Poem #26 by Bridget B
Life’s a mess. A forward spiraling staircase.
In this home that once felt good, now I only hate this place.
All alone in a room; its my head thats trapped me…but It’s dark and unsettling.
Nobody knows, what she is going through.
But let’s give her an interview and screw the review because all they see is a messed up kid.
They couldn’t last a day in her shoes.
Abusive emotions are her muse.
She paints poetry with her own tears and the crowd loves it and cheers.
The children inspired march in the streets singing songs of their own defeat.
And the tv crew sees their generation as a poetic notion.
But they go home and tell their babies not to cry.
Exemplify it, don’t deny it. You hate having to deal with someone who is affected by it.
Stigma and stereotyping hasn’t helped their tear wiping.