This is my collection of writings within the mental hospital. Some are longer verses and some short bits, I’m here for the afterthoughts and studying my own poetic illness.
This is my first verse which I earlier called “Technology’s Wave”, but in “reality” I think it touches on several subjects.
As reels are the new, or they were in my past,
How many creeps can study so fast?
If knowledge is leaked on what a woman likes,
Their private desires streamed for public likes.
How does that woman protect her own?
If love is built on tinder like a match,
It’s just a game of the perfect fuck to last,
As someone that’s used this app to find love
“Everyone” wants off and be free to live and love,
Hiding their desires and no longer being so stone
It’s a curse and a blessing to be alone
Yet in reality they’re watching,
Creeping on breasts,
Wondering which one they can play with the best.
As the phone grows more prominent,
Everything gets easier,
Let me order a blonde, an asian,
It allows us to please ourselves easier.
The longer you look for that love,
For sexual satisfaction that fits like a glove,
The more you’re in fear of living without a mate,
Daring fate to break that date.
But it’s not just tinder, or a hinge to our future,
Technology spirals us towards an unknown future.
If relationships are built on texts and wifi,
A love slipped on a worry of a shadows lie,
It worries me as our unconscious slips before we die.
The dark area of shadow, where we love, where we should live,
It is left on a screen and never meets lips again.
It became about tone, but how the message could be misconstrued,
Text messages couldn’t carry love sweet swoon.
Who was to say what the words could mean,
A “help me” vs “Help me”,
What could the difference mean?
There was no stance, no tone to follow,
I want to hear a beautiful voice or the mistakes that follow.
It causes the drama, creates the distance,
And murders conversation
Or depths existense.
I chased love, a private dance,
One in the dark and shrewd in stance,
Leave the phone behind for psychology’s chance.
If I could find our problems in two minutes flat,
A quick glance at A.I.’s fat chance,
That’s always an apparent fact.
How can I breathe, check with my partner,
Understand feelings over apparent facts,
Over apparent facts from a glance.
Some people know movie tracks,
Some watch their phone,
It’s a technological train, headed towards a place we all know.
Our postures decline, our weight increases,
Our bodies adapt, we slowly transform,
Into a horrible trap as if we were unborn.
We evolve towards the light,
Moths towards our flame,
pulling us in a direction where we have no shame.
Technology flows as a spark from the tower,
Sending a current in any direction
That we may breathe each hour.
At some points I stop, can you hear the current,
Wondering if technology will replace air at the moment.
If it was a wave,
Tinkinering with my head each time,
Could I nod downwards and reject the game.
My reflection, if I followed my eyes,
Does it go towards the back of my mind,
Or does it follow my phone where I look for a rhyme.
The light was my reflection, the phone my mind,
My personality, am I schizophrenic for reels this time.
The light grew stronger in my darker days.
The dark hole. Do you remember it?
Stationary. Sedentary. A stare. A forgotten gaze towards a light.
We were young.
Too young.
The light was harsh, our environment harsher,
The world surrounded us as our rooms grew darker.
They locked us in a cage,
Surrounded by nobody,
Not a faint sound but the TV was somebody
We rushed to the door but the outside was locked
We longed for fresh air,
But the disease had us stopped.
We called our friends
They were in the dark as well
We knew nothing of the outside
So nobody could tell.
The screen had its games, the movies its stories
We grew love for fictional without real love stories
The love wasn’t real, a fairytale, a ghost
We weren’t acquainted with our own host
Our bodies grew tired, we stayed in our beds
Some of us even found depressive meds.
Our parents lost their jobs,
Our homes grew poor,
I’m sure we’ll recover and have a loving family once more.
Christmas grew dim, the presents were thin
And the coal wasn’t a lie.
The cookies were sweet, tasty and well,
But somehow Santa didn’t seem so swell.
We were still in our house,
Locked in our doors, remembering the past that was no more.
Then came July,
We could feel the heat, but air conditioning was all that was neat.
Vacations grew slim, our pools were empty,
People grew large and the sun grew dimly.
We yearned for grass, or for an ocean breeze,
To travel away for the sunscreen brought ease,
To play with our friends was all but a tease.
The screens stayed with us, a friend till the end to make ease.
