See me at my worst and be with me?
One would expect this as what a relationship would be
One who would never give up on thee
Comes a day where you find yourself free
Now separate thoughts, separate lives, and separate hearts
Wishes and hopes of what we could be
Concrete to point of view, perhaps a dream we will never see

Bipolar is not just
swinging madly across a spectrum
of deep blue to fiery orange without
being stained by the indigos and greens, yellows and reds in between.
Bipolar is not just
a season blessed and a season cursed
on a cycle of happen, rinse, repeat.
bipolar is not just
Loud uncontrollable chatter
laughter that bounces off the insides of your head
Or
earthshattering sobs that give way to
teardrops that are waterfalls.
bipolar is not just
wanting to rove our hands over the
planes and curves of
every body we happen to find ****.
bipolar is not just
an amalgamation of wounds
in various stages of healing
each with an ugly story to tell.
Bipolar is just
so
hard
to deal
with,
(sometimes).

"do you love poetry?"
"yes, and art and books."
"so you love all the beautiful things, do you love yourself?"
"no."

*and i thought she loved all the beautiful things.

one day, this will all mean nothing to me
you will mean nothing to me

one day, i'll look back on this and think,
"why did i care so much about you?"

one day, i'll be able to tell you
that i liked you once
and we'd laugh about it

one day, i'll be over you

but today is not that day
because today, i still can't think about you
without getting butterflies in my stomach