Saturday, June 29, 2013

My Reality

“Bipolar doesn't exist. 
Your therapist made it up for money
 Get a hold on your life and 
stop looking for excuses.”

It’s people like you
who make my life so hard to hold on to.
Do you understand the devastation
 in my heart
when I learned I’d never be in control?
That even with pills
I’d never own my emotions
grip them in hand
stay sane?

Just because you can’t see 
the chemical imbalance in my brain
 by looking at me
you discount my suffering
the light, the dark
the wanting to die
wanting to fly
pretend it’s not real.

It is not me being a moody teenager.
It is not me being weak.
It is not me not owning up
to my faults and flaws.
It is not an excuse,
it is reality,
my reality,
one I pray never touches your life.

This is the stigma I live with,
will always have hounding me.
It is as real as blood
as the chemicals I have off kilter in my body
as the knife
as the pen-
it is real.
Shut your mouth about things you know nothing about,
cannot understand
refuse to understand
and leave me and those
that suffer the same
my brothers and sisters
united by stigma and pain
and bipolarity-
leave us to gather what shards of sanity 
we have.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Dark Fire and Depression


Numbness spreads
and leaves me like a void of space.
Black behind my eyes
down my legs.
The world is icy wool
Static-y and cold
and I’m a thin veil of skin
disconnected from the darkness
outside of me.
Disconnected from the blackness
inside of me.
Floating through a half life
in half light-
It is beyond tears
and sorrow.
I am fallen past that line
empty and numb.
I am space,
cold and void
and the stars,
so tiny in comparison,
are the only feeling I have left to me

Dark Fire

Even as my body shuts down
so long without sleep,
my thoughts are racing,
clinging to each other,
fingers twitching
ink and paint spattered.
I can’t keep my eyes open,
embraced by overheated sheets,
but I must.
Creativity flares in my mind
burning bright as eyesight dims.
I’m falling through dark fire,
a half sleep punctuated
by jolts awake and pacing
wash my face,
write a poem,
fret away minutes, minutes,
until I pass out again.
The flame guttering in my head
then rising stronger than ever-