In my life I have had some trying times.
Some things I just can’t get off my mind.
But listening to 9th, I know everything will be alright.
The track changes, like daily
Faded pictures remind me lately of family.
Remind me of my days elementary
Remind me of summers swimming
The winter is cold, my knees bend slow
Praying to a god up above that I don’t know
If he is in on the joke, or how it goes.
I know I have a bullseye on my mind’s eye
Cerebral cortex don’t really seem right.
My mind in public goes overdrive
Spitting lies through my eyes
Every day, I die.
But that’s my mental health condition
Refuse to call it an illness.
Cause God gave me this, and it’s a present
I deal with it, without bullets.
Without slit wrists this nitwit outwits the misfits
Hypocrites who feel that they don’t feel this.
Feel this life is a mistake, but this pen don’t write mistakes
Teachers taught me cursive, so I know I am not worthless
Learned how to write, for retaliation,
My mental meditates on the pencil pen case
A headcase, who can shoot straight,
Rhyme spaghetti, with Mario Andretti
Running so sick like my stomach is empty
But I feel better, knowing I am a man of letters.
A man who can put it down, when nothing makes sense to me.
I understand gravity. I understand that gravity keeps my feet
Planted. I understand it, that this planet is damaged and needs
First Aid like sutures and bandaids.
And I got one life, that’s what God gave me. So I keep my illness in check.
Till this Poetry pays me.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.