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).

there is nothing
more earthshattering
than discovering
someone you loved
is a stranger;
nothing more than a
monster in a familiar mask

This world is becoming an even darker place.
With the weapons of mass destruction here.
It appear that guns are becoming worst now.
Then bombs were in the bombs in our past.
Because so many people are being killed by them.
My heart pours out to those families of these people.
Whom life been snuffed out by these evil people.
My heart hurts for their souls which were taken from here.
Before their time by evil , the ones control by evil spirituals ones.

My only power is my greatest weakness
Although I hide my pain inside this fragile fortress
I give myself completely to anyone and everyone
Who come strolling down the path into my heart.
Past the blindness of the gargoyles that I built
To watch over all that makes me vulnerable.
Through the walls of clay that I have erected
To protect myself from hurting.
Walls that crumble in the
Face of the simplest kindness
whether or not it is real or perceived.
If my face was made of stone and my insides
Were as Cold as I tell myself that other peoples’ are not
I would be protected from all
Of the earthshattering heartbreak that
Is always one step away from removing the ground
From beneath my feet and plunging me
Down into the chasm of despair.
That bleak abyss where my only comfort
Is the story that I tell myself every day,
The lie I must choose to believe in order to survive.
That those who I have given the fragments of myself to
Will hold them and cherish them,
And use them to rebuild me at the top of the cliff
Instead of raining them down
onto my bowed head and broken spirit.
As if I were a martyr and they my executioners.
I love too much and I love to easily
I am never afraid to take a leap of faith
Until it is too late and I reach the other side
Of this chasm to find that there is nothing there
No friendship, no gratitude,
No understanding,
No help
No place to rest my head or
Friend to help me shoulder my burden
When this boulder I carry
Begins to crush me between the weight
Of loneliness and the hardness of my hopeless thoughts.
Again and again I cry out for comfort,
But the echo of my pleas, returning to my ears as a mockery
Is the only comfort that I find.
So I continue pretending that the voice I hear
Is not my own and the things I tell myself
To keep me going are words ringing
Out from a stranger in a distant land
Where friendship has meaning and hope is alive
And there is someone there who is willing
To share, their heartache with me
In return for becoming
A tree I can lean on.
A place to shelter myself in the time of storm

Here I am,
A silly little human
On this silly little planet.
And I have these...
These incredible experiences.
I have these earthshattering nights
Gazing into someone's eyes like they're galaxies
With my heart crashing against my ribcage like the tide.
I have these spiritual awakenings,
These end-all blossoming moments of total wonder,
And I could eat the world,
Swallow it.
I could be all of it
And it wouldn't encompass what I feel.
And I'm just this...
This little ant, here,
On a marble
Crawling with millions of other ants
All having experiences all over the place,
And I'm really not that unique at all,
And nobody really cares in the long run,
But god,
Spending a night in your arms rearranged me by the atom.
And that's pretty big
To me.