Tag Archives: bipolar

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collecting selfdestruction in cups & running out of shelf space.

beautiful sunshine saturday
finds me

fighting urges to draw
pretty pictures on my wrists with razor blades;
just something to show i was here.

keeping pens away from my arms
of which i’m convinced would look better
stuck with holes from which
my soul could escape.

wasted youth on caring too much & not caring enough & now
my skin peels off in layers & i
barely notice.

wasting more clock circles
burning smokes down to where they sting my fingers
just the way i like;
another couple callouses
to add to my collection.

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the cusp of not caring.

normally i’d be
too terrified to leave the house like this
but now i’m too mad to give a shit.

stomping out anger on flat feet & unforgiving concrete
skipping streets & just daring
cars to hit me.

do to me what i wish i had the willpower for
instead of just
meaningful self-destruction,
little scars & wrinkles in time that stain
& last forever.

tear me from
the life i’ve found running stale
like worn goods left over
with neon-orange stickers; buy now, on sale.

in this place i’ve found somehow
unique abilities like
being able to regret things that haven’t even happened yet
unfortunately i’ve found this is not
an employable skill.

tired of being
saved
tired of being looked at, lifted up,
floated just enough to survive
on caffeine old hope & smoke while i

turn my thoughts into scripture.

i think i’m
just tired of being.

today i must be feeling
optimistic for i find myself sitting on the couch
usually at times like these i’d be in the corner clinging to the floor to keep it from moving,

willing the world to stay still;
for once,
it does as i wish
& for one
sublime
second
i forget that i exist.

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i’m a vessel stuck between two places i’ve never been.

relinquish is
such a pretty term for giving up;
prettier than getting stuck
& slipping
between notches of seconds on the clock.

sometimes

it feels i am forever
writing the same poems over
with just slightly different words.

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dear wordpress, i have a question:

why do you always ask
or suggest
i tag my poetry with travel
& vacation?

i never do but you never listen.

if you were really reading you’d know
i never take any advice, no matter how well-intended
even if it would raise my hitcount.

and if you were really reading you’d know
my poems are never about going anywhere
if anything
they’re about being stuck
& never
ever
leaving
this place.

but if you are merely making suggestions
of ways to get out of here
take a trip or go see some sights
i’ll warn you it doesn’t work
because while i can leave

my mind can’t;

the scenery can change but
never can myself.

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one day i’d like the words to write about all the perfect things that are outside instead of all the ugly thoughts that are in here.

one day i’d like the ability
to write poetry about pretty things —
fields of flowers & mountains & about
the way the air smells after a rain —
instead of all the dirty thoughts
that build up & get stuck

& mix with all the pieces i keep under key
to share here anonymously
if only
to wash them out

so i can feel momentarily
clean
like the pavement after the storm.

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your words are so cold i swear i could skate on them.

quicker than the words unwritten
louder than the sounds unsaid
thinner than my fingers —
this water turned to glass
careful with my feet i went walking while
spider lines creak & sneak beneath

afraid if i stop i’ll sink
like sand into silver & i’m
unsure of how to swim in shards

without cutting up my wrists.

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my inability to tell time.

i’ve already had my fifteen minutes
& now all i have are my hours.

the only thing quicker than the clock
is me
so fast to forget my tracks, the trail,
& all the tremulous time it took to get here.

i’ve the unique ability
to fit twelve months in a week or two
while other times it takes me
a year to disappear & drown a day;

i’ve been blessed with beeps & bright lights

bipolar is a time disorder;

when i awoke it was january,
but by lunch it’s june.