Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

I can feel the weight of the
depression slowly leaning on the railing of my mind,
as I try to burst myself 
into tears with the sharpest thoughts that I can find.

Sometimes I just want to drive my forehead into the head of my bed, 
and not relinquish the pedal, until the chatering inside grows dead.

"You're too young and
too smart to slay yourself," people always tell me,
as if I'm younger 
than Selena Stewart or more brilliant than Mark Antony. 

Since
the evidence is now showing that insanity is a correlate of beautiful minds,
I'm assuming
that it's one's possession of madness, and not sobriety, that binds him to the amount of greatness he finds.

Maybe, then, it's the manic episode that incites the prolific poems I write, 
which means my mother was always right

for telling my siblings that I was crazy, even before I had lost it all,
Ere I could hear the voices jumping out at me from my bedroom wall. 

However,
madness is not my pot of gold,
so I'd gladly trade my giftedness for worthlessness and let my father's prophecy unfold. 

Blinded by his own sin, he
couldn't spot the potential in me,
Plus, I chose to keep my
brilliance under a lid, no wonder he couldn't see.

But, Jamaican parents prefer a good report card to a mentally healthy child, 
so, to please them, I delved deeper within, only to find a stockpile of mental disorders, some chronic and some mild.

My parents, thanks for enabling me to shine bright, 
but I don't like the consequence of my intelligence, for it continues to tear me apart like a big bite.

To my mother and father. Mother, I now know  you only wanted the best for me, so that others would stop looking down on your son. 
I love you. I hope I'll learn to show it.