That’s what they think
Washed out color
Long halls painted grey
Not a door insight
Ideas out of focus
Lack luster, incredulous
emotions …….Clawing away the life fingers scraping their nails jagged and bloody, threads unravelling.. like the sound of a chalk board being scratched.
That’s what stigma, bias do isolate you.
Yet I exist Wrapped inside this cocoon~
Generic and uncategorized yet longing to be labeled and in a category ~ oh wait, I am… I fall under stigma mental illness under my skin, unseen yet relentless in my mind there are millions of my kind.
One size fits all as long as that size is extra large as to swallow my frame,as well as yours.
Swallowing my existence whole~