Untitled Poem

Hello, gentle readers. I almost never write poetry. When snippets pop into my head, they feel false, and I can never tell if they are truly poetry or just my brain's attempt at lyrics. The following came pretty fast and flowing last week in the hospital, so I thought I'd throw it up here and see what it looks like on this page. 

I think it's safe to say I'm letting my 17 year old self out for a minute, but there you have it. 

Enjoy???

Untitled

Moments so deep they won't subside,

Breaths full of anger and shame,

Pulling & stretching, breaking & searching,

Nowhere to hide but inside the flame. 

Ribbons of pain stream through the trees,

They catch the light of my tears,

Razors cut paths through memory,

Flesh tells stories out of school. 

Take this hand and know its truth,

Let it guide you down the hall,

Each room you pass shows something new,

Something closer to the fire I know. 

Cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet..

A new journal was procured from the bowels of the resource room on North 5. God Bless Emerson Hospital.

This week abounded with thrills and spills, making even the most valiant hearts sputter.  But amongst the voices whispering, and the pictures of blood and gore spilling from my brain, there was a golden light called mania. I have psychotic symptoms, but I'm really happy about them!  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, psych issues!

I sit gracefully poised in a Monty Python t-shirt and yoga pants, a BIC pen and a Styrofoam cup of decaf coffee to light my way.  I feel that I can climb mountains, conquer nations, and create world peace.  Of course, the working part of my psyche reminds me that the mountains are a load of laundry to be done, the nations are showers without interruption, and world peace is a meal without an altercation breaking out between an alcoholic with trust issues and a bipolar girl who can't stop talking. 

And so we keep traveling our roads, running parallel at close proximity.  Each carries a pike to keep the monsters at bay, riding a blind horse.  We each pray that this steed has been here before, and already knows their way.  For we know those "woods are lovely, dark and deep", and we are trying so hard to remember our promises.