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Wed, 01/11/2017 - 13:14 -- Rudiot

My mind is like a random password generator.

They come.

They go.

Never the same.

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There is a switch in my head.

But not two options.

Hundreds

Too many inside.

Passwords are made, composed of even,

lowercases, numbers, symbols too

Out of all the mental illness and sicknesses.

That having it.

That having perfect mental health

is the password is generated

created

engineered

fabricated

breed

produced

built

constructed

made for most

Except a few.

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The numbers in that password.

5.7 million affected

2.6% with it

Within that small number, 

How many know they are infected?

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I am a part of nothing. 

I am emotional damage.

I am a bag of groceries

straining to bear the weight of this world.

I don't want a part of it.

Why am I here?

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I'm calm.

I'm happy.

No need to explode.

Hurricanes cause the worst wakes.

And they barely move as they

swirl around

and around

and around

and around

and around

and around

and around

and around

Then I'm stuck going around

and around 

and around

These passwords I'm generating 

are complicating to understand

and tread the water as I turn around 

and around

and around

and around 

and around

and I want to STOP.

I'm happy.

Why was I given Bipolar Disorder?

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This poem is about: 
Me

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