Going for walks in the hood,
you walked ahead on the grass
When I stopped, you did also,
I talked to you as we went along.

I loved the way you looked both ways
continuously when crossing the streets,
I marveled at the intellect that was you
taking enormous pride that we belonged.

We traveled everywhere together,
in my 1967 Pontiac goat(GTO) you rode
resting in my lap, with window view,
on my motorcycle, nestled inside my jacket.

You left me
To be with her

You drank her down
And came home to me

You thought I wouldn’t know
But I could smell her on your breath

---

You brought her home
And I let it slide

Again and again
I found her in my bed

I finally gained the courage
To tell you no more

“If you bring her home again
I won’t stick around”

And you brought her home again.
It was between me and her…

You chose her.
And I’m sorry…

Sorry,
That I wasn’t your drug of choice.

I spread out my blanket and laid down on the ground.
I stared up at the stars,
Not looking for anything, just with my thoughts.

The stars danced around until they looked like you.
They had your same cheesy smile,
Your same bright eyes,
Your same curly hair.

I closed my eyes only to reopen them
And see that you were still there.

You asked what was wrong,
Said maybe I could talk to you about it.
I told you to go away.

You reached out to caress my face from the galaxies
And I turned away.

Here’s the thing about being bipolar

Everyone knows about
the depression…

Everyone knows about
the mania…

But no one knows about
The time in between

The transition
Between phases

You feel nothing.
You feel numb.

I can’t cry
I can’t laugh
I can’t yell
I can’t feel

It’s as if
Something crawled under my skin
And into my soul
And took everything when it left.

And here I am,
Left with my emptiness
My nothingness
Waiting for the next phase…

Daddy woke me up very early,
Said we would go out
fishing for our breakfast,
have a good time, no doubt

The sky was still very dark but alive
as we gathered ourselves in the boat.
No motor broke the silence, only oars,
we paddled out a way, then just float...

I was seven but I could bait my own hook
Just as I was taught, he smiled down on me,
using worms, I took care of daddy's line too
we anchored in a cove under the bower of a tree.

My best friend gave me the truth, his age when I asked, thirty-two, in his dark brown leather jacket.
First and last time I ever asked that question, all dressed in white, sunny day of first communion.
Slight hesitation before he spilled the beans, knowing the truth couldn’t hurt, and didn’t.
Still have pictures from that day, a sunny day, back in the nineteen fifties, Saint Michaels Church.

Dear heart, this is no easy road
We've set ourselves to take
The rocks are sharp, the falls are steep,
It's so easy to break
Over the stress, the hopes, the fears,
The dreams unrealized.
This road was easier to walk, dear heart,
When it was fantasized.

I remember the days
we’d stay on the phone all night

We’d fall asleep on the call,
just so we could wake up together the next day.

I used to think
“It can’t get better than this”

---

I lie here,
held in your arms
the safest place I could ever be

The colder the night
The closer you hold me

I think to myself:
It really can’t get better than this

---

9 months of waiting
We held our son for the first time

Really, It can’t get better than this…

---

Loving has always been second nature for me.
Even when I don’t want to,
When I know it will hurt me,
I love everyone around me with my entire heart,
Body,
And soul.

Some people have taken advantage of this.
They know they have my love to fall back on,
So they give their hearts away
To girls who are not me,
While crushing mine in their fist.

It’s not an easy task,
Being the one before The One,
But I don’t necessarily mind doing it.

Moon fills the northland, with an index finger pressed over its lips, gently whispering, “Quiet”,
with its foggy glow, wraps a dimming gift of presents, for the heavens, and you.

Mellow dew sparkles the floor where you catch your reflection in a shadow.
Blue eyes of daytime mirror mysteries of times past reflect, in your wisdom of thinking.
“I love this”, silent words that flow from your cool steamed breath, a Sunday church song.
Bare feet slide forward on the cold soft blades of newborn meadow fronds.