Poetry From An Unconventional Mind

BPD

You may ask yourself sometimes,
I wonder how it feels
To feel like in one moment
You are you
And the next you're not at all.
Well if you want to know
You don't have to look far.

See someone you know may hold a secret
A secret so terrifying they never say it aloud...
Borderline Personality Disorder.
The monster that slumbers deep in your brain
And makes you think and feel.
When this monster is awake
Your thoughts are no longer your own.

You become a passenger
Riding shotgun in your own brain.
You beg the driver to turn left,
You know it's the right way to go
But the driver smiling an evil smile
And singing a different tune,
Well he veers aggressively right
Taking you in the opposite direction.

The driver does not care
He couldn't give a damn
About the destination that you crave
He doesn't care how hard you worked
To figure out the best route
Or how many hours you spent
Deciding where to go
He just cares about disrupting your plans
And making a mess for you.

You see the car he's driving
Well the car belongs to you.
All the paperwork and details,
they're in your name too.
So when the car is damaged
Or a speeding ticket comes,
Well it's you who pays the price.

You go to a mechanic,
Who knocks out all the dents
And gives the car a shiny new
Coat of paint.
Because he's nice, he also gives
You a new air freshener.
when you get back in the car
It feels and looks brand new.
You are quietly satisfied,
Happy with the work,
Driving peacefully along a country road

About a mile or two later,
Depending how it feels,
You see the monster standing,
Staring from the roadside.
Its thumb is up and it looks mournful.
You know you shouldn't,
You know it isn't right,
But you kind of miss the monster,
The voice inside your head.

So you pull over and let it in,
And for a while you drive together
Almost like old friends.
There's no argument of where to go
Or which way to take.
But then you stop to take a break,
And before you know it,
You're riding shotgun,
Back where you began