dear mental illness

I don’t need you

to help me be smart

or creative, thank you.

I don’t need you

ensuring that people

treat me

and my kind

any differently than they already do.

your stigma carries enough

shit

on its own, thank you.

I’ve had to battle

uphill for decades.

with families

abandoning

well enough on their own

without

your damn stigma

pushing further,

after learning

of habits

living under bridges and what not.

I don’t need you

guaranteeing

people assume violence,

or that I push a shopping cart, full of haphazard piles of random conspiracy laden stuff,

my M.O.

I don’t need you

telling your classmates

at community college

that

I’m not smart enough to finish anything.

assumptions happen anyhow

without your damn influence.

I struggle enough
trying to be normal without instructor's help,

or extra time

to make it through my 3 classes

on my own,

tutors smutors,

only make for more-what’s-up-with-him-attention?

that I don't need, ghostwriter.

I can do this.

without your damn stigma.

take your

false pity

elsewhere.

I may preach

on the street

of hell

fire

and brimstone

but

maybe I’m just trying to survive like anybody else.

they,

might expect me ready

to shoot up

youth in Norway or Tuscon.

maybe,

I’m dangerous

and

turning my apartment complex

into a luxury condos for high flalutin college students

with rich dads or moms

is obviously

a grand idea.

but
i must say,

its different when you’re the one left

moving  

to another part of town

for the umpteenth time.

because

you,

aren’t good enough

for borrowing

that cup of sugar for that gluten-free birthday cake.