If you were to ask her friends what she'd say
They'd reply "I'm going to conquer the world today."
not conquer as to take over, more as to overcome
she wanted to save the worlds, rid them of all ****.

When she is manic, she tends not to panic, realities altered and all thoughts vanish.
She would look at you and happily say,
"I want to conquer the world someday."

She walks with a bounce, her steps all over the place
a plastered smile never leaving her face.
Her music is loud, revolting, and proud.
Her smile is contagious, her mood seemingly outrageous.

Risking everything, she lets them in, protection made out a sin.
A single mistake, is all it could take, and it would be over.
She should panic.
But she doesn't, for she is manic.

She smiles at you, lazy eyes.
The world leaving her mind with no goodbyes.
She smiles at you and you know what she'll say;

"I conquered the world today."

There are days
That are good.
The yelling
is minimal.
The food is eaten.
Arguments
are
but
a
spoonful
             and there is
                  very
                    little
                       crying.

Then there are
days like today.
When you
              yourself
                 don't feel too well.
                    the doctor gives two days
                      of sick leave.

At 4:30
My little autism
walks through
the door.
With smiles,
taking his clothes off
to jump in the pool.
            It only takes a second
            to change the
            whole atmosphere.
            The once smiles
            are now full of tears.
     and no matter what it is
I'm feeling that all gets bashed
against a wall.
Along with my
anxiety it's the splash back
        blue paint down the hall.
                         You see.
                          even as
                          an adult
                          I have
                          trouble.
                         Digesting
                         my own
                         emotions.
       He paces back and forth
       clenches his fingers.
        back
        and
        forth.
        Back
        and
        forth.
    How do I expect my young son
        with autism to tell
me what the root
issue of his tears stem from.
             I was ready to
smash my face
through bricks.
              The repetitive
              questioning,
              repetition of words
             can be a lot even
             for a nut such as myself.

But it's not about me
you,
or my fiance
hearing it all.
It's not even about the fly
crawling on my leg.
               It's about him
               everything has to be.
               Who else is going to
               turn the rain on
               at night for him to sleep?
               Who's going to rub
               his little back to soothe his
               blue nerves to be
               green again?
               And who will receive a
               freshly picked flower
               each afternoon?
                
                        Me.

He finally felt better
once he got the words
out of his belly.
Telling me what provoked
these extreme outbursts.
           I was so proud of him.
        
Now it's," look at that cute cloud."
"Hey, check out my shadow!"
a freshly
plucked
flower.
With autism,
a bipolar mommy
and the sun—

Getting ready
to
nap.

i cant even lie I was going to **** myself last night
You pulled me from my head and made everything all right.
You made my life make sense, put everything in line,
I laid back down again, everything seemed fine.

today I went through motions, tired and devoid of emotions
my brain was wrongly wired, it was you that i admired.
I wish you could've helped me
I wish you had known.
set my stupid mind free, all my worries flown.

I'm a crazy woman you know.
That's what
all the men tell me.
Even though
I'm not the first
to yell or
even the last to.

I've learned.
Don't ever tell
your partner
what diagnosis
the psychologist
tell you.
They will use it to
slit your wrist,
arms,
and soft
under belly.
Gutting you like a fish
getting ready to be fried on
a scorching pan.

They'll make you question
what had happened
and what was said.
Remember I'm the nut job here.
Not the schizophrenic man
who yells at the black blob
on the floor.

He knows exactly what happened
so don't you dare question.
It will turn into a ping pong game
one that will wear you down
and make you want to
spend all your money in your bank account.
Do a lot of drugs,
smash your face into a plastic screen

Yes, yes I see the blob too
I tell him time and time again
I've gotten on my knees
trying to scrub it out!
Even tried to chase it away with
a baseball bat
but still it lays there
mocking
mocking.

Like the woodpecker
who continues to
beat the trees
at all hours of the day.
Bang
Bang
Bang
It's like a shot gun being fired.
Shaking all the dried leaves
off your tired wasted head.

Where was I?
Oh yes I'm a real ******* nut.
That's why I cry and cry
to the point that I start
Hyperventilating
choking
on the words
I can't even get out.
                   I'm the bad guy
                    I'm the problem
and all the pressure you feel is me
me
me

I can't even write
a ******* poem
right now.
There's a broken vase
on the floor
and the house is
shaking from the
thunder coming in from the west.
The kids are whining
and the dishes are
talking ***** to each other.
and I'm so stressed
my mind has stopped thinking.

My body wants
pleasure
a little pain
maybe even a little teasing
to make it extra good.
Anything to take away what it is
I'm stuck feeling right now.

I've been dancing with this invisible illness.
All year round, from dusk to dawn, for six years now.
"What a pity," I tell myself.
One minute, it's all highs.
Next thing you know, it's all lows.
Being stained with fiery yellows,
Then soaked with pitch dark blacks.
A curse, a cycle, without an end.
There goes all hope.
I have nothing left to live for, nothing left to give.
Maybe this is the end that I've been yearning for.