Poetry

Schizophrenia, to me, is nothing more than a word. All it really means is that you experience psychosis on a regular enough basis that it’s a factor in your life. And that you actually do, as the word “schizophrenia” indicates, have a mind that you share with some sort of outside presence.

A rant dedicated to all “seniors” in geriatric wards and nursing homes we’re sick     we’re stuck     we’re fucked we’re labelled     we’re libelled “demented”      “incompetent”

This thing that stirs can’t be overcome. It starts like a steady, aching hum

After 25 years of chronic emergency, 22 mental hospitalizations, a stint at a “community mental health center,” 13 years in a "board & care," repeated withdrawals from addictions to legal drugs, and a 12-year marriage, I plan to live every last breath out as a survivor, an advocate, and an artist.

Do not swallow the pill, This condensed mass of powder That the world has convinced you Will “fix” you, your “problematic” self My darling, you are not broken You are not lost, you are not crumpled You are merely a being living In a society, in a culture That you were never meant to be forced into

The wind howls across the spine of shale and abraded rock ridgelines where Sentinels stand tall in the twilight, Gods watching the story of the desert night unfold.

I found meaning where it was all along in the living of this moment the breathing of this breath the pictures in my mind in my view of the world

. . .And again: how it feels to be afterthought, embodied scribble in the Margin, and again the void of logistics. It just is.

I had this idea I could join the system and change it from the inside but you can’t join the system and not join the system

The professionals act like the theft of half my life was no big deal because they didn't mean to.

There was never “an American dream” Only a nightmare, so it seems. Such an innocent girl full of belief In a country from which she now seeks relief.

Fear is running our lives. Fear of being different. Fear of being inadequate. Fear of being not good enough.

I’m peeling off the labels, The adjustment disorders, the bipolar disorder, I’m peeling off the labels, the borderline - the avoidant - the emotionally unstable personality disorders. I’m peeling off the labels, to find ME, MEEEE that’s hidden.under.all.these.labels!

A secret city exists in your mind, where left brain and right brain bind. In the center of your eyes, but hidden behind, where your consciousness is aligned. The source of awareness for mankind

I won't be The right type Of victim. I won't be the Quiet type Of victim.

The ugly blackbird came back It survived I did not pound it hard enough It has come for me Its talons are sharpened, ready to repay

i attended your funeral today in fact i was the one yes, won that organized it

The doctor is calling. She says to you, without saying, tell me what I want to hear, verify the hastiness of all my generalizations, the quick imprecise diagnoses and the bias-based confirmations,

It hurts, the medicine, which turns you into a robot, taking away your power to question, bringing you to silence   But the greatest pain of all is not to be...

Let go, Of all that shit, That is holding you back. Let go of fear, Let go of uncertainty, Let go of anger, Let the unpredictable be just that, Unpredictable. Let go of your need for control of things you cannot control, Hold on to your truths.

Why little? Belittle? Do little? Do little harm! I'm wishing for a doctor who does little Little enough Enough little little

A statement about grief, art, existence and “madness”

With dust of revenge, nabbed Light up the night The windows will ignite the world Because the poets will come back

The dark-suited man slithered, Shock box in hand, To our bedsides, four girls, innocent, naked, Waiting….waiting….waiting, Sticky-headed, One by one.

Didn't know I was in trouble, When I fell into, Your chemical embrace, But now I can see, When is all said and done, You’re a chemical disgrace