Untitled.

This is a poem I wrote when I was in the calm of the storm--able to view the bedlam of my emotions all at once. I guess this poem has two meanings to me, both concerning my life being diagnosed with bipolar disorder: One is about the repercussions of my relationship failures that I experienced throughout a lot of my life. I was so hungry for love and attention, but when reality caught up with me I realized I was just a siren chained to the rocks, beckoning others on with my beauty. My other meaning has to do with how bipolar disorder makes me feel so much--intoxicated even--and although it gives me "powers", all I want is to breathe it out, to rid myself of the air of insanity. All I want is freedom from the illness that brings me so much unquenchable desires.

Soooo yeah. 

Waiting for sleep, I shut my eyes tightly to keep

the starry tears from floating away into the night,

upward into the darkness that envelops my restless senses.

I inhale, breathing in the crispness of my curse--

a method of the soul; a rich intake of

unquenchable wishes and miraculous destiny.

I drink it in, filled again with passions beyond fathom;

lustful and desirable like a Siren chained to her sins,

I exhale love-songs to enchant and ensnare, crooning to the heart,

beckoning to go into arms that will never hold requited love.

But like the falling sun I must return my splendor--gone is the starlight

dazzling ‘cross my face;

gone are the sprinkles of moonlight behind my eyes,

I am nothing—an empty shell with thistled and empty arms,

a heart that howls with unbridled passion.

I inhale, and the intoxication becomes me,

laced with the drunkenness of mania I stumble down the stairs

into madness.

Darkness.

I only wish to leave you,

forget you,

encounter dreams in which your presence is absent.

I yearn to be free from the 

 too-much

too-often,

and too-alive.

The truth of my existence.

I no longer miss the curves of desire that wrap around my naked being,

the ache of others to have my eyes sadistically turn them away.

I wish nothing more but to return to a clearer haven,

to flee from the horrors of my desolated caverns.

I must depart from the dreadful smile that shadows my every touch,

the one that captivates the world  but drives its owner mad,

for I know she will never let go.

I will begin a canvas with a softer stroke, a clearer

brush to dress the wounds. A portrait still untouched by darkness.

I have this journey in my hands—a palette with paint not yet muddled and torn by my own disaster.

And for the last time, I exhale you.

Do any of you guys have creative outlets? I LOVE writing, playing music, and drawing/painting. What do you guys enjoy doing?