[Jensitive22]

I wrote this poem a few years after my diagnosis. It's called Riding the Train.

On a dark and empty train I am a solitary rider
A sad and lonely journey through tunnels filled with shadows.
Taking seats around me, they whisper words of anguish
that break my heart and leave me, cold and in despair.

The train begins to slow for a stop that lies ahead
The shadows rise to leave their seats for those who wait to board.
They buzz around me like angry bees, their agitation stinging
leaving welts of irritation that pop beneath my skin.

The train is growing brighter, angry voices turn to laughter
Music beats a rhythm through me
It grabs my hands and sends me spinning into arms that want to hold me
Kissing mouths of strangers willing
Firecrackers blasting loudly
Burning hot inside my head.

Speeding trains run out of steam, bright lights begin to sputter
The plug is pulled, the music quiets and party hats roll down the aisle.
My body tired, droops in a seat, my mind is numb and reeling
Another ride on the crazy train has chewed me up and spit me out.

[Daonnachd]

I like the rhythm, but the image of train in tunnels is great.

Thanks for sharing it.

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by vertigo

I like the rhythm, but the image of train in tunnels is great.

Thanks for sharing it.

Thank you Vertigo for reading my poem and commenting on it.

Your poem is very beautiful, very sad, full of emotion. Hugs and thank you for sharing your talent with us.

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by ElsaMars

Your poem is very beautiful, very sad, full of emotion. Hugs and thank you for sharing your talent with us.

Thank you ElsaMars for your comment and encouragement.

[Wild Coyote]

Hi Jensitive,

Great poem!

I read it several times.
Interesting imagery.
Cool tempo.
It would be fascinating to hear you read it. (If only that were possible. Poems always have more meaning with the author reading.)

I hope you write more! Please do share if you wish. I will enjoy them.
Have you ever thought of starting a poetry blog or something like that?

I've really enjoyed your poem and would like to show it to a few friends.

Thanks for the gift!
You truly offered us a gift!

With Admiration and Gratitude,
WC

[RomanJames2014]

It's very good. I wrote a poem about 7months ago regarding my bipolar and the meds I was taking...

Pills.
Pills.
Pills.
Capsules that lock me in a cell
Of padded walls.

As I throw them down the well,
I fall in after.

I land on my back and try to get up
But all I can do is lay there stuck.

Wishing it was over.
Wishing it wasn't.
I begin to ponder.
Of things many just can't.

I'm up all night and I go for a walk.
Just me and the night.
The blue hued black sky.
For when I take those stupid pills,
I feel the numbing bite.
From life.

Pills

Morning dawns
And I begin to yawn.
Today shall not be easy.

Pills

I begin to crash
And I continue to fast.
Coffee enters the room in a rather dashing manner.
And yet like a Phoenix,
I rise from the ashes and clammer
Of my pulsing grave.

I feel empowered.
I feel strong.
I feel like I am that chosen ONE.

Hunger is absent
And so am I.
School is beneath me as I begin to roam the streets of the city.
Happy little tears
I cry

My mind is one with the Trains
That stem.
And for today it is just me and them.
These sky scrapers

And they contain.
All the things my mind must refrain
From accessing.
Roofs to waltz off of.

Pills

Music is loud and so are my thoughts.
I feel good as if I am on top.
I am a God with wings that soar and I look down on the city.
All the others on its floor.

Dancing is my true mode of transportation.
A drive that doesn't require a license.
I can do anything until I crash.

I am a sexy Porsche
Radiant euphoria.
I go fast fast fast until I spiral out of control.

I hit 195
I feel the most alive.
Just as I smell the danger.

Like rain or black ice
Swerve
Screech
Crash

Pills

My pieces are everywhere

I'm Shattered glass.

I roll out and onto the floor.
Wishing life was no more.

Dreaming of graves and skeletal raves.
I begin to crawl
My legato rumba
Back Into my bed.

The sun burns as life turns black.
And I am all just a small linen hill.
Consuming nothing But
Pills
Pills
Pills.

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Originally Posted by Jensitive22

I wrote this poem a few years after my diagnosis. It's called Riding the Train.

On a dark and empty train I am a solitary rider
A sad and lonely journey through tunnels filled with shadows.
Taking seats around me, they whisper words of anguish
that break my heart and leave me, cold and in despair.

The train begins to slow for a stop that lies ahead
The shadows rise to leave their seats for those who wait to board.
They buzz around me like angry bees, their agitation stinging
leaving welts of irritation that pop beneath my skin.

