This poem is rough. I use some strong language. I won’t go into details about the context at the time (I’ll save that for my book), but you should know I had my first psychotic break (ever) the very next day and was hospitalized the following week.
April 11, 2020
Violation is my name
Give it up, because people don’t listen
This conscience, what is it?
Behind my face and in my gut
It’s for others to trample on.
Violations of my conscience
Invalidate my voice, why don’t you?
Motherfucker.
Tell me I’m wrong again.
Why CAN’T my story be a tragedy
In spite of all this pageantry?
Give me the right to fail.
Allow me to come out of my closet of hopelessness.
Casualty is my name.
Talent and skill, wasted
Throw it on the ground
Quarantine killed the extrovert
But at least it saved a life
Fuck.
Interested in more of my poetry and accompanying interpretations, look for my book! (coming soon)
This Weird Girl 
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