Bullshit Brain Syndrome

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: The House of Poetry

Submitted: August 14, 2018

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Submitted: August 14, 2018

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Bullshit Brain Syndrome 

 

“Hurt people hurt people” 

Ugh if that’s not a lie

I’ve hurt for as long as I can remember

But it’s made me love harder than I thought I ever could 

 

“You’ve got to love yourself before you can love another”

Lies. All. Lies. 

I love for all the people that left, for the ones that didn’t see the pieces that the light couldn’t quite reach, and for all the downfalls even more so than the triumphs

And sometimes it’s hard to love the mirrors reflection

 

Although lately I’ve been finding pieces of myself I really love. Still. Depression. Anxiety. Bullshit brain syndrome.

 

Sometimes my bed is the only place I feel safe from being looked at like a big under a microscope due to my issues. If people were as comfortable as my bed I probably wouldn’t look at everyone in fear when they greet me. 

 

But no they’re rigid. They’re judgmental and they aren’t pliable. My body doesn’t fit right into their frame and their comforter is a cold blanket of “just don’t be sad” 

 

People aren’t like my bed. 

 

Probably why I’m so bad with social interaction and sometimes still have panic attacks when I’m in a room full of them

 

If people were more like memory foam though.... they would all be so comfortable 

 

And I wouldn’t be scared to show them that sometimes 

 

pjs are just day clothes with a hat. 

 

And that sometimes my no makeup face actually meets sunlight because my bed told me that I looked convincing enough to just exist today. 

 

God, if people were memory foam...

 

I’d smile without it looking painful

I’d wake up without a broken sigh

I’d sleep without nightmares nightly

And oh I’d go weeks without crying 

 

Maybe I’d laugh on accident

Or maybe I’d feel alive

Maybe I’d stop just existing

Like I’m not fighting to survive 

 

Some days, though

People are a pull out couch

And while, uncomfortable, I fit somewhat right

And I forget that I’m hurt 

Even if their mattress is firm 

And their blankets leave me cold at night 

 

But,

Sometimes couches can be comfortable houses 

For a shadow of a girl that gives others light 

struggling through every bump and bruise 

Still fighting to find a place where she fits

just 

right


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