a wild little girl who chases
marvelous little dreams
with no intention of facing
what tomorrow may bring

but who could blame her?
he's wrapped around her
finger so beautifully that
she's started to believe it's
always looked this way

This is mania.
This is so much buzzing in my brain I can't break free
This is writing poetry at 2 AM
(Bad poetry)
This is crying hysterically for no reason
This is hallucinating
(Or am I dreaming with my eyes open?)
This is...oh, look at the time...it's 4 AM already?
This is screaming and punching myself in the arm over trivial matters
This is talking to the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with anyone who looks at you
This is not thinking about it twice
This is I'm not very productive
This is realizing I haven't slept an ounce
This is I'm even bad at being manic depressive.

This is depression.
This is pumping a gallon of caffeine into my bloodstream just to get out of bed
This is forcing a faux smile on my face day to day
This is wanting to reopen wounds on my wrists that have been healed for two years
This is wearing his agony and his guilt on my shoulders like a heavy book bag
This is everything hurts, can I go home and sleep yet?
(After all, I didn't sleep last night.)
This is no makeup, don't care
This is I'm ugly anyway
This is I don't care about school
This is I am too fearful about the future
This is I am too fearful about everything
This is the anxiety that encases my body
This is the dread that fills my lungs
This is every desire to relapse
This is no productivity
This is why am I so sad today?
(Yet I'm not sad enough for someone to notice.)
This is I'm even bad at being manic *depressive.

In all honesty I've never been good with words. I never knew what to respond after the doctor would ask me what hurt, or what to tell my mother after I saw her cry when my dad left. Poetry is placing words in all the wrong places in order to build something right. Poetry is taking apart the puzzle and forcing the pieces into spaces they don't fit. I tried to write you a letter to tell you that I miss you, the problem with poetry is that there's no metaphor that makes this emptiness inside my chest any more beautiful. There's no personification real enough to make my sheets feel like you're laying in them. There's no simile literal enough to make my heart feel as though its healing. I wish I could place these words on my tongue and roll them out for you to hear, but since I've last kissed you I can't even find the motivation to part my lips. I always find myself questioning why I keep writing; because the problem with my poems is that you're never the one reading them.

I know darling, I gave you an ocean of words
when all you needed were a few drops of rain.

And I'll love you
From now until forever.
You always brought sunshine
To imperfect weather.

You will be my bestfriend
Until my heart stops its beat.
It breaks my soul to know
That we will never meet.

No words bring to life
The bond that we once had.
Knowing we can't speak
Makes me so much more than sad.

And if you took the time
To stop and say hello.
It'd mean the world to me
And turn my legs into Jello.

Because we were so much more than friends
Talking during all hours of the night.
But I guess I wasn't much to you
Seeing how you gave up this fight.

I miss you so much right now
And you're happy I guess.
You left with so many questions
Now I cannot express.

They said I found my one and only
True love to live my life.
But now I'm here, broken
And you're living without strife.

So to my everything
I hope you see this.
Know that I am sorry.
What I'd do for one more kiss...

the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole