It’s a sun soaked feeling
Being raveled in love
Cloaked in speals of affection
Being held in my murmurous hands
Being in love or in lust?
The fervor for the feel of your skin
Enticing
From affection to desire
In a heartbeat
You make me OCD
I try to kiss you once
But have to do it twice to make it even

If she let it hit her
At a run or at a crawl
She would feel it the same way,
She'd feel it not at all

Some taste life on their tongue
In purples, reds and golds
But by the time she swallows it
It's aleady gone old
She reaches not for sweet
Not rare or medium well
How can you have a preference
When you can't even tell

Sometimes
It hits her like a wave
It crushes her, she's scared
That is until she realizes
She doesn't even care

If a piece of paper folds 7 times,
She'll fold over 8.
If everyone has their time and place,
Then it looks like she'd be late

'Cause life fits her into places
She didn't know she'd go
And people gave her knowledge, she didn't
Know she'd know
But when molecules
of thoughts and dreams
Don't look anything, like you thought they'd seem
Then what is your life made of?
That's whens she feels nothing

Red turns to white,
                             Slowly, but surely
The wounds close,
                             You regret
But not forget my friend,
                             How can you?
Soon you will move on,
                             But one thing will stay
Erase me with your mind,
                             Your little white lines

Think of the first moment you knew. Think of the diagnosis. The strings of meaningless letters - OCD, Bipolar disorder, Xanax, Lamictal. Think of the year you wasted confirming that, yes, you are, in fact, sad. Think of the year after that that it took to get help. Think of the time you could’ve spent teaching or running or doing anything but telling yourself that you’d leave your room in just five more minutes. Think of all the times you tried to cut yourself but couldn’t because you “aren’t that person anymore.” Tell me, would someone who’s “not that person” need to constantly remind themselves? Think of the happiest moment of your life. Now, realize that Bipolar Disorder gets worse as you get older. Think of that happiest moment and realize that you may never feel that good again. Think of the songs you tried to write. Think of the poems and screenplays and suicide notes you tried to write. Think of your mom, think of your dad. Think of your mom and dad crying. Think of your mom and dad moving on. Think of them not thinking about you much anymore. Realize that dead is dead no matter how much someone thinks about you. Think about killing yourself anyway. Think of it often. Shine the idea like your favorite ******* mirror. Think about taking medication. Anxiety makes it so hard to use your telephone which makes it almost impossible to get medication. Think of medication like you think of death: permanent. Think of permanence like you think of a brick. The brick you always see smashing your face attached to a disembodied hand. Think, ******* think of sunlight. Your brain will try to make it burn you but just think of sunlight. Fall in love with it daily, even when you can’t see it. Even when it’s just a mythological creature your mother told you about so you’d sleep. Think about sleep. How asleep, you are perfect just like the child you were and still are. Think about the stories you tell yourself so next year doesn’t seem so far away. Think about the story. Think about the story of the sun if you die. It dies too.

I found a crack in the sidewalk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
And I passed this crack every day
On my 4.40pm walk
For what seemed like a lifetime
And I glared daggers
At the thing that made my skin crawl
And my neck ache
And my fingers twitch by my side
Because cracks in sidewalks
Were meant to be tread upon
Every single one of them
Even partially
Not to break a mother's back
But to cover the imperfections
And to fill the void
That made me uneasy
And to fill it
Even for a millisecond
Before I moved on
As if the sole of my shoe
Could somehow heal the
Sadness that the ground must be feeling
But there was a crack in the side walk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
No matter how many times
I passed within stepping distance
And no matter how many times
It caused me pain
And maybe that was the period of my life
When the obsessive compulsive part of me
Decided to take a break
Because maybe
Maybe some part of me
Saw that the grass that grew
In the messy line that pointed east
Was something more beautiful
And more honest
Than any hidden disfigurement
Could ever be