Mental illness is not romantic.

It is tragic and cruel.

Families are ripped apart.

Relationships crumble before they start.

I feel disgusted by accusers;

The ones who say it’s fake,

That say we all have a little

Craziness nowadays.

They hide behind cages

Made of screens and desperate attempts

To make equals of their lowest places.

We make games of pitying our worst selves.

And yet some never ask for genuine help.

They self-medicate with likes.

Can’t function without a million eyes

Watching their perceived lives.

It’s impossible to be real.

Honesty is too sensitive

Unless it’s a meme.

I can’t speak my mind

Without the permission of my peers.

I share a fraction of my woes

In the hope that someone else knows

What it’s like to feel a fraction of the same.

I smile because it’s easy

To pretend I can handle insanity.

I’m a pro at mental illness

And the people cheer for unhappiness.