5 year poem 

and I’m crumbling, I’m stumbling, oh, 

now I’m falling, hear my name that you’ve been calling, 

but can’t see the light.  can’t stop the fight, 

left bloody,


and torn the fuck apart.  and of course, all of this leads to a perpetually broken heart. 

maybe I’ll end up slipping, end up flipping. 

take them out, tell them what this is – tell them what it’s all about. 

and then, they’ll know what pain is, they’ll know what shame is,

and they’ll be just like me. 


About zedmondson

Zoe. 22. Australia. I'm writing to share my experiences with Bipolar Disorder with others. I believe in fighting stigma surrounding mental illness. I believe in being able to wear my heart on my sleeve; or on my blog. And I believe in myself. That's what my blog is all about. Hope you enjoy x View all posts by zedmondson

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