Don’t Judge Me
By Bobbi Rightmyer
Don’t judge me – you don’t even know who I am,
nor do you seem to care.
Why do you seek pleasure in tearing people down?
You seek to destroy everything that makes life worth living,
only because you have no life of your own.
I will never understand the sick desire to trample the ones you feel are beneath you.
You don’t know anything about my physical health –
or my mental health for that matter.
Not that I’m making excuses,
but my mind has been in a black hole for several years now
and I am only just now escaping the deep clutches of suicidal tendencies.
You know nothing of the grief
which has consumed every waking minute of every single day of every never-ending week.
You know nothing of the endless downward spiral
passed the basements and root cellars of my warped, mixed-up mind.
Don’t tell me to just get over it.
Don’t tell me things will be better in the morning.
Don’t tell me I need to suck it up and get on with my life.
Those are just words and words cannot cure the cavernous ache inside my soul.
Despair casts a shadow over the mind,
shrouding me in my own personal prison cell,
coating my every movement and every thought
like heavy humidity choking the air.
I don’t want to feel this way.
I don’t want to live this way.
I want true happiness in my life again.
I want the flowers to blossom.
I want the birds to sing.
I want control over my life again before it’s too late.
By Bobbi Rightmyer
Don’t judge me – you don’t even know who I am,
nor do you seem to care.
Why do you seek pleasure in tearing people down?
You seek to destroy everything that makes life worth living,
only because you have no life of your own.
I will never understand the sick desire to trample the ones you feel are beneath you.
You don’t know anything about my physical health –
or my mental health for that matter.
Not that I’m making excuses,
but my mind has been in a black hole for several years now
and I am only just now escaping the deep clutches of suicidal tendencies.
You know nothing of the grief
which has consumed every waking minute of every single day of every never-ending week.
You know nothing of the endless downward spiral
passed the basements and root cellars of my warped, mixed-up mind.
Don’t tell me to just get over it.
Don’t tell me things will be better in the morning.
Don’t tell me I need to suck it up and get on with my life.
Those are just words and words cannot cure the cavernous ache inside my soul.
Despair casts a shadow over the mind,
shrouding me in my own personal prison cell,
coating my every movement and every thought
like heavy humidity choking the air.
I don’t want to feel this way.
I don’t want to live this way.
I want true happiness in my life again.
I want the flowers to blossom.
I want the birds to sing.
I want control over my life again before it’s too late.
2 comments:
this one was like a giant magnet. couldnt stop reading until the end. hummm? talent,,,for sure.
Bobbi, I'm so sorry you have to experience such pain and so often; it breaks my heart, and your plea for control is so compelling. You've had a rough roll of it and recent events aren't helping, I'm sure.
But this poem is beautiful -- powerful, deep, dark (sure, why not?) and simply stunning. I think many can connect with this. May you see light, at least a little bit, today or tomorrow or very soon indeed.
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