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I've dreamt of candy corn,
black cats, ghosts
& a forever love.
A love that won't keep
me stuck in a graveyard,
floating above grass flavored
candy, tombstones made
of chocolate & a love that repairs my wrists.
A love that is simple,
not frightening to be
used as an ingredient
in my medication.
A remedy for the
things that hide in
my closet.
Or call my name from
the covers beneath
my bed because my
bipolar even has friends.
They live beneath my floorboards,
they follow in my footsteps,
they hide in blades that are in
plain sight & play hot potato
with my mind.
They're are the ones
that flip the switch,
steal the crystals beneath
my fingertips.
Rub moons across my wrists,
to use my blood in their
cherry pies & blueberry
tarts with my leftover veins,
as my tears are used to season
whats left of my sanity.
My sanity is not my sanity,
it belongs to them, them are
my nightmares, the fear
of medication dribbling
down my throat like watermelon
seeds waiting to grow.
Like my depression that are
non-existent anti-depressants,
like my father who preaches
that my illness does not exist.
My emotions are like
ocean waves, my medication
the moon, therapy are crystals
but they can't stop me from
loving you.
Loving you is holding
on to life jackets,
bracing storms,
kissing my own skin
to keep my sanity in check.
When you push me off
of you to make room for
anger.
I don't blame your hands.
I blame my tongue,
my mind becomes a saxophone
of blues, emotions become
the tide of saying things I do
not mean but they cut into
your emotions like black
coffee syringes.
I ask myself am I ruining you?
Will medication be enough?
Will fear subside? Doubts die?
Am I enough for you?
The love strikes me like a bow & arrow,
carves me into an old oak tree,
medication scares me
& talk therapy frightens me.
It boils my bones,
liquifies my blood,
turns into a toil
& boil, making my
own skin uncomfortable
to live in.
I want to crawl out of
it like a caterpillar,
waiting to shed from
its skin.
My cocoon has
become a black bag
full of maggots.
They eat at my skin,
irritate my irritability,
live inside me, drain me,
& walk me home, to lay
me into bed.
Read me bedtime stories,
sour my brain, cover it
in nightmares because
they're the ones
that tuck me into bed.
I hear their lullabies
in my dreams, your love
in my thoughts,
my bipolar is my friend
but it makes it so hard
to love.
My brain is blended into
a strawberry & chocolate milkshake
crushed with ice.
Covered in walnuts,
drizzled with lies,
& my bipolar convinces me
its the only thing that can love me.
It fills me with liquor
& a swig of antidepressants
to make it all better.
Bipolar makes it hard for
a human to love another,
crystals & moons cannot
heal a broken mind.
Fix these wrists
emebbed in planets
& eyes adulterated
with stars.
I am the reason
storms are named
after people,
the reason why love
is so toxic.
I have become liliac
& you have become cerulean.
I am the reason why shooting
stars exist, why crystals & moons
are medication, I am the defintion
of bipolar, wondering if thats
why your my swig of medicine?
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