i keep two buttons in either pockets

they’re part of my usual pocket cluster, wallet phone keys headphones matches

both hands in my pocket now, i run my finger along the ridge of the left button on the hard days

i roll the bridge between both buttons before sneaking out back and pressing the right button

but like all psychoactivities, relative direction, cardinal hand eye, the right button looks identical to the left and I left them both on the table in between tobacco pouches and empty beer bottles

things that press the left button: ominous psychosis, soma mania, fire flushes from ******* not listening, an empty checking balance, an empty emotional balance, an emptiness

things that press the right button: herbal breath in the nice chair, glassy eyes and extra papers, a quiet hour in surround sound

I stare at the left button while my dad calls and hover over it, pausing mid drag to weigh the consequences, weighing the empty balance, feeling an overdrawn surcharge to my soul, taxed in tension, fumbling headphones

the left button sometimes makes me yell, dissociative silence or telling strangers to go **** themselves because I can’t afford the time for anything else

It’s usually the left button I smash against the wall, slaughtered, obliterated, my friends hand me broken batteries and shattered screens and say things like, “press the right button, stop pressing mine”

things that press the right button: not me, usually.

things that press the left button: the left button presses the left button, leaving me with a locked right button, pressed permanently and I fidget with a flathead trying to pop that ****** back out

why can’t I hit the right button?

why am I stuck with the left button, ad infinitum, added insidium, snarling and suffocated, shaking it out in the center of my bed

it might be easier if they left me in a blue gown, *** exposed, *** laid down, pressing that ******* button by the hospital bed, pressing that ******* button like I know how in the coward’s way out

irregardless of what button I press, or what gets pressed, or what’s pressing me and pressing against me, they find their way back into my pocket cluster

pockets with my hands, fingers that get skinnier until my fingers are thin lines or circles or buttons themselves and I have nothing left to do but give them to you and have you press every button, drugless and dampened

things that press the right button: you when I need you to

and when you press it, the left button and the right button are one in the same

they are you and you can withstand being pressed or being there to be pressed

out of my hands and a little lighter

My poetry longs for the disorder,
For the way mania smells like stardust
And tastes like bubblegum clouds.
It craves the buzzing energy like angry bees
Or champagne bubbles in my bloodstream.
Poetry finds beauty in the depression,
In the way sunrises fade to gray
Or food turns to ash in my mouth.
Poetry does not care that 1 in 5
People with bipolar will take their own life.
It is only searching for more syllables to intertwine.
I must be concerned with the consequences,
Diligent in my course of action.
It is the first time in my life my poetry and I do not agree.
Stability may not be poetic,
It is hard won and jagged edges,
But I would not trade it for syllabic symphonies.
I hope stability will be mine to keep.

My heart has always been a terrible prize to hold,
Whether it's been given or earned.
It's a poisoned burden.
It's strong and loyal to its possesor,
But it smothers and steals their last breath.
It supports during the toughest moments,
But it pushes away when abused.
It will naively believe the best in others,
And it breaks when reality crashes down.
It will guard itself with steel,
But it will allow sinister people to slip through.
It has learned to stop hoping,
And then doubts the person who tries to take care of it.
It feels empathy to its core,
So it's often too sensitive and moody.
It's a difficult prize to behold,
But the right person can cure it from its poison.
They will take a deep breath and plunge in again.
They can treat it with fierce love and positive reassurance.
The right person can prove there is goodness in the world.
They can dismantle the walls.
They will heal the wounds and wrap it in love.
The right person can be my heart's savior.