I'm hyper and happy with energy to spare
Fast speech, racing mind
I spread love everywhere
A giant smile is all I bare until
a certain darkness
fills the air

You feel rampant with no good rage
Trapped in your sorrows
like a rusted shut cage
You remind yourself you're not crazy
Sometimes you're really happy
or just tired
and lazy

Sometimes you lose feeling in your fingers and toes
Like you're in the basement of a coroner
raw and exposed
Other times, you're on a hamster wheel
sweating and racing
Feeling your skin turn
rubber and chafing

I have no control over my emotions and mood
And, yes, I know that
that's no excuse
I come off strong with my opinions and personality
Which many think is wonderful or an abnormality

I'm seen in different lights
because I don't know which one to stand in
I'm only myself in my writing
and that's the happiest I've been

Pen and paper give me the control
my chemical imbalance never has
I can feel calm and genuine and less of a spazz

I'm slowly accepting
my past
mistakes
and reality
Mental illness is stigmatized
But we need to face our morality

Hell!
Carrie Fisher was bipolar though
we didn't talk about it in that era
If she was bipolar then
I'm just like Princess Leia

I’d like to be at peace
With my thoughts and my mistakes

I’d like to be at peace
With my emotions and my mistakes

I’d like to be at peace
With my body and my mistakes

I’d like to be at peace
With my self and my mistakes.

On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw.

Mud drenched pink overalls
and a bright blonde bowl cut.

She ran like a bumble bee on a mission
to pick the freshest, prettiest flower.

Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks,
she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses.

She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers,
"We have to share," she announced to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time
and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind.

The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion,
showing agreeance to the young sprites statement.

She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun
as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends.

"I want to do this forever," she squealed.
So, she did.

20 years later, the girl grew
But with a dimmer light
Weaker legs
And a hole in her chest.

On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane
Running in diagonals with her hands
Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding.

Mud drenched ripped jeans
and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees.

She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster
trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage.

Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree.

She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears,
"We have to share," she whispered to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb.

The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement.

She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso
as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles.

"I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed.
But, she did.

I never meant to shake the shrub
the blood shot blue eyes pierced through.

My caved in chest throbbed as I inched closer
toward the glaring light surrounded by darkness.

Gently offering my hand in warmth,
I received a boiling snarl and a coarse, furrowed brow.

We were never good for each other
No matter how hard I tried.

Though there was once life and love,
a lively substance must wilt after days of abuse.

Forcing someone to be rooted in soil
that rejected its soul and growth
on either end.

The outside seems harmless
as the inside rots with every memory created.

We face off in the forest among the blue flowers
you'd pick for me before the storm
ripped them from safety.

Full of words and tones that could melt skin at the touch,
we prepare for war as I stand across from your six foot, dark shadow with glowing eyes of God's welcoming lights.

'Til we settle in our place and time stands still
Remembering the nights we'd hold each other in peace.

Though we budge with bottled anger and regret, it spoke from its blackened figure.
"I'll always be here if you need me," it muttered with a painful confession of hope and compassion as he aggressively turned away.

Some day I hope we won't be fueled
by fire and coal with every interaction.

My chest remained hollow as he migrated North.

I believed in lots of things
When I was younger

I believed in a rosy cheeked, white bearded Santa Claus being the emblem of Christmas cheer with his gut busting ** ** **-
Jollily delivering gifts and hope to those who trusted him and his eight reindeer to travel throughout the night, guided by nothing but the stars.

I believed in fairies and leprechauns being beckoned by the moonlight to foolishly mishmash my bedroom
Leaving a trail of multicolored dust to a gift that had been placed in a beam of moonlight the night before.

I believed in beautiful Princesses being locked away in towers surrounded by fire filled, demonic forests
As their Princes would gallop through the chaos on a stallion, slashing the evil with swords, rescuing the Princesses from their corrupt past.

I believed in a lot of things
That unfortunately aren't true

Now I believe in monsters that walk the Earth in human form, who make you feel safe with their glistening eyes, charming smiles, and tight hugs.

Now I believe in heartbreak so excruciating that it feels as if your ***** was a nuclear bomb just waiting to obliterate your body making your chest collapse into your sternum causing paralysis

Now I believe in no forms of magic aside from what I used to read in fairy tales long before I damaged my devotion and became tainted by the bitterness of reality.

I believed in lots of things
When I was younger

Everyday

We wake up and try our best
But we fall asleep hoping to never wake up

We give everything to those we ~love~
But are not given the love we emit

We think with our thick, complex minds
But lead with our tender, simple hearts

We use our bones as armored shields
But get our nerves pinched with every flick

We stomp with our stubborn feet
But make strides when we see progress

I feel nothing
But everything

I feel yes
But say no

I feel in control
But I'm inconsistent

I need him to stay
But I want him to grow

I miss him already.

It's not that I'm overly dramatic in intense situations.

It's not that I think too highly of myself with my nose in the air.

It's not that I put others before myself as a distraction.

It's that I feel so much all at once that I can't regain control of my emotions and what I want.

It's that I stay quiet and continue to move forward with a trail of blood filling my footsteps.

It's that I don't want to be a burden and try not to make others feel responsible for me feeling broken.

I crave being full.

Having your aortic chambers, valves, and vessels replaced by a vortex is unsettling, but you make do with what can't be fixed.

No matter the amount of food, water, love, hate, strike, or slash:
I crave being full.

The intense inhale of a can filling my lungs and striking my oxygen for a chance to feel closer to heaven is painful, a warm feeling conquering my body, giving me a tingly sensation of temporary relaxation resulting in a cell deficiency of false hope.

The stretching of my stomach muscles after breathing in large calories is painful, churning my insides and rearranging my organs to make room for what I thought would make me feel sweet and salty.

The touch of anyone who lets me feel vulnerable and raw with their comfort and compassion is painful, feeling an intense emotion of love, settling into lust, rolling down a hill of "I want to be friends," feeling like I'm not worth the wait.

The strike of a sharp point pressing into God's fabric draped around my weak muscles is painful, leading a small river of velvet down my skin as I regret showing my outsides rot through my appearance.

The red face of a manic run, draining my mind, so I'm too tired to emote is painful, dragging my feet on the ground as my vessels burst through my skin, too exhausted to cry because of the blood rushing to my head.

No patch or stitch can cover this hole that beats with pain, ******* souls dry and making everything disappear in its abyss.

No matter what I crave
I'm always hungry.
I just want to feel whole.