Bipolar, creative writing, Poems, Poetry

My Second Dawn Awaits Me

The first dawn arrived-
An end to twilight.
Pain,
Melancholy,
Self-hatred
Gone.

A light feather,
Floating on sugar-coated air;
An end to tears.
Dancing on clouds of love and bliss
Until the denouement of candy floss-
I morphed into an irritable, anxious unicorn,
Rainbow’s light ferociously adorned.

My blue blood burned with fearful fire,
Creation being my church spire.
My numb, confused soul
Tempted by the devil
Casually pondered death.

My second dawn awaits me-
An end to twilight
Without the rapid, endless orbit
Of my mind’s earth
Around my soul’s sun.
My earth shall spin at a slower pace
And yet I fear blue blood’s return,
I fear my devil’s deathly call.

Copyright © C.M.H July 2014

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creative writing, Poems, Poetry

I Would Swallow Too Many Pink Pills To Get Your Attention But I Won’t

I would swallow too many of my pink pills
So you would look into my mirror
And see my true reflection,
So you would stop putting your head in a well
But I don’t want to go to a psychiatric ward.
I don’t want to do this
I don’t intend to do this,
I only intend to get your attention.

I will go to support groups instead
And I will not invite you to my wedding
Because you aren’t believing,
Because you aren’t listening,
Because you aren’t here for me.

You have let me down in three terrible ways
And it has shattered me,
It has killed me,
It almost killed me
As I promised myself I would kill myself
If you reacted that way.

This is probably a fleeting feeling
But it is how I feel now;
You have let me down
And I need caring people around
To help me heal from the bullets forever stuck in my brain
And the knives pushed through my body.

Copyright © C.M.H July 2014

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Bipolar, creative writing, Poems, Poetry

The Cheerful Child Did Sing

Four years from being born
The cheerful child did sing
At waking of each dawn
Before forgetting wings
And early, long mourning
Of ecstatic joy she’d sing.

No silver pen rids pleasant pain
Of being euphoric and insane.
No poetry, no catharsis
Rids her of her deadly bliss.

Great Red Spot unrelenting
Devouring her earth.
Neptune’s ice is welcoming,
Io irritating mouth.
Rapid, ceaseless spinning
Around the burning sun-
Mind’s racing, fiery wrath.

She does not sing at dawn,
She found her wistful wings.
Her soul eternal sings
Each poem that is born.

Copyright © C.M.H July 2014

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creative writing, Poems, Poetry

Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay

http://www.bartleby.com/131/1.html

This is exactly the kind of poetry I aspire to write; lyrical, clever in rhyme and imagery and extremely emotional.

I just read this and it is now one of my favourite poems, probably because I can relate to it and I really love poetry that just seems like a piece of someone’s soul turned into art.

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