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Painted Brain | The Trials Of Autumn: A Collection Of Original Poetry
We're bridging communities and changing the conversation about mental illness using arts and media.
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The Trials of Autumn: a collection of original poetry


by Billy Bang Douglas

In the sculptor’s hand

her chisel waits patiently

for the stone to wake.

My Warm Mask

by Angela Tuckerman

If you really knew me you would be blown away.

Behind this facade is not who you really believe this me to be.

Here’s the thing.

I’m good at pretending, it’s what everyone wants from me.

Outgoing, funny, confident,

Dress the part, walk the walk, talk the talk.

But underneath it all, you see, lies complexity.

There is a deep-rooted darkness,

A void that sucks the life out of me, leaving me in shattered pieces.

There is a fire that burns so bright it makes my heart race and my blood boil.

There is a stone of fear, so cold, of panic, unsoothable anxiety.

There is an inconsolable, lonely little girl who wants nothing more than to be understood, loved for everything she is.

I hide behind this mask to protect her from the cruelty that mankind can be.

I hide her ashamed and seldom proud of the reality that is me,

So you see, I’m not everything I seem to be.

The Clown

by Jamie Siegel

I am standing there/here/standing nowhere.

Trapped behind a glass wall,

Never before have I been a mummer, somehow though, I am here today,

Unintentionally bamboozled into this …

I used to use a game of melodramatic number-by-number skill. Building, cajoling conflict into my story,

My way into a playwright, the next Shakespeare,

I used to be my own teacher-director, feeling exactly the words I laid down brick by brick

But now I am without speech,

Deaf, dumb and blind, I only gesture to you. I plead with my eyes for others to understand

Why should I stand here instead of there? Why are you so far away? Scared of my natural state

Of being the beggar clown with the fake rope and fake mask.

I am numb, number than ever before on these drugs that permeate my disease,

The chemicals that regulate my sleep cycle don’t work anymore on their own,

Your assistance in my street theater only perpetuates my love for you,

And recalls long, sleepless nights before the big show, and during the after play

When I huddled under the blankets in my warm winter rope disregarding the notion that one day I would be back to being silent once again

And in a long line waiting, waiting

For food, shelter and medication, the walking dead.

This Little Twerp

by Prudence Snow

                  I want to be home schooled

I hate that place

Nobody likes me

All things I tried to explain

I’ve been hurt

Punched in the face

I want to get out of here

Get these people out of my hair

                It’s alright, honey

They won’t dare

Stop acting so funny

You really shouldn’t care

                You are nothing

You’re weird

They say I’m a chicken and start clucking

Or that I’m so feminine I can’t grow a beard

                Through the pain I try to work

Even though I shouldn’t have to

Stop being such a little twerp

Well, just see what I do

                This little twerp will put an end to it all

To the cops, nobody will be able to call

This little twerp will watch you crash and fall

When you are down, I will stand above you tall

                The sound of your screams will make me happy

For you were the ones who made me feel crappy

I know for your life you will plea

As I take action on my own vengeance spree

                I’ve learned from my personal experiences that life is rough

That being a high school student is tough

I apologize to whoever is the school founder

But in my eyes, enough is enough






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