My bipolar Muse

My bipolar Muse-
is that part of myself,
I seek to hide
from the prying mind.

My bipolar Muse-
is part of myself
ingrained
entwined
rooted
to my inner core-

it is the trunk
from which
all else
branches, takes root, blooms
becomes fruit.

it is the part of myself
I try to keep on
a very short leash
never to be set free

unless all hell breaks loose
the correct terminology for that
is called,” a Manic Episode.”

When I can keep Mania at bay,
and leave depression aside
to sway

I become almost…normal.
But not quite.
I cover myself in riddles, rhymes, words
which multiply
covering my naked body
like leaves on a tree
or a shroud on a corpse.

My bipolar Muse
loves the lingering of letters,
the graffiti on the bathroom stall,
she loves poems, thought-puddles,
the beat of a fast paced drum.

My bipolar Muse
she is on a very short leash,
otherwise I cannot stop her
from her ramble, utters, riddles
word puzzles.

Delirium belongs beneath
a self-imposed cage,
yet still I suppose
without a Muse as such

I would have little creativity
of my own-barely enough to strike a match,
to form a word, a sentence, or even
fan the flames of a poem.

My bipolar Muse
without her, I’d become lost.
She is the demon which rages
inside me. She is the hinge connecting
two halves of a semi-broken brain.

She is my everything.

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One thought on “My bipolar Muse

  1. Me and my other self-s too. But they are all apart of our whole, who beyond me is more than the sum of all hi parts, and in reality.

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