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).

So I’ll tell you why I write.
I write because I’m the protagonist of my own stories.
I write because in my stories, I solve the problems that invariably creep up between people and I
In the most heroic ways possible
I write because in my world,
Not every rainbow ends in a *** of gold
But sliding across its multicolour will be the happiest memory in your mind
I write because my stories are clouds that do have real silver linings
I write because 3 am is time for chai, and childhood stories
Impromptu bike rides to greet the sleeping night
But all I can do is write.
I write because I’m angry and frustrated but
you asked me not to turn my anguish onto my body
and leave battle scars for the world to question -
so I write instead.
I write because sometimes,
the tumult in my head comes from
words that are struggling to spill forth from my brain
and stain empty pages with their loud meaning.
I write because
Writing is the only way I have to make sense
of this messy world we live in.