-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Ending the stigma through poetry
He sat in a black chair
Stared me down with black beady eyes
Snake Snake Snake
I looked down
I looked up
He preceded to tell me
My disorder was grave
No cure
The worst one
Endless medication
Years of therapy
My mind began to race
My breath became heavy
My stomach in knots
Do not worry he pleaded
Snake Snake Snake
I was “high-functioning”
What the hell was that supposed to mean
To tell me I am more or less doomed
But it is okay
I am not going to die
Even though I have these suicidal thoughts
Self-harm
Mood swings out of nowhere
Lack of support
A stigma surrounding it all
Sure I was “high-functioning”
No worries at all
Snake Snake Snake
Great bipolar lecture
I was no longer an individual
Who was in graduate school
Wrote poetry
Traveled to other countries
Kicked ass at the gym
No, I was the “high-functioning” bipolar girl
Labels are what society uses
When they don’t understand a person or group
That was my label now
Snake Snake Snake
Perhaps if doctors spent more time getting to know the patient
Than looking up medications
More progress would be made
I got out of that office
Anger raged in me
I was more than that damn disorder
And no one would tell me that it defined me
Snake Snake Snake
Empathy Poetry 