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Pity in Your Glassy Eyes
Stop looking at him like that-
eyes full of pity
and pain.
Is that really how you see him?
A sad song,
a cautionary tale,
a tragedy?
You should have met him before
before the world turned cruel
and he turned callous.
You should have seen the fire
in his eyes. No:
he is not a sad song;
he is a battle cry.
He is not a cautionary tale;
he is a wake-up call.
A tragedy?
Darling, he is a war story-
all teeth and nails and bony elbows.
Mark my words;
you will see the light return
to his eyes.
Mark my words;
they will spark fire
in the eyes of those around him.
Don't treat him like a casualty,
don't treat him like a martyr -
he is bullet casings
and messy hair,
and he will tear
you
apart.
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I wrote this poem about what happens whenever I tell anyone about my mental health issues, about how they treat me like a bombshell. They treat me like I could explode at any time, like something fragile that has to be stepped around. Whenever I mention something offhand, they get this look in their eyes. It feels like they're scared I might die in front of them. I should be happy they care, I should feel loved, but it makes me feel broken.