Bipolar, You Can Not Break Me

I am taking a wonderful writer’s workshop/workout with Nadine Kenney Johnstone on Monday’s.  It is closed off for membership for the time being, but it is worth watching her website to see when it opens up for new members again.

Last week she read two amazing poems by Maya Angelou.

Phenomenal Woman and  Still I Rise

Then Nadine asked us

To do a quick short piece where your character is talking from a fierce place. Freewrite. Showcase the power within someone. What does it look like internally and externally?

I have never written poetry before. I never thought I could. Poets boggle my mind, how they use the right words, the right cadence so eloquently.

I AM NO MAYA ANGELOU!! I am so far from her, her spirit and brave thoughts, her challenges.

But I found myself writing this, my first attempt at something new. Good or bad poetry, it is me.

 

BIPOLAR YOU CANNOT BREAK ME

Bipolar you cannot bring me down, you cannot break me.

You did that, but now I am stronger. I have battles fought, I have risen beyond them.

My soulmates surround me, my friends give support.

I am learning to be fearless and not hide. I am stronger in the open, not cowered and stooped, not curling into myself.

I stand straight and taunt you to come at me again.

My warrior self will uplift me, I can fight, I can stay rooted.

I have words to bring you down. I have soul to lift me up.

There is beauty to ring in new days and sunsets to dip into slumber, relaxed, content.

Happy and whole.

My husband encourages me, my groups encourage me, my writing encourages others. I am not alone. We are not alone.

I have seen what solitude did, my agoraphobia, my darkened halls.

I am better in the midst of others.

I don’t shuffle like the past.

I march onward. 

I wear flowy now, and color. Gone are the prisons of my black and gray. My uptight and constricting.

My wrist jingle and shine.

My neck rises from the circles of metal and leather and stones. My head is upright and strong.

I look forward. I look beyond. I see possibilities.

My ears are decorated, music penetrates and makes me dance. Dragging my feet is obsolete.

Bipolar, you may still touch me, but you will not bring me down.

I have learned lessons, gained wisdom, and let myself fly.

There is no more torture. 

There can still be pain, but I will not tumble into the abyss.

I can fall, but the softness of others and my will to be here will capture and let me descend slowly.

I will not break.