Yes, I was wrong,
and you were right.
I’ve agreed.

I’ve agreed:
I was wrong, like a devil,
and you were right, like a god.

I’ve accepted.
But here’s the irony—
I was created by you.

The coldest night air
Seems no different than the
Space around the stars.

I want to take one day
To just go out and play
To forget about the grown up ways

To run, jump and romp
Pretend I'm Godzilla and just stomp
Or be a creature from the swamp

Make mud pies let them bake in the sun
Flap my arms like a bird when I run
**** it I just want to have fun

To see the world again trough the eyes of my inner child
When everything left me so beguiled
To see things in that why,has been such a very long while

Innocence left me at age eight
Since then all I've seen is hate
On a scale my misery would be hard to rate

Is it to much to ask for just ONE day
To go out and have some fun and play
Just one single solitaire day without the gray

A veil of fear
Floats around my face
Aimlessly
I was some starry eyed child
Never taught self control

The fear of aging
And living through this day in age
Consumes me
And wanders aimlessly
In my brain
But still seems to stop me in my tracks

The things I’ve done
Remind me not only
That I am imperfect
But that I am aging
Growing into a starry eyed woman
Who learned that she can change
Because when you stop growing
You are dead
And I am full of life
I have nothing but time

And even so
Even if this veil of fear
Floats around my face
There are things I can only
Learn with time
There are things that only
Come with age
And I am aging all the time
I am growing all the time

So in that time
I will throw the veil from off my face
I am not afraid to age
I am not afraid to change

the world is unjust
unready for you, little one.
just hold on
just one moment — wait,
please.

don’t go yet. wait
for me, my legs are slower
than they used to be.
brittle, you know.
you and i are both

getting older.
wait —
don’t go yet. stay
just one moment.
i’m not ready.

Bipolar.

The toxic word flickers across the blue screen, taunting my tears into reckoning. Everything makes sense now. Now I know each time my feelings crash there is no reason, no problem, no answer. Just disorder. My disorder. It’s swirling in my veins, intoxicating me like a drug, and sometimes I like it.

Each manic moment is incomprehensible perfection, with I as the center of its universe. The world is mine to own, the Gods mine to control. Every movement is unstoppable, the energy seeping out of my very pores. Words come easily; all I am is a flowing expression of the beauty within. Nothing is above me, all are below. I am flawless. Why can’t everyone be so perfect?

Yet each depressed crash sends me spiraling into a darkness I have never known. My nails become bitten, my hair a tangled mess. Every turn I find myself nothing but alone, no one around to notice or care or even see. They are better, everything’s better, as long as it’s without me.

I am a cyclical monster, luring in my prey before dragging it into the pits of my own personal hell. Every shattered shard refracts inviting light, yet they cut deep and only capture people in a lethal web. I am breakable, unfixable. Every shade of me I thought I understood is now a vague gray. Is this smile mine? Are these tears real? Am I feeling pain or is it just the chemicals and synapses dancing haphazardly in my brain, concocting this uncontrollable body that I do not know?

I cannot hinder my blood from screaming for help, but my heart cannot tell what my lips refuse to speak. Lips lie when I try to hide, the habitual sin I can never break. People must be punished for their sins. Locked within my prison, kept without my food, begging to be unchained yet pleading to cement my sentence. A prisoner cannot **** when they are dead.

He asks to help, but he is ignorant to the truth. My arms pull him close while my heart shoves him far away, dooming my flicker of a fantastical romance before it begins. It shoves them all away. The choice is shove or break. No one deserves this, the swirling vortex of uncertainty, depression, mania, unknown. How could I break them too? The only paths before me are to lose them or hurt them. Losing them would **** me; hurting them would **** me. My heart will be murdered either way. How inevitable it is for me to be dead.

This disorder is not terminal, yet its killing me quietly, so slowly, and forcing me to feel alone in even the most crowded room. To become an alien in my own world. They want to save me, but they don’t understand, she doesn’t understand, I am too afraid to understand. It won’t be spoken. Only on paper can my iron heart ease, only alone can I say what I know is real.

Bipolar.

I.

The happiest day—the happiest hour
    My seared and blighted heart hath known,
  The highest hope of pride and power,
    I feel hath flown.


II.

Of power! said I? Yes! such I ween
    But they have vanished long, alas!
  The visions of my youth have been—
    But let them pass.


III.

And pride, what have I now with thee?
    Another brow may ev’n inherit
  The venom thou hast poured on me—
    Be still my spirit!


IV.

The happiest day—the happiest hour
    Mine eyes shall see—have ever seen
  The brightest glance of pride and power
    I feel have been:


V.

But were that hope of pride and power
    Now offered with the pain
  Ev’n then I felt—that brightest hour
    I would not live again:

VI.

For on its wing was dark alloy
    And as it fluttered—fell
  An essence—powerful to destroy
    A soul that knew it well.