I write for silver Ink stars

I write.

I write to bleed off the poison

of mania and sorrow

that creeps into my thoughts

and soul.

I write to cast off the shame

of who I am.

Bipolar

full of light and shadow.

I write to show what holds my heart

today

because tomorrow it will change

twist and sway

and I want to have a record

to look back at

hold on to.

I write to find myself

and lose myself again

in a new world

an older world

of ink blotches and stained fingers

where things are different.

I write to put myself in the shoes

of another girl

with other problems and-

hopes

I write to understand

that what I know of worlds

is limited

but through silver ink and straining-

limitless.

I write to tell myself a story

that my spirit knows

but my mind does not.

To put into words the yearnings, pleadings, 

all the thoughts I have

running pure wild

though empty space.

I write to sing myself a song

that soothes me into slumber

or else wakes me from fever’s hold

and sends my heart racing- 

to, away, even I can’t tell.

I write to take my breath away

and pull it back into my body

catch my thoughts tumbling 

from tongue and teeth.

I write for the solitude

of pencil scratching on paper

ink bleeding across my forearm

keys click, click, clicking.

I write for the conversation between 

two halves of the same mind.

I write-

I write and write and write-

to hold myself in my hands

like a globe of suspended

starlight.