Then school came around on our screens once again
We longed for classrooms, our screens weren’t learning
We were being taught but we were actually yearning.
We yearned for grass, or for a fresh breeze,
To travel away from the screens to bring ease.
To play with our friends but all we got was a tease.
The screens stayed with us, a friend till the end
It stayed by our side even if we didn’t make it till the end.
The cage grew tight, eventually it loosened
But the masks scared faces but we couldn’t lose them.
We were a moth to a flame,
A person with a light,
Almost as if we held a candle in our dark night.
Social Media, a game played for numbers,
A new way to make money and grow followers,
Each gains powers from a number in vain,
Of how many people know their name.
Each kid an account, each parent two names,
It replaces sharing pictures and talking about memories today.
It’s a popularity contest of course this we all know,
But now the numbers cast a large shadow that looms low.
Of how much money can you make fake videos of Rome,
These new age travelers that live for a “moment”
That never grows.
They bear a miserable course, where the video absorbs it,
The phone stores the memory but hope gold affords it,
Leaving their soul, cold looking for warmth,
They sell their memories and hope people adore it the most.
It may not make cents to take advantage of common sense,
As they film on the road, making a show of the earth,
I get the privilege of enjoying the dirt.
The mountains call their name
But they don’t set foot on a mountain mane.
Where quiet travelers go to find peace and be sane.
But now in this moment,
That I’ve left the phone behind,
I love the idea of bringing back mechanical chimes.
A camera, a watch, an alarm clock, a cookbook,
I hope these things don’t get lost like phonebooks.
I hope to spin vinyl’s, listen to them softly,
Enjoy their taste and remember them fondly.
Without my phone I may acquire more stuff,
But I hold it valuable, a privilege to touch.
Who knows maybe the value is now for such.
As I go into the past, where no phones interrupted joy,
I found a home in mother nature’s silent toys.
It wasn’t in church, it wasn’t in prayer,
It was in hearing her song in clean air.
Just listening to doves or rain falling in ease,
Going down the stairs to where there’s new leafs.
As I find earth’s hidden treasures
Melt in cold spring water, sprawl in her meadows,
I found peace in going towards her well water.
Each day, each week,
I began replacing tools,
Without apps life wasn’t automatic and old wheels turned.
Photographs became real, a watch became for style, the clock for fashion,
And a cookbook made for great meals.
Books became valuable, sealed in paper,
And ask for no attention.
I drew less power, my body closer to her,
Ears perk up and colors burst with laughter.
As I lost sight of the past,
When I quit the phone to clear my mast,
I reached a delusion and an emotional dance.
So now how do I operate,
Knowing this curse, with all this information,
It slowed me down like a curse.
I watched as they bussled, looked down in shame,
I watched their phones carry their names.
So now I don’t bow down,
Back no longer hunched over,
Weighed down to a phone that turned me over.”
Explanation/Notes
Now as mentioned before, their are several subjects touched in here.
- Anti-Technology, a huge factor in my Psychosis and eventual Schizophrenia diagnosis was that technology was out to get us, or me at some point. I had a flip phone and felt safe without the game of social media that is being played today. Do I still agree with it yes, but not in the sense that I’m participating in it. I’m more open to it now, but with the rising growth of technology I still do worry how detached we are getting as a society. Our societal shadow, as Carl Jung would have put it, is growing increasingly distant in my opinion. The technological train is forever going forward, I jumped off and met consequences.
- COVID 19, a big factor I’d been looking into for awhile was the effect of sitting in a dark room as a child unable to escape the light. The effects of sitting in a dark room with no social interaction have been studied to show an increase in depression, mental health issues and substance abuse. I wondered for a long time, being in an unhealthy household, how that period of time affected me and others of my generation mentally today.
- Mother Nature, my spiritual belief then and still is in mother natures healing power. I believed that as I went closer to mother nature, I got more empathetic. I don’t know if that’s true or not but healing, yes.
- Love, loving in the dark. Or without the texting games or social media views. Could I eventually love someone fully in the dark without technology between us?
Coming Home
My first post, Lost in the Fog, is my story of coming home from Psychosis. Of my dream, here it is, not to be repetitive lol.
“I call this poem wandering in the fog,
But I can’t help but understand,
That these are my walls.
