Schizophrenia.com

Write your own poem

I feels that I have been the only person who has been posting poems here on the forum, I am sure that others can write poems too. Please post your own poem.

He wondered why he’d had so many daddies,
And why they had to be so mean,
His mother said she was sorry such things happened,
But their cupboard was bare. The clothes they wore weren’t clean.
They need money; they need a provider,
And his mother had many awful ghosts inside her.
The neighbors looked down upon their plight,
They said the many fathered son was a fright.
When one daddy left, another was right behind,
While the many fathered son slowly lost his mind.
His mother told him he was special. He was great,
But for true tenderness he had to wait,
She gave him what love she could,
But when men treated her like dirt, she felt like wood.
When one daddy came who she thought would stay,
Her wild eyed boy went astray.
All the men who had treated her so badly,
And while she was so young, loved her so madly,
Would not leave the young man’s mind,
So he took a shotgun and went to find,
Another young woman who would enjoy the fun,
While they traveled cross country, with his gun.
When her wild young boy was caught, she pleaded for his life,
She found the words of a good mother and wife,
While her wild young boy sat with his eyes gleaming,
Down her cheeks, the tears were streaming,
"You see, this boy, he had so many daddies,"
That while she was so young, loved her so madly.

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Many try, many fail, but those who love come closest.
To understanding the meaning of life, what we came here for.
Too many times I have known love, it’s diluted for me.
Too far to see what will happen.
I just want to feel free.

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“Liar!,” the mountain screams back
Why do we shrike? He never answers; He wishes me gone.
Even so, with bent knees and sculpted hands I beg–
for his charity, civility, and comfort,
But his heart drills holes in mine.
And, the sludge of the flesh shall dine with
Roaches before I am seen again.
For I grow stiff and forgotten
And evolve cold and forsaken
At the bottom of his pile.

//I like to write poems and do so often. I wrote this after feeling upset with the solutions my church and religiously-minded mother gave me for mental illness. After praying continuously for weeks, I felt betrayed and forgotten–leading to this poem…

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I came here anyway.
No one told me how
far away the road
would take me, or
how high the sun…

Instead of the
rain of coolness lies
a lake of swords. Take
one they tell me.
How high I reach…

I turn
forwarned of sleeping
nights, I pass
until my dream
guides me home unarmed.

Behold, the warrior -

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i dont know what to write, i have nothing so i will write about nothing

this poem is called nothing

Nothing, that vast void we have to fill but cant,
nothing when the sands of time ebb away
and the grains get dry and blow away on a breeze
outwith their glassy chamber,
when the trees shed their leaves and are barren
and all you see is the clouds through the branches,
it makes you think that maybe there is something in nothing,
it is like a rare gem when you find that something
so treasure it as long as it is good
look past nothing and find what you are looking for because
trust me ‘there is always something there’

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I was able to write poems when I was psychotic. Unfortunately all of them got destroyed. Now I am dry as a dessert, heh… maybe one day I will try again. It’s a great idea @mjseu for a thread. I love reading your poems guys, so intimate and insightful…

I can guess some are still tucked within you. I can’t write meaningfully like I used to. Just top of my head stuff that just sounds good.

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First Break
At first I talked to them through the vent
And then through the walls
They had cameras on me
And were recording everything I said
Strange things were being said in the halls
I was a celebrity and had done wrong
Soon I couldn’t sleep
When I noticed they were reading my mind
Now they were no longer in the other room
They were in my head now
I went to the hospital
But refused to bathe
So they kicked me out
Because I misbehaved
I didn’t mind going back to campus
Because I had a Meteorology degree to earn
But the forecast was cloudy forever
And failure was certain
Then they were in my head
And reading my mind
And they found out everything I ever did
And convicted me for life
And I took too many pills
Which were not helping me heal
Because they were for ADD
Which was not was making me ill
And I prepared for the final curtain
But I woke up and decided to live
That was the first thing I did right
But the secret of my voices I continued to let be hid
And I dropped out and never slept normally again
For many months I went
Unmedicated and bent
But finally I had enough
And admitted the truth
Was given pills
And finally slept again
And woke up to a new life
Of broken dreams,and destined poverty
But the first break did not destroy my life
I traveled, swam, walked and biked
And came to appreciate more
Those who didn’t walk out the door

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Where oh where
Goes the beaten knave?
Once born a soldier,
But died a slave.

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You see I can be anything
Because I had to be everything
And now I will be anything
To avoid being nothing

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