Best Bipolar Poems
I am bipolar,
That’s what they say,
Maybe the mood swings.
Gave me away,
Maybe it was the battle going on;
Much deeper inside,
That caused me to run,
That caused me to hide.
Peaks and valleys, up and down,
Try to stay the course,
They pull and they push, twisting,
Tug and shove, inside out,
I am powerless to this force,
I am not living, just existing.
The world is full of wonders,
Happy breezes are blowing,
The fresh air tastes sweet,
My aura radiates, I am glowing,
Roaming free on the open range,
Mania rules on the peak,
Soon it will change.
This evil is back,
Taunting me, haunting me,
An overbearing cloak of black,
Do not cross me,
Or you will come to regret,
The beast that swims,
In my twisted sea.
It’s too late,
It has begun; crystal clear,
Eyes wide open; heavy breathing,
Tunnel vision and hate,
The beast is seething,
No time to run, no time for fear,
Submit to fate.
Regret is a vengeful troll,
Who is always around,
Rage is the noise, making a deafening sound,
Anger is a blanket, suffocating my soul,
Tortuously slow,
Eating me alive, keeping me cold.
No place to turn, nowhere to go.
Never give in, never give up hope,
In view of the trouble ahead,
Buckle up and try to cope,
Remember what I said,
This is you destiny, punishment for your sins,
To wait for history to repeat again.
Belligerent and irritated by almost any little thing
Insaneness all around me; craziness is what I bring
Psychosis is not the problem; the problem lies within
Overzealous personality; much absorption sinking in
Liar, cheat and manipulator; trust you should not give
Ambition at its lowest; no longer wanting to live
Racing thoughts; trying to unwind an ultimate goal for an unstable mind
Stacy Lynn Stiles
I.
Being bipolar
is like a Rose whose bloom is
missing some petals:
but her color is deeper
than all the other roses.
II.
She may never be
part of a "perfect" bouquet:
but her rich pigment
is a rare, precious paint for
Da Vinci's "Mona Lisa."
III.
Alas! She might not
be like the long-stemmed lily
from the dells of life:
but her scent is the choicest,
and makes the finest perfumes.
IV.
Being bipolar,
therefore, is like a Rose that's
missing some petals:
but her savor is sweeter
than all the other roses.
Life as a manic-depressive's very drab,
and wearisome at times; it's bad enough
to drag me down where I don't feel so tough.
When manic, I have the rare gift of gab;
when I do, I want to take a taxi cab
to the club; get smashed; and act like a rough:
but I don’t as I fear the cops' rebuff;
so, I behave like mice trapped in a lab.
My life's so full of hopelessness, it seems;
if I could, I would end it right away;
but that'd be taking it to dire extremes
and drama; so I oscillate all day,
and at night craft poems of less suicidal themes—
God! I'm such a wretched, bipolar cliché!
“Fear whispers worry into your ear, anxiety into your hopes and doubt into your faith… Love whispers hope and peace” – by poet
With a brain washed pale
By voices thundering
Silent screams echoing through me
Clearing away the debris
Of disappointment and disillusionment
My mind darkened on a clear night
No stars twinkled through my thoughts
And the blaze of my heart
Was smothered beneath the darkness
That was like a consuming fire
Shooting flames through my mind
Resonating fear and doubt
Clouding my soul with black suspicion
Breaking away all the hope and faith
Pouring disgust through my veins
Marking the way for desolation
Despair and waves of guilt
That sauntered across my emotions
Coloring me in hues of gray
Bipolar disorder screamed
Beneath a mask of whispers
And I cried – tears of desperation
Tears that flowed out of me
Relentless, unceasingly
And I prayed for peace
That only God could bring to me
Philippians 4:7 (King James Version) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
March 23, 2021
Can I love and will I ever feel want,
Smooth skin, soft with a perfect line.
I stand in the castle upon a sheer hill,
The castle of my own confine.
It’s a chilling reflection on water at night,
From our living, breathing full moon.
You’re my eye of the storm sitting in the middle,
Of a raging swirling typhoon.
I cascade and I spiral out of control,
Inside I’m every beautiful crazy rainbow.
Floating alone not steering deep down,
Free falling through my silent grotto.
When I drown you’re my air in a bubble you live,
Floating through space in the open and blue.
My quarter past ten in the greenest of forests,
You're my timber, my perfect type of you.
Dynamic ecstasy shuttles me past the powdered moon
Only to plummet downward toward the sadness of the waking shore
Oh how I dream to float amidst the gentle atmosphere
Bipolar bear drifting upon the omega iceberg.
Surrounded by a sea of salty self-pity.
Old blood on your teeth.
Nothing left to lean upon.
Nothing left to eat.
On the shore, the pharmacist juggles pills of false hope.
The tooth walkers laughing at the folly.
The warming camouflage is dying.
All weaknesses have been exposed.
A pod of orca peri scoping for an opening.
Bashing edges of the ice bear's shrinking ledge.
Soon the kerplunk of depression...
Bipolar bear is dead.
My Heart sees beauty daily pass me by,
And does not grieve nor stop to make lament,
For I have in my Heart a single eye,
That makes me know that all my love is spent
Upon the One whose face I carry still,
Which illness, fate and fortune cannot mar,
I see her Beauty reign when she is ill,
And my Heart’s bruises set a higher bar.
I must learn how Love tenderly caresses
The face of pain, disfigured by estate.
I must find my way up out of the ditches
And never curse, but bravely bear Heart’s fate.
For I have seen the throne of Beauty reign,
It has done so before, and will again.
January 2, 2019
Have you ever touched the universe
And felt its power course through your veins?
Felt the alleviation of all your pain?
