Borderline personality is only one of mine. Whiny box blogs bout summer and mental illness rhymes. When you’re sick in the head, people don’t love, they leave. Relatives can’t relate to suicidal tic tack quirks. They shun your rants, smear your smirks, you call them jerks, your job don’t work, spittin truths hurts. Texts in church. Marshals search. (24 felonies, 19 cities, 14 counties, 3 states).
I can’t pray without screaming and swearing. Let me out of this life so I don’t have to do it to my kids. There’s gotta be a way cause one day I died. I can’t remember from coma to rage. Kids can’t forget. They think I lied. Mentally ill’s not blue, I’m cracked up to be not you.
Now my sister has cancer. We look alike maybe God thought I was her. She doesn’t talk to me because I said she’s a snobby bitch. Even though I apologized. I just couldn’t think of nicer words.
There’s dog pee on my pillow when it’s time to lay my head and lithium in my blood stream to keep me from being dead. But anxiety’s entertainment. It’s martini mommy. You’re a depressed, blogging housewife who shouldn’t fuck with me.
Mental illness scares your kids, makes you hate and say things other people know how to hold in. Mom’s anti-dote, not anecdotal, bi-polar cycling, tryin to keep jobs and custody. Unfit for publication, don’t get too close, you can’t catch me.
I got el-bows as I walk on by, you otha mathas can’t deny, when I walk through the door I cry, funny bone is a nurse maids lie.