i’m trying to find the balance
between female anatomy and unbalanced brain chemicals
males gazes and straight jackets internalized, holding hands, squeezing out my sanity
i do not know how to properly
categorize myself within the patriarchy’s roles–

the insecure girl or the crazed mental patient,
or some combination of the two,
overlapping, combining to make me the mess
i am-
suppressing, every last damn thought
and the squeezing in my chest i'm forced to ignore
and the sinking feeling in my gut, wrenching out
my unbalanced hormones
my equilibrium thrown out of whack
because i’m feminine and mentally unstable
the exact thing men love
to manipulate and exploit– 

because I want to be strong
i do not want to depend on a male doctor,
who doesn’t know my pain,
who assumes my suffering is equatable to that
of the male patient,
to prescribe me a false cute
while he rolls his eyes and mumbles, “women,”
to diagnose my problem as Femininity
a case of fucked up gender identity
and Generalized Anxiety Disorder all fucked up, and wrapped up
with a big pink bow on top 

is neurosis my punishment
for wanting agency over my soul?
i am mentally ill, damn it.
and there are moments when i am weak,
and weak is the only thing i can be,
and i feel myself going crazy, the crazy female
that society wants me to be,
the box they chose for me
the second i was born,

so prescribe me a blue pill,
and a pink pill,
so i can balance out my crazy
with the crazy you want to see,
I’ll make my mental illness a sideshow tease,
entertaining for the male gaze
as i lean back and wonder,

if a woman can have a fucked up mind
but a fire in her heart?
can a woman be strong
while having weaknesses too debilitating to hide?
i don’t want to be weak,
because they want me to be weak
but at the end of the day
I am not well.

I’m trying to find the balance
between female anatomy and unbalanced brain chemicals
and where, in between,
these two tools used against me
could i ever find myself. 


This poem is about: 
Our world


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