isn't it better

This is a poem about my acceptance that my intense emotions are a part of who I am, and that to take them away, removes a part of myself and what makes me, me.

there’s too much emotion

they say I feel too much

they say I’m not suited

to work and uni and such,

 

often mad at printers

sometimes scream at the news

I always cry at films

I often have ‘the blues’,

 

when I end up knocked down

don’t always get back up

I have Hamlet’s bad dreams

fill a half empty cup,

 

they gave me those tablets

that made me just flat line

I didn’t feel any sadness

or joy; I only felt fine

 

in the midst of something

often hit a brick wall

can’t explain why it happens

but isn’t it better

yet isn’t it better

and isn’t it better

than not feeling at all?