the cold fingertips that
were once mine
now hold onto a future
i didn't see coming
my arms are robotic
stiff and going through motions
uncertain of where i stand
but still reaching for my dreams
a monster still stalking every night
unsettled in my winnings
and while there's still a wild streak inside
i won't let that piece of me die
its two steps forward, seven steps back
but at least i try.
YOU ARE READING
mayhem.
Poetrya collection of poetry that delves into the longing and freedom that comes with growing up as an undiagnosed bipolar, and how it feels to come out on the other side.
