You Mean Well But

 

The lack of any ability

To understand what I'm feeling

The desire to erase

What you perceive to be a fault in my thinking

The fact that everyone wants to cure people like me

Rather than try to see the world through our eyes

Leads me to realize

That I can never belong

Not even in a world of bleeding hearts and artists

 

I am not one of you

I am a monster

Nobody wants to understand monsters

Even when we don't rage

The world wants to put us in a cage

 

You want to anoint me with your oils to make me one of you

You think your powders and potions will morph my eternal soul

You think a pill will make me socially acceptable

You hate what I am

Even when you try to pretty your feelings about me up

With words like "sympathy"

Which equates to pity

With well-meaning epithets like "I just want you to get better"

Which means

"I just want you to fit in."

 

I'm used to being the only one

The first and last of my kind

I'm used to walking alone

I can't stop feeling what I feel

Just because you think it's time for me to stop feeling it

You can try to kill my personality

With shocks to my brain

Which are supposed to end my pain

But which in reality

Are meant to destroy me

 

But you can't kill my soul

I will come back

Stronger than you know

 

Somewhere beyond the rainbow

There is a place for us

Those who felt too much

Who knew too much

Who never fit in anywhere

Even among the bleeding hearts and artists

Tomorrow belongs to the monsters

 

I am a monster

And one day I will fly over the rainbow

And be welcome at last

 

~Cie~

 

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 3

Copyright: mikhaylovaelen / 123RF Stock Photo

Bittersweet

Sweets for the not so sweet

Need a treat

Been far too long since I indulged

I don't mean sweets to eat

Or fine meat

Some secrets are best not divulged

Not talking 'bout candy

I buy that

I know you're thinking I mean sex

Some may think that's dandy

It's old hat

When done it only serves to vex

It's not a sugar'd treat

It's not wine

Nor to indulge the fleshly need

It's nothing one can eat

It feels fine

I need my spirit to be freed

~Helena~

Helena's Note:

It's a difficult thing to feel free to truly express oneself, even among those calling themselves "creative spirits." When I first started blogging, I was ever so sure that I would find a vast community of free thinkers, especially among the bleeding hearts and artists. Overall, I've found quite the opposite to be true. Artistic types and so-called liberal thinkers are just as likely to pick apart and criticize those who don't fit the mold as the "normal" person. 

Often my only port in the storm of navigating life while mentally ill has been the venues for expression provided by Team Netherworld. I would just like to take this moment to thank our founder, Cie Cheesemeister, for opening this space to freaks like me.

No Quarter

Note: I am currently in quite a low place emotionally, and this poem is what was inspired by the 100 Word Song challenge. If the only thing you have to say is to tell me that I "shouldn't" feel how I'm feeling, then kindly fuck right off. I am feeling how I'm feeling, and I don't have the patience to argue with the sort who wants to sanctimoniously lecture me about it.

I've found in my long and often difficult life that the people who want to tell a sad or angry person to stop feeling that way have gleaned some sort of uncomfortable truth from said individual's work. I've got some bad news for you, Sunshine. Life is not always a happy place, and there are some for whom it's always a struggle. If you can acknowledge that with an open mind, read on. Otherwise, go here.

No Quarter

When you are

Middle aged

Mentally ill

And

Badly Broke

You realize

That there are no

Opportunities

For those like you

To triumph

Ever

You stop trying

Because you can never triumph

You stop sharing

Because the only thing that happens

To the words you share

Is that they are torn down

Love is meant for beauty queens

And opportunities

Are only given

To those who meet certain qualifications

Agreed upon by a shallow

Youth-oriented

Society

I learned the truth at seventeen

But fueled by denial

I hoped that the bleeding hearts and artists

Would embrace me

It never happened

~Tempest~