A Prayer for My Head - a poem

Broken mind, mending itself
through aid of prescription medication
latching synapses together
attempting to achieve a positive reinforcement
to better the mind, broken as itself.

Rising to anger, when unnecesary
spilling out words like a faucet left
unattended, but not meaning to harm
but it was the hot turned up, heat
decimating the coating of a best friend.

Want to be better, am a better person
than head let on, feel a hundred percent
could be that person, but pain already
suffered by my people, hard to mend,
hard to not see the boils and think that
I can ever be trusted to not do it again.

Broken mind, not realizing how broken
or when the fits, dips of depression would
go and fearing that expectations were not
being met, and wondering just who I am
that couldn't stop to ponder what it was
I was saying.  Broken mind,
letting flowers wilt because I bought
them at the end of our season.

Jealousy, rising up, like Mr. Brightside
as I go out of my cage, imagining worst
case scenario after bomb drop, after
suffering through fallout, after putting
my skin back on because I can be human
again and not these zombified remains.

Wanted to be better, was better, somehow
let mind get thick with arrogance, when
I'm not normally like that, let myself build
up towers to peer down on best friend with
and I should have built towers up because
I wanted to see what they saw.

Broken mind, trying and failing to get out of
funk because pieces were missing, and
attempting too late to remedy this illness
of insecurity, of overthinking, of the sins of
anxiety.   Not being strong enough, becuase
I am a broken human being, fragile, should
be carried like eggs, but packaged myself
faulty, broken mind, trying to reattach itself
trying to be a better friend, trying to be a better
self.

Immense pressure to be spied as attempting
the impossible of growing back into myself
and hoping that watching millimeter by
millimeter journey she might witness my rebirth
not changing, but growing and evolving to
better fit her flowers, and worrying that I am
an evolution to late, that those flowers won't grow
here now, but hoping, always hoping.

For what is hope but faith in the impossibility
of life, of a situation, of a mustard seed transaction
between soul to heaven, and even if praying has
been a stranger, speaking to the sky, and hoping
he's still listening to you, after you've neglected
to say anything for years, wondering, wondering
and praying, and hoping.

Broken mind, be mended soon, be bathed in balms,
and soothed with bandages, let the swelling
go down, let your history inform your present but not
define it, may you heal, may you heel to peace
inside that mind, broken mind, be mended soon,
be mended soon.