Finally Breathing

People take for granted
how it feels to be okay.

A rarity
in my ocean of bad days.

It’s like a breath of fresh air
after realizing you were holding your breath.

Or turning on a light
after the sun’s been down for some time.

It feels like breaking free
of a restraint you didn’t before realize
was holding you down.

Or standing
after sitting for too long.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

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I’m Okay (For Now)

The tides pull at my ankles like a persistent child, demanding I look at its creations. The vast saltwater, a menacing navy blue resting at the horizon where the sun begins to take a dip. The sliver of colors consumed by the separation between sky and ocean. It is clear and calm, waves nothing more than a small hop at the surface, where it brings itself to lick my calves. A light breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders and I breathe in the scent of an unusual calmness.

My mind has ripped free of the hurricane’s spiral, and I stand in the eye before the next storm. A relief from the winds that threatened to yank the sanity at its roots in the garden I’d begun to build around the ruins. I stand and I breathe in the serenity I could not dream up just two moons ago. And I allow myself to enjoy the peace before the next tidal wave.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Reaching Out

I feel the metaphors are the only thing
people will listen to. The only cries for
help taken seriously are those hidden
in the eyes of the narratives speaking
through pains of a story that is merely
‘fiction.’ I feel the imagery is the only
thing people will see, call it pretty, and
fail to truly understand there is inspiration
behind every piece.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Grey

I live in a crumbled city
atop wilted rose petals
swimming in the ash
overlooking the ocean.
I live on piled concrete
sitting on the precious deaths
of springtime’s memories
looking through a bird’s eyes
at sunken cities
and wishing
this life could remember
its colors.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Bipolar: A Play

*Disclaimer: Not my best, or favorite piece*

 

To help you understand where I’m coming from,
I want you to close your eyes.
Imagine you are watching a play.
I am the screenwriter (and actor).
With just a few directed actions,
I can take you through the show: My Emotions

Act I: Depressive

Depression enters stage right.
It is noon and I am still in bed.
I plant my feet on the floor,
willing a mind to control the body,
and notice the empty room- I mean stage-
I surround myself with.
He follows me center stage,
trailing behind like a shadow.
The rain pours from invisible clouds.

Act II: Manic

Mania enters stage left.
Music plays softly in the background,
our shirts clinging to skin.
She approaches me,
hands linking for a spin,
she takes the lead in this slow dance.
The audience drinks intimacy
from our energy,
but we are only skilled actors.

Act III: Matchmaker

I kick cupid’s bow off stage
and join the audience.
Mania limps center stage.
Depression picks her up.
They share blood from arrow holes,
taking over the show.
We watch the lover’s embrace,
passing on in each other’s arms.

The curtains draw,
and the actors prepare for next month’s showing.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Bipolar

Mr. Doctor Boy,
not quite man,
Can you show me
how to change the chemical composition of my brain?
Can you take authority
and claim to know how to cure me?
Mr. Doctor Boy,
Didn’t your father teach you
how to arrange dopamine and serotonin
in the correct orders?
Tell me of noradrenaline,
norepinephrine,
help me understand,
Mr. Doctor Boy,
be a man and fix me.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, now available on amazon.