I have an illness of the brain,
And yet the world dispenses blame,
As if I can control this side,
Of me, I want to run and hide.
Invisible and wracked with pain,
And yet I’m doused with fear and shame,
You won’t believe what you can’t see,
And so I’m locked in agony.
I’m judged for every single act,
Regardless of intent or fact,
My illness used against me so,
The world can justify it’s blow.
I may retain non useful thought,
But that’s no reason for retort,
About my medical regime,
Opinions were not sort or gleaned.
And still you give advise in short,
As if your ‘expertise’ was sort,
You’ll never understand my plight,
Or what prevents my sleep at night.
So don’t pretend you know my curse,
Your ignorance just makes things worse,
My heart is not a weathered ball,
That you can throw against the wall.
So keep opinions to yourself,
Don’t place me on the crazy shelf,
If truth be told I’m probably,
More stable than you’ll ever be.
© The Complicated Bunny – 19 Oct 2020