Imagine my home, a little safe space
I’ve explored the whole place,
From living to an almost deathly place.
The living room, the kitchen,
The place where I sleep,
Shit I’ve even made the depression kind of neat.
The Gods all lied, my friends visited once,
The lost lover owns the place,
I enjoyed her presence once.
I enjoy yours now too, you’re inside my mind,
A voice to talk to or this place would be empty all the time,
There’d be nothing to do,
But talk to the walls as I sometimes do.
Yet the voices resound, ricochet if you will,
I’m wandering in the fog, lost in all directions,
Trying to nail them down,
and find them once and for all.
But all is my figurative,
Because as I look left and right,
I see nothing around me
But what remains beyond daylight.
I wait for a lover, someone soft and kind,
To lay on and cry, lead me free
To my own peace of the mind.
I may not be brilliant, my mind slips in waves,
I’m repetitive but I can love and stay
Before any wavering day.
These words remain passage, a poetic line,
To help me wander towards that old voice of mine.
I know him I swear, I’ll find him again,
He may not be the same but he’s just worn thin.
They say I fear people,
Maybe others do, but I carry the positive symptoms
And respecting them is what I’ll choose.
For now it remains in the voice,
Or a grand delusion for which there is no choice.
Their voices grind away, a whistle to my dog.
The minds grow silent, I grow jealous with my fog.
I may not have the wits when reality gets blurred,
But I’m still there.
It’s just hard for me to be deterred.
I settle in restlessness, stay away from the knives,
People scare me only because humanity lies.
Because I fear going left and I’m holding my own lows,
Going to the right helps me remember those.
I understand what they cannot know,
That these words chamber down and out,
Towards my fear of what remains unknown in this fog about.
Each friend sacred, I find blankets for them,
I fear being left and abandoned again.
I listen to their homes, find a place in a chair,
in a beautiful silent space, misplace I do not dare.
I fight for these ones, I put down my pride,
I scare away hallows who remember their only dimes.
Sage is for clarity,
Eucalyptus clears the mind,
Lavender for the calm,
All needed for calamity as if I had a bomb in the mind.
That word may be harsh but it’s ticking in my hand,
I feel not, but hold it, protect what I don’t understand.
A smooth stone sits bedside, a seashell for the seashore
Below a soft light, which I truly adore.
My candles live for a bathtub where I’ll fight,
All before I turn in for the night.
Each item a purpose,
Each feeling noticeable,
I hear these voices and find them notable.
My journal my pride,
Where my lion comes out of the mind.
I rhyme in hopes that poetry lies between the lines.
But I do not write without clarities sake
Words have meaning, some help me learn,
You begin to listen carefully when it’s beyond your turn.
My journal may not be poetry but as I write the words fly,
Like a dove,
Peaceful,
Where I’ll go before I die.
The voices take, they steal the brain,
They make living life carry a little more pain.
But in the cool morning, as fog approaches the beach,
I’ll sit here with tea in my left hand,
Hoping the right knows what to speak.
It will not be brilliance, nor powerful in stow,
But peace is accomplishable
For so many I may not know.
I told you about the house and for my tour,
So let’s begin by opening my little red door
The kitchen is where I’m cooking so softly,
All the spices from Asia, garlic hanging from the rafters,
I hope my mind can cook this with laughter.
What you’ve been reading is the hors d’oeuvres,
A charcuterie as piano plays with its curves.
In my kitchen I create hope,
Using my imagination to create income
As if this house were a boat.
This house has sailed the seas,
A small home I dream of when the darkness leaves.
So we’ve started with the kitchen where I’m working on an island,
Fresh herbs hang above me as if it were a garden.
Over there is the living room, where I once was a wizard,
Burning spells in a place where no one could live in a blizzard.
Next to the fireplace is my shelf of books,
What knowledge left is read after I cook,
Some books were burnt in an earthquake of sorts,
Knocking them into the fireplace when I tried to save the people of course.
Up the stairs behind you is the one room in the house,
Yes, behind you now watch out for the mouse.
It spirals up, a beautiful staircase indeed
It once got out of control, where my bedroom lies,
And now I live with my parents once more.
It all began in the bedroom where real love escaped,
And I found the attic next to you amidst my chase.
