Sad, mad & feeling so defeated..
From this life long ago I retreated..
I long to come back ..
I long to start fresh…
A new day maybe? Or shall I choose death.
They call me sensitive & say I feel too much..
I say they’re blind & don’t feel nearly enough.
If they really knew the things & thoughts that grew , in this twisted head a primal gmo stew.
A product of my world this problem child they hurled. Into their mold I flew until my free thought grew.
Their mold I broke & their drugs they did soak.
Into my child’s brain that surely increased the pain.
But a taste I sure did get for my future filled with regret.
Was this their plan all along ?
This all to familiar song?
But this they say is the American way.
Keep them sick & shorten their stay.
On this earth they claim their flagpole is our pain.
Shall we rise up & bring the fight to them?
Or just lay down & guilty we are as them.
Back to Poetry Gallery
Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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