Hello Bipolar Me 👋🏼
Can I tell you how much I’ve loved having you around? You’re my sunshine and moonlight combined and I can’t really say what I enjoy the most, Being so fucking happy to be alive, Or wanting to destroy people just because I feel artsy. I force my hands to not pen this as a piece of poetry, Because then, you’d win. Like you always have, You’d win over and over, I want to be happy because you’re winning. But how can I really be happy when you are pitted against yourself in an infinite loop of undiluted madness? Madness. They tell me that’s a bad word. A word you cannot simply toss around. What if it offends? What if it singes people who touch it? Like a ball of fire thrown on bales of hay. What if it burns down people alive? Can I please tell you, that my madness is mine to toss around? Can I tell you, my madness is mine alone to write poetry about? Because, At nights I’m a wolf unleashed, a vixen with wings, But come daylight, I’m the sun that burns the wolf alive, I’m the fire whose tongues lashes its own limbs to survive. What have I become? Is a mantra tattooed on the tip of my tongue. I am washed by defeat, I’m buried with price money, I can’t really say what I am, anymore. I think I’m an universe of crazy, but then I watch my human self tear up inside locked bathroom doors, And I listen to my body begging, My heart thundering, For release, From my own self. Who am I? I’m the sea. My endless waves crashing the shores in apologies, I’m sorry I failed you, body. I’m sorry I failed you. Who am I? I’m Sisyphus. My rock being infinitely pushed uphill to only be rolled down again. Who am I? I’m the chimera you fell in love with. Half-dream, half-nightmare, I’ve got your soul wrapped around my pinky and the best part is, You know me. You love me. Who the fuck am I? I am the storm you wished you stayed home from. Hello Bipolar me, I know you are having a hoot, Playing hopscotch around my thought-riddled brains, Pickling my life in tiny jam jars and my heart in brine, I know you believe I love you. Well, I do. I’ve always loved all of me, My scars, my raging nights, my all. But trust me when I tell you this, You are all the ghosts I want to exorcise, All the hope that torments my night, All the things I want to unsee, And all the time I want to buy back. But each time you whip me alive, All my gashes seethe Art. My blood flows as poetry, My cries are music, In tuned pitches from untuned instruments of my soul. Because after all, You are also the hurricane, I want to relive, You are all the madness my tiny hands can hold without spilling, all the unrestrained life my little heart can throb with, without falling apart. You are me. So hang in there, Bipolar me. Our body is a temple, honey. No more wrecking balls. No more tear drops, And till I write to you again, No matter what, you’re not going to stop.