I normally write my poems digitally, but I needed a place to get things out in a more tangible way, so here's some poems that were written on paper originally.
A familiar feeling
For most, if not all of my memorable life I've struggled with bipolar disorder.
I've grown accustomed to the rain of mania and the valleys of depression.
I've come to know the valley in my chest during those periods of depression.
That deep understanding that for the coming months I will experience the hallowing.
But despair can't last forever.
Eventually comes the manic rain.
My thoughts compete in races, my nights become sleepless, I can feel the drops of elation on my skin.
It's all such a familiar feeling.
The woods
I spend much of my days as of recently in a sunny meadow.
I go on walks and picnics, I want the angelic deer.
I treasure the rays from the sky in a way I never have before.
But something about the woods calls my name.
The wind whispers false truths, and who I am not to listen.
With the woods you can never quite tell.
Maybe today you will stroll near a stream, maybe today you will feel the weight of a falling tree.
Maybe today will be your last to see the sunrise.
The woods is tricky in the way where there's nothing quite like it, nothing at all.
Today I sit on the bridge between the meadow and the woods, my feet dangle so close to the water I can almost feel the waves crashing against my shoes.
I hope I can stay between both worlds.
Just for me
I enjoy time with loved ones often,
I cherish them more than the sun.
In the most genuine way I am surrounded by the most lovely individuals.
This is a truth I must remind myself of while looking through the cloudy glass.
The cloudy glass separates myself and whoever is in front of me.
I admire them, I relate to them, I am them, but there are some things you just can't have.
I haven't come across a person I've seen through anything but a foggy window.
Although I've tried, the glass remains.
Luckily the glass isn't a constant, it's a divide that only exists with everyone, but not everything.
I feel the glass lifted when I am writing, or making art, especially on the nights filled with those two things.
So maybe the glass will almost always be there, maybe I'll never see anyone without it's protection, but that doesn't mean the rest of the world will always be so far away.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
