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Fallert
There's no such thing as ready. Only willing.
Alicyn Thia Faller
Naddie Faller
Marikina City   

Poems

Alta Justice  Oct 2016
The Faller
Alta Justice Oct 2016
I watched a movie once,
where this girl keeps ruining her life
as she and her brother walk on a beach he asks her whats going on
and she turns to him and says "Maybe I'm the faller. The one who doesnt get the boy, the one who never gets an A. The one who trips and stumbles and pulls everybody down with her. every family has one. ours must be me."
i hear her say this, and i hear the pain in her voice as she says it,
and i realize that i am the faller.
i ***** up
i cause pain to my family
how can someone who never does anything right even come close to
standing up straight?
My bipolar fantasy is that one day,
I’m going to come home and leave my bipolar at the door,
Scatter it along with muddy boots and raincoats and winter mittens
I have no use for currently,
That I’m going to take it off and enter my house unencumbered.
My bipolar dream is that I’m going to go to bed tonight
Without measuring my sleep,
Wondering if it’s an indication of mania or depression,
If it’s stress or I need medication to push me into a nocturnal daze,
The haze of which will bleed over into daytime.
My bipolar wish is that this illness
That I lug around like a suitcase made of brick
Might lighten in load or unpack itself once in a while,
That it will not brand me as a traveler on a road
Pockmarked with landmines and loneliness.
I wish that this suitcase did not bear the mark of mental illness.
My bipolar life is a story,
One laid out in the lines of swinging,
Of flying and then falling
Before realizing they are often too closely related to tell the difference.
My story is written in the narrow margins between creativity and hospitalization.
Sometimes the two occur together.
My life’s manuscript is forever alternating
Between the way the night sky speaks to me
Or the way the bathroom smells like my blood.
It is being abuzz with electricity and then short circuiting your battery
And not being able to move.
My bipolar song is a tune alternating between grandiosity,
All hail my intelligence and beauty (psych!)
Before falling into apathy and self-loathing.
Sometimes it’s not knowing what version of me I’m going to wake up to in the morning.
My bipolar hope is that the dizzying combo of diet, exercise, and daily medication
Will keep me out of that 1 in 5 number I’ve danced with so perilously,
Keep me off of those bridge ledges and out from empty pill bottles,
Keep me alive in my skin even in this painful reality.
My bipolar fear is that when mania and depression have a love child
And mixed mania runs amuck in its terrible two’s,
The anger will taint the feelings of loved ones.
I fear callous words uttered insouciantly in my own misery,
Slithering from my mouth agonizingly slowly yet too quickly to stop
Might wound those I care for when I do not mean it.
My distress and agitation sometimes equal cranky.
My bipolar prayer is that when energy plus impulsiveness plus danger is no longer
A concept I understand collaborate,
Those around me know this is not who I am.
My mood is a high-flyer, a free-faller, and an everywhere in between,
But that is not my personality.
I am an optimist, a free thinker, creator, compassion giver.
My story is broader than the confines of bipolar.
I am sometimes aflame and others underwater,
But I weather it all with a twisted sense of humor.
I am a person before I am bipolar.
Marla  Sep 2018
Faller's Note
Marla Sep 2018
I've turned new leaves
From Brown to Green,
Yellow to Red,
Dust to ash.

A week ago
Was quite warm,
Cold didn't bother
me very much.
Now I shiver,
Not alone without
But without within.

Guess I'm dying.

Not forever,
But for now.
Not a new death,
But a constant one.

That's waiting
I do suppose,
wanting things now.
Expressing fickle desires
Through prose.
But your needs now
Aren't the wants you'll
Have later.
Those are never ones
You plan for.
To live in constant wait is to perpetually fall alone through the slips of time.