poetry

a murder

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you want to commit a murder
the Grief inside you has grown a body
it breathes
it eats
it shits
it bites
Grief is so alive now
its name is capitalized
this Grief that is alive
this living hellish Grief must die
you want to smother Grief in its bed at night
you want to smother Grief with your favorite pillow
when the dreams come to haunt you
and Grief stirs awake
you want to shove Grief off the freeway overpass
watch Grief splatter in the oncoming traffic
while your favorite song comes on the radio
goodbye Grief
you want to see Grief jump off the tallest building
you want to feed Grief to the wolves at the zoo
you want to starve Grief in a box at Christmas
you want to choke Grief with a child’s hair ribbon
you want to commit a murder

– from Grief Song

find the magic

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find the magic
that will only come
through telling your story
the one you’re afraid to tell
you’re afraid to open that box
because you may never stop crying
sit in the sunshine
and write the story
in bits
and batches
phrases
words
prose and poetry
when the tears well up
stop
close your eyes
let the sun warm your eyelids
and then try
to sing

– from Grief Song

grief song

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someday
you will enjoy the avocado
someday
you will smile at the wind
the rain
the sun
you will feel these again
it will be different
it will be real

– from Grief Song

the fabric of my soul

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inside the fabric of my feelings
in the warp and weave of my existence
you wove yourself into my life and
more than my heart broke that day

you took more than my hopes and dreams
you took more than life itself
as I doubled in agony the tears poured
drowning in the blood-tinged grief

my heart rendered into pieces
unfixable, surrounded in death and pain
did you rejoice in the torment you brought?
were you aware of the devastation?

I lost track of the hours days months years
one empty day weighing as much as another
the days were long the nights were longer

on those days when I gave up on life
were you pleased to have such an effect?
did you feel even the smallest regret?

as my heart kidneys organs failed
did you know you held the power of life?
did you know you held the power of death?

you don’t hold that power now
now I can count the days again
there may be joy missing
but there’s no longer torment

there may still be empty spaces
but there are new loves and joys
I gave you the power of life and death
but I have now taken that power back

I will never again give someone
the power to destroy me
even if you still rejoice in my pain
I refuse to let your joy torment me

I will always miss the you I used to know
the truest love and deepest friend
but I will never miss the you who you’ve become
the you who attempted to murder
the very fabric of my soul

the packing list

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I know from experience how to pack a bag for a suicidal hospital stay so I keep a packed bag (no straps, strings, belts) and leave it in my car “just in case” because my therapist may decide I’m not safe and need to check in to the psych ward (again) where there will be laundry facilities so I’ll only need to pack enough clothes for two or three days since doing laundry will be somewhat therapeutic

so I pack
two or three t-shirts, comfortable
sweat pants or leggings, can double as jammies with a t-shirt
no cords
no belts
no strings
slip-on shoes, no shoelaces
hairbrush and/or comb
blank journal, not wire-bound
several pens
warm sweater or hoody, no strings
slippers
socks
phone and charger, will be kept at the front desk
travel-size toiletries, they’ll have shampoo but no conditioner
toothbrush/toothpaste
a soft blanket, for wrapping up in when the anxiety kicks in or my roommate starts screaming at 3am and the sleeping meds aren’t working and they won’t give out more
a stuffed toy or soft pillow, for hugging while crying myself to sleep

my therapist asks, “What do you mean that you’re packed for the hospital? How do you pack ahead for a psych hospital stay?”
I will show him this list

nightime

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the patients seemed to grow more somber
as the night loomed darker and the
nurses wandered from room to
room doling out pills and patience
and warnings and reminding everyone
that bedtime was in an hour so we
needed to start winding down whatever
we were doing which reminded all of us
of our mothers fathers grandparents
older siblings preparing our younger
selves for bedtime as we discovered
that a psychiatric hospital stay is very
much like a return to childhood where
doors can be locked and toys taken
from grasping hands and snacks available
but only if you behave yourself and
other people cook for you and you have
to make your bed before school begins
and classes are required and arts and crafts
frustrate everyone until later when they
realize it was something to do that got
their minds off ending their lives because even
boring activities can be a distraction from
the abyss and you’re glad another day’s over
and you can curl up in bed with your pillow
and blanket and hopefully sleep soundly
rather than waking up screaming like the
night before when your sleeping self had a
glimpse of reality and the abyss the void
the monster loomed once more

the Monster

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no one was there
when doom entered
there was no shelter
this was no gesture
this was the Monster
there’s no scarier beast
it demands surrender
in the fight within myself

Mania poems

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I put together a small collection of poems and other writings that I wrote from the perspective of someone with Bipolar Disorder.  I thought about putting them into a small book, but I’ve just never come to a point where I’m comfortable with that. Not sure I’m comfortable putting them here on my blog, either, so I may end up removing this if it gets too scary.  Self-disclosure can be frightening.

Click below to open a pdf file containing all of the writings.

Mania Poems

between the headstones

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between the headstones
the grass growing green
where the grounds’ man keeps
the weeds from overtaking
graves of forgotten
ancestors and of
neglected mothers
ignored by children
with no time for grief
the soldiers lie still
flags gently swaying
a line of colors
in patriot winds
with rusty railings
heavy chain fences
creaking in the night
frightening neighbors
whose imaginings
conjure ghosts and ghouls
do not think too hard
of what lies beneath
the closely shorn grass
the parklike meadow
decomposition
don’t let yourself think
or the reality
of mortality
will find its way home