Beautiful Tragedy

"My head," I explain, "It's floating."

Everyone stares. That doesn't make sense.

I try again.

"My head feels like it's floating." and they nod, my statement is acceptable

What they don't know is that my head was floating, my brain felt distant and a fog sepratated my head from my body. My head was floating because I was out of control and that was the only way I could justify it. This is my life!

You think I'd know when my head was floating figuratively four inches above my neck. Do you know the difference between a similie and a metaphor?

Because the struggle of just appearing functional is too strong to be softened with "like or as" as it is for countless other people you write off as crazy.

Because being me means justifying my problems because I got into an Ivy League institution, but it was probably that dysfuntion that landed me here in the first place. Sane people don't go to Stanford. Happy people don't go to Harvard.

We like to put it in poetic terms, but what is poetic about lising who you are because your brain's self-destructing?

If a tree falls in the forest and no one's there to write a shitty poem about it's beautiful tragedy, did it really happen?

They describe depression like you're drowning when everyone else is breathing fine, but I'm not gasping for air.

I'm breathing fine, the issue is my mind. It's an over played metaphor, I refuse to use it anymore.

There is no problem using literature to express one's feelings but don't hide behind its devices. Don't shove so much symbolism in it that no one knows what you're really saying. They need to know what you're really saying.

So you won't be called a beautiful tragedy anymore.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community

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