Black, Female and Mentally Ill…And Fighting Still!

There is a fine line between sanity and insanity.
I stare at my reflection,
Seeking perfection,
Honestly having no idea about what that truely is.
I’m on the borderline of stability and instability,
Every ounce of me fragmented,
And scattered further than the eye can see,
Between Black and White,
Spread way out to beyond infinity.
My mind is heavy,
The weight affecting my physicality,
Heavy shoulders crush my body and psyche,
Mascarade my identity.
Tight lipped,
Yet open,
I share,
But do not declare all,
As that would make me vulnerable beyond repair,
And I need to try and be present,
As I continuously try to process,
What others don’t see,
Know,
Nor understand,
Combating the high demand,
Constant flickers of my mind,
A glitch,
Each switch,
Pain like bolts of lightening,
The tornado,
The storm,
No choice but to surpress,
I cannot confess,
If I wish to rub shoulders,
Walk beside you,
Clean up the mess of injustice and segregation.
I play the game,
To appear the same,
To not appear to roam to far off track,
Because once your off the grid,
You can never come back.
I must not be too loud,
I must not appear angry,
My foots in the door,
But there’s a long journey ahead of me,
Especially with the ill mental health struggles that I adhere to daily,
That debilitate me.
I’m black,
I’m a woman,
With BPD,
Whose going to give a platform to me?
Nobody!
I must fight my own fight,
There is no option of flight,
People need to hear me,
See me,
For help,
Understanding,
And rationality,
21st century,
And yet still I am denied because of my nationally,
Hindered by my gender,
Muted for my disability.
Stigma boxes me,
Taboo blocks me,
But nothing will silence me,
People will find me,
As I won’t campaign quietly,
You can extinguish my fire,
But I will start another,
And another,
Until we are accepted by society,
And welcomed to equality.