Acting Strong, Feeling Weak


You’ll ask me how I’m doing,

And I’ll tell you that I’m fine.

And even if you asked twice,

I’m not sure I’d change my mind.


Because my body is a prison,

And my thoughts are on fire.

I can’t even get out of bed,

I have no motivation or desire.


So, yeah, I’ll tell you I’m okay,

Maybe just tired.

Because I’d rather that

And you think I am a liar.


The thing is where would I start,

Would I talk about how I fell in love and broke my own heart,

Or who the hell I am

Because I’m struggling to know how to play my part.


And they say that the journey

Of discovery is a masterpiece.

But I doubt even Picasso

Could turn my darkness into art.


I need help. I need therapy

With its six-month waiting list.

But when I see the price

I know it’s not available to me.


When it no longer feels like home here and I’m ready to leave,

I look for the quick fix and chase the high,

Seeking validation from every single girl and guy, temporarily silencing my mind.

Just trying to have a good time.


I need help,

Can I scream it any louder?

I know this behaviour isn’t going to help or make my family prouder,

But what am I supposed to do when I feel like I don’t belong.


I can’t open up and let them know what is wrong,

Because what if I break down, then they’ll know I’m not strong.

Because being strong is what I’m supposed to be,

It’s a desirable characteristic of my personality.


Letting out this secret that I feel alone,

And that my mind is dark and scary,

Will, no doubt, change how the world sees me,

And I’m not ready.


You’re weak, unstable,

Emotionally unavailable.

You’re crazy, you’re lazy,

And attention seeking too.


Just stigma.

But it has the power, to make me hate myself

More than I already do.


And people like to remind me that others have it worse.

In this world of oppression, life is tough.

And what you’re going through

Is just another one of those lessons.


They think that being low is trendy.

And I can assure you that this is not

The new craze,

Or the new obsession.


And the words they say linger

And leave a lasting impression.

Proving that they do not understand

This deadly condition.


So, I’ll shout it from the depths of my lungs,

With plenty of aggression,

That no


I can’t just snap out of it.

Because it’s fucking depression.


I’m becoming drained from hope,

And my hope is draining.

I’m hoping for change,

But nothing is changing.

It’s like hoping for sun in winter when you’re sick of it raining.


I’m sick of complaining.

I’m sick of raging.

I’m an explosive, a time bomb,

Just ticking away, constantly ageing.


Navigating through this world

Can be so terrifying.

But I’d be lying if I told you

I wasn’t afraid of dying.


I don’t want to die.

But I don’t want to live.

I want things to get better.

But I’m not sure how much more I can give.

  • Author: anonymouspoet2345 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 3rd, 2023 17:44
  • Comment from author about the poem: My friend wrote this poem. I thought it was brilliant, and could go far and maybe help others who feel the same. So I cleaned it up and published it here, with her consent, of course. What do you think?
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 54
  • User favorite of this poem: Alice_16.


  • Alice_16

    Awe thankyou 😁

  • NewWolf

    Anybody that knows anything about Bipolar and it's anger and depression,...... .my goodness this brought a tear! Truly a Masterpiece!

    • Alice_16

      I'm glad you liked it 😊

    • Atom

      Very well written, Well done.

    • BecauseImAVirgo

      Never related to something more

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