Writing As My Armor

Unsighted eyes these are!
Blind with hallucinations
yet so perceptive of beauty.

I cannot recognize reality,
yet surrealism takes a definite form to me.
I don’t want to live like this forever.

It is not at all what I imagined
when I was very young.
I dreamed of being a soldier.

With an armor of confidence
and a superb IQ and riches.
But I cannot and will not deny reality!

I am mentally ill. I am not without oddities.
All I can do now is wear it as my armor,
or, as my strength in life against judgments!

If I am to rise again from the ashes of this life,
I need to understand I didn’t receive writing talent
as a gift but over my life I built it on my own!