I fell last week.
Hard and fast
Abruptly
My foot slipped out from under me in a way I know my ankle will never be the same thirty years from now
Strange how a human can endure intense operations and fully recover
But an ankle will never be the same if it's twisted once
I guess I'm similar that way

You thought that you were better now
years of medication and therapy and routine playing day to day on repeat until it is all you know
You thought you were happy
content
learning to enjoy living agian
but all good things must come to an end, my dear
and now I ask--
are you happy?
or are you just comfortable?
do you even know the difference between the two?

My mania is kind and diligent
that beautiful I woke up like this flawless
It's warm and laughs at the most ridiculous things
and so overwhelmingly optimistic
glass half full with room for more
My depression is ugly and scarred and sees all my flaws
that haven't showered in weeks kind of hermit life
there's a house and world outside of my bed
it doesn't want me to see
what a surprise
My mania is caring and gentle
taking me on treat yourself trips
while overworking because there's work to be
done and there's motivation to do it right now
and we don't know when we'll have this again
My depression is soft in actions but harsh in words
and the feelings it creates
It is too deep in my comfort space
My mania usually keeps its visits short because
staying would only make me act like a normal
productive member of society and my depression
claims that I can't be one of those for long and
calls me back to the bed
always back to the bed
I'm sick of the bed
Mania was visiting last week though
so I know I'll be in bed for the next few months
until my mania makes it's presence known once again
I guess I'll wait
here in my bed
growing tired of the bed
restless

I'm used to breaking hearts
And glasses
And promises I said I would keep
I break eye contact
And routine
And once both my pinkies at the same time
I wish I could break mirrors
Then maybe my reflection would match how I feel inside
S  H  A  T  T  E  R  E  D

I guess I was surprised when I met him
he often asks me what I love about him
I always feel bad because I’m never able to tell him
I’m always at a loss for words
and that’s a scary thing for a writer
it’s a terrifying thing to be completely speechless--letting the silence stop thoughts in a chokehold
letting that blank piece of paper blind you from
writing with its whiteness
it’s a terrifying thing to not know what to say
normally it all comes so naturally to me,
I’m able to create worlds with words,
but when I look at him, my mind suddenly forgets
what an article is and what an adjective does
it’s a terrifying thing, truly
but it’s a beautiful thing to feel the silence
for once instead of the constant hurricane of ideas pounding
at my skull, and I have to wonder if this is how it must be for everyone else

I have dozens of unread books on my shelf eagerly awaiting my hands
Truthfully I could crease their spines anytime
Dog ear their pages to my favorite passages
Underline sentences that must be very well trained in martial arts from the punches they've thrown me
But these books, as much as they intrigue me, will never be you
And having my hands trail your body is better than any page
Breathing in your scent is better than that of a time-worn book
I’d rather have your  sun-kissed body in my arms than the yellowing pages of a novel
I’m not fond of audio books but I’d listen to you a hundred times over before deciphering script
I never thought I could love something more than literature
But darling you are the most beautiful adventure

Say less to me
Validate me with your hands on my body
Your lips on mine
Your eyelashes close enough to my neck I can hear them brush the air next to the hickey you gave me moments ago
Don't speak with words
Instead tell me  how you crave me with your legs intertwining in mine
dissertate with me your theory of how everything we did in our lives built up to us being here under these sheets sweet body
Trace your feelings over mine with your tongue on that one spot you know makes me weak
And tell me time and time again how much you love me in feather light touches and lifeline bites
Tell me how this body is addicted to the minuscule things I do
You were always an incredible artist
Indulge in me like your art
Grind your hips into mine until your moans are elevator music in my head
I can only hope that you understand my cries they way I intemperate yours