The Advocate

I am me. 

I am not broken.

l have a label, can’t you see?

It’s tattooed here, upon my head 

I know it’s there,

Because - when l ask for help - when I asked a simple question -

No one seems to care.

No one hears my words -  nor hear the voices that l hear

The voices yell so loud -  they fill me full of fear.

I scream in this fear , but it is as though - no words have been spoken.

I do not seems to matter.

I just thought that maybe you would hear me talk

You would stand beside -  protect me , as with caution I try to walk

You say you’re my advocate - but what does that really mean?

Does it mean if I stand before you , I will actually be seen?

Will you help me speak?

Will you hear what I say?

Sometimes  I just  need you to give me space

To sit by side - not too close to me but keep me safe beyond the demons reach.

Sometimes , when I stand and try to walk they shout at me to halt. 

They order me more pills!

Please don’t yell

Please hear my words

I’m afraid

Sometimes I cry

When they lock me up l really want to die

They tie my hands behind my back and force me down upon the ground 

I’m too scared to make a noise to scared to make a sound

What is an advocate?

What do you do? 

Will you help me find my way, help me find my place, my right - my right to have my say 

Help me stand before all those that condemn me and tell them l too have the right to be.

I am sad as I’m here alone

Will you make them listen so I too can go home.?