real,
Are waves that can pass; they don't define what I feel.
I'm learning that love doesn't always depart,
And healing can start with a change in my heart.
So if you see me struggling, please look a bit deeper,
I'm not always the storm; sometimes I'm just a dreamer.
I'm a soul that's still fighting, still learning to be,
Still searching for peace, still becoming me.
And though my road may be harder to climb,
I'll keep finding my strength, one day at a time.
For beneath all the hurt, there's a heart that still stands,
Still reaching for hope, still learning to understand.
I am not just the pain that I've carried inside.
I am the person who's fought to survive.
I am worthy of love, even when I can't see.
I am more than my BPD.
I am still here. I am still me.
Copyright © Dana Taylor | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Dana Taylor Poem
The moon was high, the night was still,
The shadows danced against my will.
A whisper curled beneath the door,
Like something I had known before.
The candles bent, the cold wind sighed,
And something ancient stirred inside.
No spell was cast, no words were spoken,
Yet something old had come unbroken.
For magic lives where fear takes hold,
In whispered tales and secrets told.
It waits beyond what eyes can see,
In dreams that set the spirit free.
But witchcraft ends where truth begins,
Beyond the veil, beyond our sins.
For there are things no spell can bind,
No charm can cage, no curse confine.
And later still, when all is done,
When night gives way to morning sun,
I'll stand where darkness meets the light,
And know that I survived the night.
For what is feared may lose its power,
And what seems lost may bloom a flower.
The deepest magic, fierce and free,
Is finding who you're meant to be.
And if the shadows call my name,
I'll face them without fear or shame.
For even when the stars burn bright,
My soul belongs to more than night.
Copyright © Dana Taylor | Year Posted 2026
|