You’ll find it spacey, where my head gets lost,
Were they voices or just God telling me to get lost.
The sky once opened up when I lost my roof,
I’ve repaired it since but some screws are still loose.
When the sky opened up the clouds played with mind
And all of a sudden the devil had so many tricks that weren’t kind.
Now get down from there, it hurts my head,
That attic has memories and sometimes they’re dread.
I’m sure a lover or the meds won’t make it hurt in your sted.
Yes come down the staircase nice and slow,
Wouldn’t want you to hurt your head,
And join this circus show in my measly meds.
Once you’re down, no don’t look at the sheets,
Yes they’re silk and I know the views from the window are neat.
I admire them most days in that lofty attic,
That overshadows the love I have for the dramatic.
Yes the french doors, open the balcony it’s gorgeous,
The sea breeze will touch you and leave you sore less.
I know it’s all a dream but that’s my loft,
Where my love grows strong and I feel soft.
I know about my grin, it gets cheekier each day,
Now come down from my mountains before I reach my sautee.
You really are obstinate, I love you already,
Yes I climb mountains my hands are quite steady.
Thank you, now come down, I know it’s quite impressive
But let me show you my basement where things can get depressive.
Now sorry one sec, these peppers are spicy,
I’m crying because of them, my basement is just a little dusty.
I’m too emotional? Now that’s just false,
Make up your mind before the sauce gets too much salt.
Too far, to close? Understand my fall before we get close.
Be empathetic I ask, my mind is still angry,
People once looked down on me,
Stared at me in the streets,
Looked at my clothes and called me a good for nothing freak.
Now go to the basement, where I attempted to set others free,
Which is why there’s a shed outside with everything they could need.
It may not be large but about the size of the hospital room,
it’s free to sleep in and to take the necessities.
Yes the basement, it was once gloomy and dark,
A foul stench came from a body that did not depart.
Yes that’s me, sleeping in a tent,
Where I almost met fate, grateful for my mother had a vent.
Anyways now it’s different a bit,
I store fine wine down there and food for a survivors trench.
I dreamed of a war, a true drastic dream,
But then I wanted kids and let go of my revolutionary dreams.
In the basement is where people lose shape,
Where they become animals who just need a humble handshake.
It was a sad place where I was dragged to a box,
But the handshake led me away from dirty socks.
I was clean, I was safe,
My family found new empathy for my sake.
But now its time for dinner,
Come eat with me under candle light
And we’ll each live free,
Maybe the fog isn't so bad and it's just meant to be."
Explanation/Notes
This one was a bit more positive, an inside image of the home. This was my plea to my very own Psychosis.
- The kitchen, the kitchen is my metaphor for where I cook and write of course, I always imagined having a small home with a big open kitchen. Imagine the image shown above, but behind it is the living room and the kitchen. A small home, with fresh herbs growing in the kitchen and spices from around the world. This poem is relatively straight forward.
- The staircase, the route to heaven my psychosis produced. One that I resisted. It let to the bedroom and the attic.
- The bedroom, a loft. Where my feelings were at their peak during psychosis imagining soft sheets with the women I was talking to in my voices. It would overlook the ocean, this is my dream home after all. I talked to a pleasant and kind female voice while I was in the hospital, I believed she was mother nature. She was, in a special psychosis way.
- The attic, where my memory was. It slowly drifted on me amidst psychosis and I became spacey on my past. The attic was also where I thought I met God and where people who were religious hurt my head. Sorry readers, not a believer after my experience.
- The fireplace and my books, I believed I was a wizard. And in a battle with negative wizards. I would burn things, eat and burn sage, all to escape what I believed to be an evil killer of the mind. I wasn’t wrong, something was trying to kill my mind. I isolated myself heavily during my psychosis, save the people before saving my “sacred knowledge” I believed to have had.
- The basement, where I was homeless. The bad stuff, lots of tears and a lot of confusion. I hope to one day fill others lives with blankets and fresh starts.
Conclusion
I’m still working through all my old poetry, and piecing it into longer verses that I find more thoughtful. But as I’m still healing it helps to re-write old pieces and find meaning in them. I hope you enjoyed the first batch, but they may remain around similar concepts, Psychosis can be repetitive after all!
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