Unfortunate

my poem about how as more and more people develop depression and anxiety, the less accepted it is.

How unfortunate

How unfortunate that i'm growing up in a dark age

an age where the parent and teachers don't understand why we cry

an age where statistically 20% of teenagers will experience depression before they reach adulthood

does that seem fair?

20% of us will spend our nights hiding behind closed doors and computer screens

while the 'normal' kids are out making memories

How unfortunate

How unfortunate that as the rate of anxiety increases

its acceptance among peers dwindles

maybe we are the lucky ones

we have a deeper understanding of the world and of emotion

but at what cost?

crying in a bathroom stall still stings

the laughter still rings in our ears

and more and more of us lose the staring competition with the pencil sharpener razor

How unfortunate

How unfortunate that the pills the 'doctors' throw at us

don't help us to feel better 

they make it so we don't feel anything at all

and the worst feeling is no feeling

i wish i could feel again 

Author's Note

is the repetition thing overplayed or does it work?