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Oct 2024 · 452
Newtons law
BipolarBear Oct 2024
Every artist needs a muse.
For emotion
can neither be created nor destroyed.

It must be felt and expressed.
Each piece of art,
a replication
spurred by deep appreciation.

You my love,
could birth a city
of singers and musicians;
ballerinas and bakers;
painters, poets and pastry chefs.
Oct 2024 · 65
Trustfall
BipolarBear Oct 2024
Never at all  
did I understand love songs before.

To 'do anything' for a smile,
simply couldn't be true.
Until you grinned,
and I looked at you.

Never at all  
did I understand marriage before.

To give up oneself,
your ambitions and goals.
Do it all for your family
and unite your souls.

It perplexed me how
they knew it would work.
Until one look at you.
Then my love, I learnt.
#love #romance #trust #fallen #marriage #lovesongs #smile #family
Oct 2024 · 523
Dork
BipolarBear Oct 2024
You are a dork
my love.
An unfortunate diagnosis.

For now
I am in love.
That dorkiness, my prognosis.
My muse is a dork
Oct 2024 · 153
Love illogical
BipolarBear Oct 2024
It is both comforting and terrifying.
I've never felt anything like it at all.

I know not if it is love,
but now one thing is for sure;
I sure as hell have never
loved another boy before.

No human language can ever explain.
I can never judge any two lovers again.
Oct 2024 · 527
Crazy
BipolarBear Oct 2024
I am not crazy.
Not to the naked eye.
On the inside however,
my humaness shines.

Yes I am crazy.
Revealing it only to you.
My love, we love to argue,
but I admit that you always knew...

The most sane thing I've done,
is be crazy about you.
Oct 2024 · 100
Substance abuse
BipolarBear Oct 2024
I was just a kid.
I did not know what I was doing.

I was just a kid.
A kid in debilitating pain.
It was unbearable
to be awake.

It was impossible
to grab hold
of the bright future  
that was slipping through my fingers.

Locked in my own body.
Stripped of free will.
Unstable on my own two feet.
Bed bound for eternity.

I found a relief.
Something which gave me hope.
It held me up like crutches,
and enabled me to keep going.

I am still a kid.
A kid who cannot stand
without crutches anymore.

Please do not take them away.
Please do not let me fall.
Oct 2024 · 77
Closed book
BipolarBear Oct 2024
Once upon a time,
open, my pages lay.
An array of pictures and colours;
beautifully typed and evenly spaced
words on display.

Regrettably,
as the years went on,
my pages yellowed.
My ink warped and smudged.

Wonderfully formulated stories
morphed into
demented scribbles of desperation.
Affluence became affliction.
Reminiscence, rumination.

Alas tears
disfigure these pages.
Dust collected
through the ages.
Dog ears are carelessly
recurrent.
Once loved haphazardly,
now in voluntary abondment.

The glue
that binds me is
flaking, fracturing, fragmenting.
My spine is
cracking, crumbling, collapsing.

Duly I reside,
on the tip-top shelf.
Buried by self-preservation,
lies myself.
I obscure it all from another;
shrouded by a glossy, polished cover.

It is suffocatingingly lonesome in here,
oxygen is dear.

But can anybody
make familiar this language?  
Will anyone
discern these dark inky contusions?  
Shall someone
navigate the contents of my confusions?  

These pages
tell a lifetime
of valuable lessons within.
But I give paper cuts
to precious, porcelain skin.
This piece was inspired by finding myself in pain from suppressing negative emotions. A closed book is never a happy one, no matter how smiley the cover. I wish to open up again, but it will take time.
BipolarBear Oct 2024
'Depression is like a blanket'
I heard a poor soul say.

At the time,
I could not sympathize.

Not until I felt that blanket...
And it smothered me slowly.
Ever tighter. Ever heavier.
It was painful. It was exhausting.

I did not know what it was.
I did not know for months.
Not until those little white pills,
extended to me by a nuturing hand.

The blanket lifted!
I breathed again.

But the air was like ice,
burning through my dusty lungs.

I could feel again.

But my thoughts became deafening,
echoing in my tidy mind.

For a moment, I yearned to go back.

Depression, is like a blanket.
Can I survive the cold?
I was just a kid when I heard this phrase 'Depression is like a blanket.' I thought that it was nonsense. I whole heartedly hope that you do too. But if not, well I hope that this piece makes you feel seen and heard and a little less crazy. You are not alone. We can shiver and shake together until our hands become stable once more.

— The End —