I know that pain is real because of how I feel,

I try to silence voices but it’s with them that I deal

on the daily maybe if I cease to exist,

loved ones tell me not to say that,

but the voices persist,

they insist that I end it,

I have nothing to live for,

sane and insane thoughts continue to give war,

to each other I breach borders blur lines of normality,

I reach out for help with my bipolar mentality

oh the fucking brutality

I’m sinking in this quicksand,

I stretch out to grab what seems to be some slicked hands

my demons laughing

now I’m asking why wasn’t my pistol blasting,

flashing in the dark that night and stained the walls when my temple cracked and,

brains were splattered I should of done it,

when depression gets the best of me I fight these thoughts while I panic,

and struggle with anxiety the mask I see in the mirror

is telling me it’s time to see a therapist so I figure,

I should or not my destiny will be an early grave cuz I’m a slave to my fears,

but they don’t define me although all these tears

that for years poured down and kept me in depression,

okay time for confession,

there were times when I felt oppression,

but my aggression overcame it,

didn’t want to admit shit so i took the truth and I blamed it,

for my problems never solved them just kept on adding to them so matters

just got worse felt like I was growing tumors,

got so tired of the rumors,

had to get medication,

now besides meditation,

therapy dedication,

girlfriend’s inspiration,

and children’s motivation,

I decided to live and that my life is a miracle

I’m no longer cynical

listen it’s so critical,

you learn that when things get difficult

you look for help right away because living is pivotal… The Struggle

 

*The opinions and ideas expressed are solely those of the author, and may not reflect the opinions of The Bronx Brand*

Jose Gomez AKA Polifiik Tha Poet is from the Morris Heights and Bedford Park neighborhoods of the Bronx. A published writer and poet, the struggles and different perspectives of life in the Bronx fuels hid writing.  He loves educating himself and takes pride in the success of his children.

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