I haven’t cried out of
frustration over my
stubborn brain in awhile.
But with all suffering
sometimes the weight
feels like too much
to bear.
I think it’s the hopelessness;
so many years of the
same fight,
13 to be exact,
and I just don’t see
any other end then shaving
my head.
Sometimes it’s like
I’m in a trance and
no matter how loud I
tell my brain to stop,
to put my hands down,
I can’t.
The push and pull
from the angel and the demon
get to be exhausting;
I don’t want to fight anymore.

Being with someone
that likes you is still
a wild thing for me.
Recently he made me laugh
about what is now an inside joke,
and whenever he references
it he looks
over to see me smile.

He tells me all the time
how much he just loves
looking at me
and having me around.
We still smile and flirt with each other
at the Chinese buffet,
and enjoy being together.

I have waited my whole life
to find a love like this

I wish that someone
had loved me more as a kid
or given me that one
thing that could’ve
saved me from pulling
out my hair
and plotting my own
demise.
The uncontrollable rage
I feel towards myself
is something I can’t
describe.
In my head it makes
sense but when he asks
me what’s wrong
I say I don’t know.
So I spent another beautiful
Friday crying into my
bed asking why am I not enough
until I fell asleep.

It’s easy for me to say
oh I’m off my medication
so this thought is just
that.
A thought,
a fabrication
a lie
that my mind is playing.

But what if it’s just
intuition.
It has always been right
in the past,
but also people are so see through.
It’s obvious to me when
someone is lying or
being deceitful
and that’s why I am
so *******.

I am not blind

All the windows are open,
and the lights are off.
The only sounds are
the crickets and
a box fan.
It’s an unusually cool
night for the first of
August but no one is
complaining.
July was a heatwave.

I love when he naps
in my lap.
His arms folded across
his chest,
long legs almost hanging
off the side of the couch.
There is a painting of
him sleeping that hangs on
the wall of his bedroom,
and it is very accurate.
He’s so sweet,
and sleepy when he
smiles at me and mumbles
“You’re so pretty”
before falling back into
a quiet snore.
I’m more or less trapped here
but that’s okay.
I’ve got my **** and redbull
and him.

I should have
put in the work
instead of looking
for an easy out.
I don’t want any more
chemicals in my brain
or my body.
I want to know that what
I’m feeling is real,
and it’s me.
I genuinely can’t say that
I’m happier now,
in fact I was sent into
a manic episode which
hasn’t occurred in years.
I want to sleep,
eat, drink and be merry.