The Grave

by Neesa Suncheuri

My life externally appears enviable.
I have a house, and happy children.
A corporate job, expensive suits.
I keep up with the Jones’.

Everyone says my work is exemplary.
I’m reliable, efficient and inspired.
But underneath my skin,
My blood crawls with hidden flaws.

Perfection: My religion.
Headed by an impossible God.
He claims to promise rest and happiness,
But never answers my prayers.

There is no redemption from human error.
No end to trials, only errors.
When I fail, I die
It is my end, repeated over and over.

To reach out a hand towards friends,
Asking for prayers and help,
Is embarrassment.
I am sturdy enough to support myself, it seems.

They tell me to be kind to myself.
To pay myself on the back for my achievements.
But in truth, I am lazy.
I have to be my own slave driver; I lash myself to shreds.

There is nothing more trite than scrawlings of the poor rich man.
He never develops nor evolves.
And the only way to escape from the hole,
Is to keep digging…

I am finished now.
Now I can rest.


Neesa Suncheuri works as a mental health peer specialist at a housing agency in Queens, New York.  She is the founder of a Facebook discussion group for peer specialists and other recovery enthusiasts, entitled “What is Wellness?  A Mental Health Discussion Group.”  Much of her creative inspiration is rooted in her now-tamed schizophrenia.  She is a singer/songwriter, and performs in various venues in the city.  She writes poetry, maintains a blog and is currently working on a memoir.  Follow her on Twitter at @aquariumspeaks.

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