This Party

This is my feeling to my diagnosis

There is a party going on

sadly I was invited

I probably wouldn't have went anyway

If I had a choice

This party doesn't have people or music

Not even a drink bar

It is just my diagnosis and me

I always knew I was ill

not physically but mentally

It wasn't just being told I was anxious or sad

It was being told that I was rough around every edge

That every aspect of me was jagged to the touch

Every thought I had was never the original

This party is something I never wanted to be invited to

Just my diagnosis and me

They are having a laugh and I'm having a cry

At this event there is no laughing or dancing

We are sitting at a table 

I watch as they control what I say or do

I obey every command like on queue

This party is going on

and I want to go home

It is only my diagnosis and me

This never ending party

Author's Note

Ignore the random phrasing and structure this is my head and it isn't pretty

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

Poetry need not be "pretty" to be powerful. Your writing hits hard, a punch not in the gut, but the face. Your use of "party" is an original and artful way to describe what you're experiencing, the flipped side of a two-sided coin. We usually associate parties with happiness, fun, pleasure, and place we want to be. You grabbed our attention with your title and kept with your writing. Yes, it's raw, definitely not "pretty" (no roses, sunrises, beaches or birds), but it's truth, a truth about a party we'd never want to attend. Thanks for sharing this piece.

[мalғy]

Thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking the time to read this piece.