Written in 2013 (Revised 2019)
Ex-boyfriend said, “You should go to Dr. Phil with your psychopathic behaviour.”
Morning Mission:
Get out of bed;
Stay out of my head;
Survive in a body that feels dead.
I have become a warm ghost.
My body’s just a host.
Listen to my son speak so eloquently,
As he says his ABC’s.
I ask to hear them again.
He says, “Mom, my brain is fried.”
I want my son to feel right.
Learn that his brain’s a delight.
Did I pass my polluted mind
Onto my kids?
Taught that I was crazy,
An Indian who’s lazy,
That my mind isn’t right,
Like a high on a starry night.
When I’m in public
The walls feel tight,
I retreat to my mind in fright,
Start talking to Black Jesus,
Since He said, “Ask and You Shall Receive.”
So I pray that I don’t end up dead,
From exploding brains in my head.
Let me just get home to my bed,
Where I want to sleep,
The monsters creep,
Keeping me awake and taking my “zeds.”
My body becomes like lead,
While my mind still needs to be fed.
I picture my brain busting out,
Devouring my body whole,
As I lay there and watch.
God gave me verbs, words, and proverbs
To think about my dreams
That I never make happen.
Solitude comes tappin’
Motivation starts lackin’
Need to pick up my melted body
From the puddle at my feet,
Blow myself up with helium,
Float into the sky,
Look down to see my old self cry.
I lack confidence in a system
That tells me I am broken.
It left me with Depression and PTSD.
Still I thank Creator I write,
For the way She made me.
