The edge that she stands on
peaking over each day
looking over the edge of reality,
on the line.
Every morning battling with
being pushed off or brought back
from the end of the road.
A constant battle
“Do I jump, do I let go?”
“Do I fight against the waves of confusion and disillusions of myself?”
Overmedicated on false hope,
false illusions, painful words, and past memories.
Instability bordered by the walls of her ever-changing views
on the actuality of the façade put on by everyone around her.
Aren’t we always on the edge?
Aren’t we always borderline?
Ideologies of personalities.
Most of the time dictated by societies
need to control every aspect of the being.
What makes her she,
doesn’t make you he,
but rather us unique to each other.
The back and forth of the confusion of who she is.
One moment she’s consumed
by unrealistic thought of herself,
dictated by the imbalance in her brain.
The slideshow of unrealistic bodies,
needs that the world requires,
Moods that are constantly changing,
dictating your views of her.
Oblivious to her needs to succeed,
for acceptance, for your needs.
Personalities she doesn’t know of;
Personalities she hasn’t met yet.
A state of confusion.
Misunderstood by most,
placed onto many,
Stigmatized by the world.
The distress of the brain waves abilities
to receive even the minimalist of a compliment.
Absurd ways in which she understands the word “beautiful”
The impulsive need to be alone,
to explore every inch of humanity’s
ability to accept that she is not okay,
but she is trying.
Pushing aside, and ostracized by this “disorder”
placed on her by a Ph.D. clad persona,
that knows nothing more about her,
the stranger that stares back at her
every morning from her bathroom mirror.
Her, but not her.
Gabriela A Tejada
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All Images were taken by me unless stated otherwise.
I removed this poem from my site a few years ago, but thought it needed to be brought back!