Wednesday, September 8, 2010

I'm Not Bitter

Joined the parade early in life
Psychiatrists and therapists
Marching to the tune of textbooks
They gave my sorrow a name
And I melded to the diagnosis
Bipolar breath reeking of failure
Sliding across the asphalt of anxiety
Too long knocking at depression's door
Knuckles bruised from fighting with myself
Looks, actions, inabilities, and mistakes
Reasons I'm constantly fighting this war
All battles taking place in the mirror or head
Wishing to fight you/them instead
Too terrified to fire at those potentially innocent
This alien boy just wants compassion
Where friendship and love lay dying in a ditch
For men steal, women lie, humanity shrugs
The misanthrope is just a romantic who sees clearly
And God knows he loves you all

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