Diagnosed 

It took me forever to realize I was facing something deeper than sadness. 

Sadness goes away once you find something to fill that void of happiness. 

Children, family, pampering self…

Nothing worked. 

I even reorganized my books on my bookshelf! 

“Nothing makes me happy.” 

I’m suffering… 

Anxiety, depression, fatigue, insomnia 

I can’t rest to think

I can’t rest to think 

I can’t rest to think

Clearly… 

my thoughts are clouded with the deception of “You’re crazy.” 

Its hard to focus on the bigger picture with a broken frame.

Lack of concentration; too many people yelling my name. 

They allll want to see me? 

They wanna see me perform; although I’m going insane. 

I still step on stage for them to pick my schizo brain.

Obsessive isolation 

“Just leave me alone.”

When really, I wish to confess that I’m dying on the inside. 

“I just want to go home.” 

That line hurts worse, when you have no where to go… 

starving to be great; but played by hoes…

Damn Dehydration 

Fuck mental Frustration 

Tired of writing poems about slacking 

Im eager to write books 

About how this little hood mom got to packing… 

I ain’t talking bout toting no drugs 

Instead, my wealth so large 

I’m giving out Oprah sized hugs… 

I’m talking living large; no room for bed bugs. 

First, 

I gotta shake this sickness off 

I’m diagnosed with the white man’s data 

Another black queen labeled 

Unstable, breakable, recycled, 

used, abused, taken for granted.. 

just to claim a tally mark 

With the other Queens who lost their gifts, commitments to our universe

when really, 

I just desperately needed to hear someone’s voice worth listening to 

Other than my own… 

I’m black and I’m proud 

I will not be what they said I am 

Clinically depressed? I’m sorry. 

That sound like a hot mess… 👊🏽🖤

Overcome Postpartum Depression. 

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