Have you ever woken up in the morning
And realized you were at the very center
Of all creation?
That everything happening to you
Had a simple explanation?
Have you held a superpower in your hands
And genuinely believed you could change the world?
That you are more than just a simple girl,
I have.
I have lived as an immortal god
With a divine purpose.
Born again without the curses,
Do you know how Jesus felt
When he knew his role
Was to be sacrificed
For the good of us all?
I know it completely.
I have lived ten thousand lifetimes simultaneously
And seen the world through a fractured perspective.
How everything is connected.
I have seen the reincarnation of my grandfather
As a golden retriever no longer bothered,
I watched time reverse
And gave birth to my own universe.
Have you ever been so miserable
That your mind creates a world of its own for you to hide in?
A world of gods and heroes,
A world of ghosts and goblins?
A world where that pain you can’t run from
Means something other than a miserable existence.
Can you blame me for getting lost in such a world?
For having no resistance,
Look around you.
Is that what you call happiness?
With all your goals and all your classiness?
You don’t know the meaning of the word.
Of all the things you have incurred,
Do you know what you would feel,
If that desire you covet deep inside you was real?
You think you know misery?
Your mind knows all your darkest secrets.
Every time you spoke to Jesus,
What would you do,
If that mind started to use those secrets against you?
What if you could touch and taste and smell something imaginary?
Could you tell the difference between that and reality?
Knowing that if you get it wrong
You will be locked away from society.
Would you tether yourself to what you are told is true
And hope that society isn’t just as delusional as you?
Do you know what it means
To truly pull yourself back from the edge?
To live on the cusp between life and death?
Have you nearly killed yourself
While laughing uncontrollably? No?
Well, this is my story.
I feel so freaking, God-like good;
I feel My chest-expanding heart
and the mad frenzy in My blood,
which tear My mind and soul apart!
These urgent voices in My head
reverberate and echo loud
memories and regrets now dead
and buried in a forsaken shroud;
they scream at Me, "You're the Devil!"
They prophesy the Anti-Christ,
and accuse Me of all the evil
since mankind first became enticed.
I refuse their shrill, satanic call;
and find in the Apocalypse
that God's avenging Angel of all
is Me who is the world's eclipse.
"Not Anti-Christ!" I now reply.
"Not Devil!" I begin to shriek,
"for the Lamb of the world am I,
the Lord's Messiah for the meek!"
Sinners will know their final hour;
they will drown in their anguished cries
when I at last will know My power,
and expose all their wicked lies!
In this soft, padded cell of white
they watch and look at Me with dread;
they view Me as a monstrous blight,
and starve Me with unleavened bread.
How long is My imprisonment?
I cannot guess, divine, or tell;
but from the look of that filament,
they can keep Me for quite a spell;
"Dear God! I hate these lousy drugs,"
I howl, "that they shoot in My ass!"
They hold Me down those stupid thugs,
injecting Thorazine so fast!
They fail to grasp the true reasons
why I'm here: I wish they could see
that I can forgive their treasons,
if they would just believe in Me?
Once free again I'll be reborn,
lifted up in divine Image;
I'll end man's need for drugs and p*rn;
and prepare them for God's Marriage.
So hear My law and injunction,
the lost will burn without release
once they all know My dominion:
only then will My Rapture cease!
I hate sounding like a recorder
Knowing I am at the edge of my border
Always being served by a court order
Yeah, I have a mental disorder
Heck yeah, I suffer, I am bipolar
I stay up every night full of energy
Suffering from short term memory
My moods can last for days or weeks
I get so mad sometimes I can't speak
I don't even know what's "normal" anymore
Unexplained pain and my muscles are sore
I don't have the ability to concentrate
So I always yell when I communicate
I have unexplained sadness and crying spells
Feeling sick all the time and can't get well
Having a lot of guilt and feeling worthless
Everything around me makes me stress
Wanting to give up on my hopes and dreams
Just for the thrill, I go to the extreme
I hate sounding like a recorder
Knowing I am at the edge of my border
Always being served by a court order
Yeah, I have a mental disorder
Heck yeah, I suffer, I am bipolar...
Wild with unbounded energy tonight,
I eschew my med's; but I soon then hear
the frightful voices trumpet in my ear;
they haunt me into the stillness of night
as I transform into a monstrous sight
(a version of myself which I most fear,
and dread, as mania befalls me). Dear
God! why am I accursed with this dire plight!?
Life with bipolar disorder feels tragic,—
it's like a trial by fire, a hard test:
sometimes this dark disease makes me frantic
with madness, rapture, and profound unrest
so vile that I become full-blown manic;
then I am overwhelmed, and feel unblest!
A friendship like ours is bittersweet;—
one second we exist in peace,
and then suddenly we dash one another
to the ground beneath the other's feet!
Is there no end? Is there no cease,
in hurting and shredding the other?
I often sometimes do wonder
about us, the ebb and the flow
of our long moments together
in deep conversations, and ponder
all its meaning, breadth, and depth: the no,
the yes, the why, and the whether.
If our union of bipolar minds
and spiritual nexus shall last,
no one but us can really say;—
what counts as the future unwinds
is that we surrender the past
and embrace a more harmonious way.
The full moon kindles a bipolar mind:
like a hunter hard on his prey, the nights
revive a dark, dysphoric mood; then grind
the soul to abject lows from perfect heights.
And when from states of bliss to states of woe
the spirit goes, even a soul born high
longs for eternal sleep where the dead go;
where the departed no more howl or cry.
But if this dire dilemma be the soul's plight,
then it will fight fate with its utmost breath:
though it may succumb to life's hellish flight,
where madness can be an end worse than death!
Some might change, and find some meaning again:
but most adjust, while others go insane.