The train is growing brighter, angry voices turn to laughter
Music beats a rhythm through me
It grabs my hands and sends me spinning into arms that want to hold me
Kissing mouths of strangers willing
Firecrackers blasting loudly
Burning hot inside my head.

Speeding trains run out of steam, bright lights begin to sputter
The plug is pulled, the music quiets and party hats roll down the aisle.
My body tired, droops in a seat, my mind is numb and reeling
Another ride on the crazy train has chewed me up and spit me out.

Amazing poetry. Gripping images, very moving. It reads as though it were a dream. Was this poem based on a dream you had? I have written several short stories based on dreams. For a while I was taking a medication (I forget what it was) and so I had these amazing "story dreams" that lasted all night long. Hours and hours. They were great grist for my writing mill.

[quote=RomanJames2014;5163311]It's very good. I wrote a poem about 7months ago regarding my bipolar and the meds I was taking...

Pills.
Pills.
Pills.
Capsules that lock me in a cell
Of padded walls.

[more in the poem]

In reading your poem, I feel a combination of sad and troubled. You have very well described/experienced the experience of what it's like to be bipolar. Or multipolar, as it's starting to be called. The pills - to use an old phrase -- can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by Wild Coyote

Hi Jensitive,

Great poem!

I read it several times.
Interesting imagery.
Cool tempo.
It would be fascinating to hear you read it. (If only that were possible. Poems always have more meaning with the author reading.)

I hope you write more! Please do share if you wish. I will enjoy them.
Have you ever thought of starting a poetry blog or something like that?

I've really enjoyed your poem and would like to show it to a few friends.

Thanks for the gift!
You truly offered us a gift!

With Admiration and Gratitude,
WC

WC,
Thank you for reading my poem and for the kind words and encouragement. While many with BP use oils and water colors to paint what they see and feel, some of us use words to "paint" our pictures.
Jen

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by RomanJames2014

It's very good. I wrote a poem about 7months ago regarding my bipolar and the meds I was taking...

Pills.
Pills.
Pills.
Capsules that lock me in a cell
Of padded walls.

As I throw them down the well,
I fall in after.

I land on my back and try to get up
But all I can do is lay there stuck.

Wishing it was over.
Wishing it wasn't.
I begin to ponder.
Of things many just can't.

I'm up all night and I go for a walk.
Just me and the night.
The blue hued black sky.
For when I take those stupid pills,
I feel the numbing bite.
From life.

Pills

Morning dawns
And I begin to yawn.
Today shall not be easy.

Pills

I begin to crash
And I continue to fast.
Coffee enters the room in a rather dashing manner.
And yet like a Phoenix,
I rise from the ashes and clammer
Of my pulsing grave.

I feel empowered.
I feel strong.
I feel like I am that chosen ONE.

Hunger is absent
And so am I.
School is beneath me as I begin to roam the streets of the city.
Happy little tears
I cry

My mind is one with the Trains
That stem.
And for today it is just me and them.
These sky scrapers

And they contain.
All the things my mind must refrain
From accessing.
Roofs to waltz off of.

Pills

Music is loud and so are my thoughts.
I feel good as if I am on top.
I am a God with wings that soar and I look down on the city.
All the others on its floor.

Dancing is my true mode of transportation.
A drive that doesn't require a license.
I can do anything until I crash.

I am a sexy Porsche
Radiant euphoria.
I go fast fast fast until I spiral out of control.

I hit 195
I feel the most alive.
Just as I smell the danger.

Like rain or black ice
Swerve
Screech
Crash

Pills

My pieces are everywhere

I'm Shattered glass.

I roll out and onto the floor.
Wishing life was no more.

Dreaming of graves and skeletal raves.
I begin to crawl
My legato rumba
Back Into my bed.

The sun burns as life turns black.
And I am all just a small linen hill.
Consuming nothing But
Pills
Pills
Pills.

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

RJ,
I love how you use language to describe the rise and the fall of your mood. The imagery is dark, fast and urgent, ecstatic and desperate, and quietly resigned. I loved your poem.
Jen

Here's a poem I wrote in 1997, about 3 years after my dx of bipolar II. More information about the true nature of wolves is below the poem.

wolf cry

I am a wolf.
I am a wolf animal.
Long, lean and rangy.
You can't change me.

I am a wolf animal.
Scraggly, mean and mangy.
Don't try to change me.

