Ants crawling up my sleeve
I've been losing sleep.
I've been losing track of the untrue
Things I speak.
I've been dragged through these corridors
On the floors
With a trail of blood behind me.
I've lost interaction with those inhuman beings
Has it become worse or better for me?
Counted all my fingers
Focused on my breathing
A kingdom of unhygiene
And it looks like I'm the queen.
And I couldn't care less
about your mess
Because I'm dealing with my own.
Don't call me depressed
Only because I like being alone.
Laughing at me
And all the things I say
Maybe that's because I lie.
Having to accept your criticism?
I would rather die.
~hanii, 16 march 2020
Author's note: I know this kind of sucks and it might not be poetry according to you,
Or maybe it sounds stupid to your head,
I just wanted to say that,
Making jokes out of mental disorders and illnesses is very, VERY wrong, and so is faking it.
I don't know who needs to hear it, but, please, when you laugh at people when they get panic attacks, Or if you use the term "major depression" as a joke on someone who is merely sad, its not cute and if you're trying to cop Regina George, you're miserably failing.
Thanks
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The Voice That Wasn't Loud Enough
PoetryYou know that moment when you realize that the only thing you want to do is silently jott down your thoughts and not speak a word and let people sometimes misinterpret your thoughts because they would do the same even if you vocalized them so now yo...
