Poetry

To be beautiful. What is that? What does that mean? Size two, toned, tan, and ready and waiting Ready for what? Waiting for who? The prince charming promised in all...

This is neither fact, nor expert advice: I am an artist, a poet, and all that may be in-between. This is neither fact, nor expert advice: Specialisms are making nonsense of sense.

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

Sighted through your pinhole spectacles: the mystery of consciousness; the timid eccentricity of suffering.

Do you remember the first time you were told you were Broken, by a man with a clipboard and argyle tie?

I need to be loved, As a child, Who will never be left, I need to be loved as a woman, There's an empty hole, In my heart that needs to be filled

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

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.

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,

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

She flies with a broken wing looking for a branch to rest on Somewhere safe to lay her head waiting for the warmth of dawn, She knows the branch that welcomes her even in the dark She’s nestled there many times to rest her weary heart,

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

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

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

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...

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.

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

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.

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!

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

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

The Hopkins psychiatrist glances up at me, then looks at my chart. “I remember the first time—and the second—when the depression lifted I felt like a party girl.” How long did that last? “A couple of days…three, maybe.” That’s a couple of days too long. You have all the signs of bipolar II.

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”

I am quite insane, I speak in rhyme that often doesn't, expecting to find reason. I live in a world of ritual and season.

At times my vision is shallow and short-sighted as I see my loved-one cope with the challenges we label mental illness. At times through shallow eyes I see a future stunted, my loved-one's possibilities not fully realized.  ...But then I look deeper. ...There I see unnecessary expectations created by me, held by me, and fully releasable by ...........me.