I'm a wolf animal.
Dodgy and cagey.
Some things enrage me.
You can't cage me.

I am a wolf.
Gentle with her cubs
Playful when rubbed.
Member of tribe.
I can't take bribes.

I am a wolf.
I am an animal.
I scramble,
I jump,
nip my partner on the rump.
I die if tortured,
but a small bump
is only a bother.

I am a wolf
I am a wolf animal.
Some people try to cage me.
They enrage me.
If they look for my tracks
I attack.
If they leave me my home
I leave them alone.

Finale:
They call me "manic-depressive"
They call me "aggressive"
I'm not possessive -- let them call me
their names.
I'll use my name.
I am an animal. I am alive. I am.







[For more information about the nature of wolves, read] "Never Cry Wolf" by Farley Mowat
"Women Who Run With The Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by flowerbells

Amazing poetry. Gripping images, very moving. It reads as though it were a dream. Was this poem based on a dream you had? I have written several short stories based on dreams. For a while I was taking a medication (I forget what it was) and so I had these amazing "story dreams" that lasted all night long. Hours and hours. They were great grist for my writing mill.

FB,
I am a vivid dreamer as well, but, no, the poem was written while taking a creative writing class. I often think in concrete pictures and analogies to understand and explain abstract ideas. I was looking for an image, the train, to show the journey of bipolar disorder.
Thank you for your comments and kind words.
Jen

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by flowerbells

Here's a poem I wrote in 1997, about 3 years after my dx of bipolar II. More information about the true nature of wolves is below the poem.

wolf cry

I am a wolf.
I am a wolf animal.
Long, lean and rangy.
You can't change me.

I am a wolf animal.
Scraggly, mean and mangy.
Don't try to change me.

I'm a wolf animal.
Dodgy and cagey.
Some things enrage me.
You can't cage me.

I am a wolf.
Gentle with her cubs
Playful when rubbed.
Member of tribe.
I can't take bribes.

I am a wolf.
I am an animal.
I scramble,
I jump,
nip my partner on the rump.
I die if tortured,
but a small bump
is only a bother.

I am a wolf
I am a wolf animal.
Some people try to cage me.
They enrage me.
If they look for my tracks
I attack.
If they leave me my home
I leave them alone.

Finale:
They call me "manic-depressive"
They call me "aggressive"
I'm not possessive -- let them call me
their names.
I'll use my name.
I am an animal. I am alive. I am.







[For more information about the nature of wolves, read] "Never Cry Wolf" by Farley Mowat
"Women Who Run With The Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

FB,
What a poem of strength, determination and refusal to be processed, packaged and labeled by society's perception of who you are. You have chosen your own identity, as you identify with the wolf and use it as an anchor to strengthen define yourself. Great poem!
Jen

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by flowerbells

Here's a poem I wrote in 1997, about 3 years after my dx of bipolar II. More information about the true nature of wolves is below the poem.

wolf cry

I am a wolf.
I am a wolf animal.
Long, lean and rangy.
You can't change me.

I am a wolf animal.
Scraggly, mean and mangy.
Don't try to change me.

I'm a wolf animal.
Dodgy and cagey.
Some things enrage me.
You can't cage me.

I am a wolf.
Gentle with her cubs
Playful when rubbed.
Member of tribe.
I can't take bribes.

I am a wolf.
I am an animal.
I scramble,
I jump,
nip my partner on the rump.
I die if tortured,
but a small bump
is only a bother.

I am a wolf
I am a wolf animal.
Some people try to cage me.
They enrage me.
If they look for my tracks
I attack.
If they leave me my home
I leave them alone.

Finale:
They call me "manic-depressive"
They call me "aggressive"
I'm not possessive -- let them call me
their names.
I'll use my name.
I am an animal. I am alive. I am.







[For more information about the nature of wolves, read] "Never Cry Wolf" by Farley Mowat
"Women Who Run With The Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

FB,
What a poem of strength, determination and refusal to be processed, packaged and labeled by society's perception of who you are. You have chosen your own identity, as you identify with the wolf and use it as an anchor to strengthen and define yourself. Great poem!
Jen

[Jensitive22]

Originally Posted by Jensitive22

FB,
What a poem of strength, determination and refusal to be processed, packaged and labeled by society's perception of who you are. You have chosen your own identity, as you identify with the wolf and use it as an anchor to strengthen and define yourself. Great poem!
Jen

Sorry for posting this twice. My bad. Lol