|Posted by Jenn on April 17, 2012 at 11:25 AM|
You have been given a number:
don’t forget it, lose it, or give it away
You lose your “access to mental help”
with an emphasis on mental,
but you have to shake it off, along with the
other terms: meds, ding buiscuits, psycho,
your social security number-your medicaid card,
food stamp card-but everyone talks to you
like you have no brain in your head
no joy in your heart, no love to give.
you know which psychiatric units to avoid,
which ones treat you decent.
But your mama is by your side
the whole waywith every heartbreak, every disappointment
But you see the worry in her eyes, the fear in her heart.
You want to soothe her about what doesn’t make sense,
but how? it doesn’t make sense to you.
You are not perfect-to any man, you
fear he sees damaged goods, and what you lost
You cannot get back. You are so high, on top of the world
Looking down on creation, as the old song goes.
Then, the higher you go, the higher you soar….
The harder you crash. You sleep for days,
Again, you see the worry in your mama’s eyes
The fear in her heart.
How do you soothe what you don’t understand?
Note: After about one year, I re-wrote this, a poem I call “Fear rushes In.” Unlike Kathy and Shea, I found out what I have is PTSD/Panic Disorder-not in fact bipolar as originally thought.
When Fear Rushes In
One that shows us our lives had moved in slow motion,
And for what leaves us reeling.
Is the One Moment that leaves us seeing
Just how Fragile life can be.
I wish often for many things,
The passage of time is not one.
It goes fast enough as we age and find we are
Not puppets on some string.
People, kids, and everything is about how far
We have come.
Others, they are in a forward step.
What kind of walk we’re in depends on us,
The way we walk it us is how we’ve kept
Clean what is ours, and separate what isn’t ours
How far, how fast, we’ve lept
From one step to the next.
As how we spend it.
And with whom we spend each minute we sit,
Is every bit as dangerous as others
Greed, lazy, and one of arrogance
is every bit the hazard as violence, perhaps more.
As the words themselves.
People remember what they will
And zero in on detail we don’t always draw