Ransom Notes

 ransomnotes

Traveling in these wicked twists and turns in my head.

How has this happened? I would love to find,

A most comfortable place to rest my mind.

Hide.

These winding turns, alluring, they may be.

I do not want to pick this ugly fight.

Though you hold me hostage, with strength, Might.

I FIGHT.

I have begged for your unearned trust.

You leave invisible Ransom Notes,

Promises. Just as invisible. Sinking boat.

Yet I float.

I cannot make happen, what will not be.

I cannot force an aching heart, to feel,

That which it will not, that which isn’t ideal.

I heal.

©thebipolarmuse2012

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 I am passionate about writing… having fallen in love with poetry when I was 11 after an assignment in school in which I had to memorize and recite poems. I loved how poems could be elusive, inspiring discussions about what the writer is trying to convey. Oftentimes, words can be stringed together to create a beautiful poem that seems to be about a specific person or object, even if the true subject matter isn’t about a particular person, or time in life, but rather about an inanimate object.

That is the beauty in writing.

 

How Is It Fair??

birdsDarkness

How is it fair?

I never knew I would love…

Dream, or Breathe,

The way I do You.

Can I sleep in peace?

I never knew I would hope,

Cry, or pray for dreamless nights,

The way I do because of you.

How is it Fair…

To be buried above ground,

where sadness surrounds,

And to be uncomfortable in your own skin?

How is it fair…

You’re buried six feet down.

Sleeping so peaceful, so sound…

And I can’t be found in the world

You are in?

How is it fair??

©thebipolarmuse2003

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** Written many many years ago after the death of my ex-boyfriend, Fiance at one point in time… by his own hand.

Suicide is NEVER the answer. If you or someone you know are contemplating suicide, please reach out for help. Suicide hotlines offer a caring ear, and also have many resources to direct one in the right direction for help. You are not alone in your feelings… remember, this too shall pass and suicide is a permanent, destructive choice that cannot be taken back. Seek help. Choose life. ♥

Call 1-800-273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

I Fear Not The Night~

MoonOnWater

I fear not the night anymore, but the silence that accompanies the sun.

I would enjoy waking to the moon instead… the stars my guide…

My erratic mood lulled by the moons tide.

The stars and night like a very close friend.

Instead, I follow the masses, wake by the sun,

With only a few hours to rest my weary head.

Depression has begun.

Too much time to dwell, anxiety to swell,

To beg for peace; to forget the times,

I have truly failed.

I want to run, be free… follow my heart…

Flee…

To my loves.

I fear not the night anymore, but the silence…

that accompanies the sun.~

©thebipolarmuse2011

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Going through not having custody of my children has always been very difficult for me. I battle severe depressions over all lifes precious moments I cannot get back.

Poetry helps me to tame the monster, it is a form of therapy for me… helps me create bipolar Order.

The Muses

theMuses

The Muses

They whisper in my ear.

In reverence, I stare…

As words fall…

from their golden sweet lips,

To paper, in pieces and bits.

~~~

The Muses…

Their eyes show me a story.

They ask not for recognition, nor glory.

Their words storm to life in my heart…

Indeed flutter about my mind.

Created to be shared… Never held as mine.

 

©thebipolarmuse2018

 

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This poem is one of my very favorite that I have written. Simple, yet such imagery is provoked.

Please do not use without permission to do so. If you would like to use it, please use the “Contact Me” page to send me an email.

Thank you for reading… ♥

Beauty and Catastrophe

haunting

Enchanting.

Haunting.

Dwelling in here is beauty and catastrophe…

limitless imagination…

bountiful frustration.

The moon resides more often than the sun.

An enticing tide,

Poetic ride.

The beast finds me no matter where I run.

Power finds me,

controls me, elicits behaviors

exceeding the one I call me.

Seraphs in heaven weep and pound

their fists…

Even they in their bliss,

can’t bring me peace.

Even I, being on bent knees,

Peace eludes me.

©thebipolarmuse August 2011

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

fireNice

 

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate

To know that for destruction ice is also great

And would suffice.~ Robert Frost

 

I love poetry. I can find a poem that whispers (or screams) into my heart and soul… that flows through my veins. This poem certainly is one that does so. In the past, I allowed these words to resonate with the anger and hate I harbored for something not worth mentioning. Healing has taken place, and I have worked hard to release the negativity. That being said, this poem no longer feeds that monster… instead, I see it for the beauty of the words, the intense reaction it can evoke in others, and allow it to motivate me to write in ways that help the reader “feel” the words they are reading. Besides, it is a Robert Frost poem… poetic genius.

 

©thebipolarmuse2018

Tingles of Mania

manicInside

Tingles up my spine, in my hands, feet, neck, and head. Sounds magnified by a billion… clanks, swooshes, drips, music from a house over, barking dogs, cars, the energy in my head. I swear I hear clown cars, elephants, people murmuring, popcorn bags crinkling, horns, tinkering bells, shoes shuffling, children laughing, a circus in my head.

Every sensation intensified 100 fold. Every ache a pain, every touch leaves a scorching path, every chill becomes a pleasantly painful shiver. Running my fingers through my hair is brutal yet somehow intoxicating.

I flee from tears to happiness… often irritable with boundless energy.

BOUNDLESS ENERGY.

Days become nights, and then nights back to days. Images fly through my head one after another. Dirt, trees, a smiling lady, retro car, beach, sand, beer, the sky, moon, stars, babies, holding hands, fire, weeds, butterflies, black and white photos, Gidget, music notes, piano, stadium lights, cars, people chattering, relay for life, school, books, money, flying, dreams, galaxies, GOD, energy.

Far above the earth, above the stars, flying in a luminous light… tingling head to toe.

This, my friend, is my mania.

Welcome to my world.

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If you have ever experienced mania… you know this well. If you have never experienced mania… this is just the tip of  the iceberg.

Without fail… after mania is the crash into the deepest pit of depression… because of this… mania has a beauty, and is often sought and a place I never want to leave.

 

©bipolarmuse2018