I suffer from an infliction a phobia you may say.
Some people call it mental illness others run away.
My mental health is not a threat to anyone but me.
Won't rub off or pass through germs, always virus free.
People tend to always judge me, never knowing why.
Some people think I am lunatic, others think I’m high.
No one knows the reasons for my panic and my fear.
No one ever really cares and no one wants to hear.
Yes I am a little different but I still have lots to give.
I might not be the same as you but this is how I live.
Next time look me in the eye, don’t treat me with denial.
What’s it take to give a nod and greet me with a smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem