It's the last crumble of
summer. The quotidian
heavy traffic, humid air, proud
sun, flocks of pigeons,
the balconies are lit with
the smell of dark coffee.
"Do whatever you feel like doing",
you hear the universe whispering
that in your ears.
I look around me, and I do
feel like screaming it to the world,
but the world only listens
to happy music. Sad things
like me coil into themselves,
and run to poetry.
So today, even words toppled over
from my fingertips. I'm emptiness.
I'm one of the ugly parts
in this city. I balance down the beauty
of everything around me.
I'm a misfortune, like
a car accident, or an earthquake.
I don't belong. Sometimes, I don't
even exist, life walks
past me, time
shrugs it's shoulders
at me. I'm a tumor, I consume
the nerves of others to
keep moving on.
The first wind of winter
is pushing the sunlight away.
A butterfly flutters quickly
outside my window.
The color of it's wings is erased.
My...you have given me an insight about this condition and the feelings which pulls a person down along with thoughts which agrees to it naturally. I like the use of words and the imagery it left behind in my mind...take care.....Congrats on the win!
When I read this, I couldn't help but think of people's false perceptions and ideas about what bipolar is, without experiencing it themselves. I think there is some stigma that the "highs" or mania are the most wonderful things in the world. But for so many, it can be unnerving and not this ecstatic moment. It can be thought after thought, uncontrollable, no stability. The way you thread your thoughts together here, the feeling of not belonging and sometimes just existing while parts of the world walk over you, is well-stated and heart-breaking to read. Such raw emotion in this and every image holds an even deeper look into how you feel.
Just two notes:
"shrugs it's shoulders" and "The color of it's wings" - both "it's" should be without the apostrophe I believe.