I’m tired of fighting it. I’ve never fit in I barely exist in this world. I don’t have the goals and aspirations of humans. I don’t want a house, children or even friends. I wait. Life is about waiting to fall asleep next. I work so I can comfortably sleep. I can’t rest on the street.
They say I have bipolar and I’ve had my ups and downs but, they call it a disorder. None of it means anything. Mishaps, mistakes in my brain, my existence is deformed, defective. I’m a monstrosity.
They call that depression. Rape the meaning. Rip my pain from my bones and tell me there is hope. Hope in drugs that make me numb. Hope in side effects. Hope in constant adjustments because there is t any hope at all.
Truth is that they are the irrational ones but I will keep on smiling, working for the pay cheque while I wait until it is time to sleep.