They call me names

I have come here from another site - and already in a couple of days I can see I have made a wise choice. Your poem was pared down to the bone, but spoke volumes nevertheless. I like your - they offer help - and then we find out what their idea of help is One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest type. The final line - the echoing, plaintive 'Aren't I? came across as a plea for reassurance that you are still who you always were, which was very moving. Thank you.

All can say about this poem is YES YOU ARE AND NEVER STOP BELIEVING THAT Be Well Chrys

While reading the poem, I got the feeling that you were holding back. (and you confirmed that feeling in your comment to the first comment) I would have liked more information in details. The last line felt like you were reaching out and as Grannyjil said, was very touching. Just so you know, I like this poem and can relate to it. My sister is always asking me why can't I write anything "normal!" Always, Cat

It is interesting to see a true poem made up, predominately, of nothing but cliche's. And that is the point, for it is railing at the cliche, the unimaginative, the cookie-cutter people in their cookie-cutter houses, with their jobs, and wives and husbands, and mini-vans and Polo shirts and TV-mailorder lives, all the same, all the same. The cry at the end--I'm still here, aren't I?--gives hope to those of us who still see person before dollar, the sun before the buildings, grass before concrete. The lazy, drunken, junkie, bum loser with the depressive, bi-polar, post-traumatic stress disorder (not to mention asperger’s syndrome) writes poetry, what do you do besides diagnose? Are you even there? He is, he still is! Write on, it is where sanity lies.

sorry... I didn't mean to get your ire up Always, Cat

We all have our angels and our demons, and we all have those who call us fuckwit. The measure is how how you stand under the assault (and leaning on our angels is why they are there, right?)

:) Always, Cat

whitecaps of mental unrest crash against hull and craft and jumbled i write not sure if i prefer the water or the craft but swim in both nonetheless this poem was reserved but surely focused and the ending was neither bleak to my own personal feeling nor upright and hopeful but somewhere still in there still in the game be it knocked down but not out you My freind are so much more then mere title of fact what you have done for me in the short time i have known you goes beyond a frame of words without you i never would have challenged myself to become a better poet without your challenges to strive for my poems would have stagnated and turned to rust you are not alone we are so much alike "aren't I?" Yes you are I'm glad you are continue to be my freind Brother O

So leaving aside the fact that i do like the poem as it is what might make it even better for me? Well for me Jess it does not have quite the characteristic bite i expect from you. At the start all those names you use may be true but most are pretty tame (i was expecting more fuck-wit, psycho etc). Then i was expecting some terse comment along the lines that the "name callers" liked the sounds of these expletive names and it somehow made them feel good and better than you. With the next section that's fine on the labels although if you just used PTSD it spits out more forcefully and that would be the same if you just said Asperger's and left out the syndrome bit. After that i was perhaps thinking about a comment along the lines of "read from their bible DSM-IV and making them also feel good and better than you for having successfully labelled you." I like the quizzical ending I must say although perhaps a comment that your angels and demons don't have names or labels might be in order. Of course these are just my thoughts but i wanted it to skewer me into the wall Jess and it was more like only a pin....although i was fixed and sprawling just the same. Hope you understand what i am driving at. Keith

and you answer your own question. you couldn't possibly feel and deal, this pile, outside of being alive. I look forward to pilfering through your posts. Niki

I have to wonder why them? I had the shit pounded out of me so many times but never names or the things you have written about except by my very own family. Ya gotta go figure and ya just can't add it up. The problem is over time they change and are more respectful (with me anyhow) but the damage is done and they need to fix it but never will so it stays inside as hurt and anger and depression. We're still here, Jess, and it's amazing isn't it? Mark

are most certainly still here jess. particularly to me, i daresay! for some reason, i've always felt like you run this site and are the omnipresent presence here. actually, it's immaterial whether you're deranged or not, which you're clearly not--you have to be here to help out with the site! best!

I can't believe I missed this first time round. I can relate. I too feel I am one of the lucky ones in life, in spite of all the trials and the often contradictory labels cast my way over the years. I like these lines they offer help get over it get a job pull yourself together stop whining get back on your meds Others I could add - stop feeling sorry for yourself, get a grip. I wish I had a pound for every time that's been said to me about someone I work with. I really enjoyed this Jess - nice work! It's impossible to smile on the outside without feeling better on the inside.

It's easy enough for me to read and understand---I've done a few orbits in spin bins myself. In reading your piece, I had no difficulty recalling various attempts to 'help' me through rough patches of my own history, with the accompanying 'helpful' injunctions that you list in your piece here. Yup. "Get over it" was most popular, by my tally. (Gawd! What ignorance there is among the merely sane!) But, I gotta get on with this review: You speak here in a way that only those who've been on the receiving end of moral approbation---and it is that---can appreciate, having lived through the experiences that go with it. You don't supply those experiences palpably to the reader who, for instance, has never been taken into a back room of the Department of Motor Vehicles to explain his recent mental history, so that he can get a license to drive a car. Many people are wholly unaware that this kind of crap goes on. They don't see it, they don't get it, and they're not likely to be really sympathetic with those pink monkeys who are being torn apart. So, I have to say that you don't make your point where it needs to be felt. I already know this stuff. The right target audience won't get it from this piece as you have it now.

chin-jutted-out challenge here implicit in your final "Aren't I?" Similar to "Take that!" Another strength in a long but cogent lineup of strengths. Congrats ... and thanx, Chuck

In Texas that is what we call straight shooting! Drachm

coming back to read both your work and all of the ensuing comments. It's also a bit unfair, as it tends to taint my comments with the influence of others (although I try not to let it happen). What's most annoying is having to scroll all the way back up to the top of the damned page to re-read your poem and come up with something original to say about it! All I can really say here is that I get it. Been there, done that, heard that, all of the above. You hit it on the head with just the right amount of words. Too much would have been self-pity, just enough is explanation. Best, Ronda

Here too :) Mark

Clearly, the communication's broken down. I'd like to see some exploration into the process of the breakdown. Maybe a glimpse into the experience of both people during a discussion in which a label was given. I'd be interested in seeing what you think "they" are thinking as well -- a simultaneous inner and outer dialogue, if that makes sense. Nice work. That last line is great.

Your poem accomplished its goal well. That's why I couldn't help asking for more. I've read some of your other work and you're certainly up to the task. As for your last line, despite its form, I read it as a statement and request, i.e., "I'm afraid I don't exist. Please reassure me that I do." So often, questions aren't really questions. They're statements people are afraid to make openly and I imagine the speaker is gun-shy from prior rejections so the form seemed perfect.