Poetry

I hit the boards at Seaside Heights, not the surfboards, but the boardwalk. Surfboarding- -ugh- too fearful to try it. I was wondering what I could do to allay some of my fears, namely my fear of heights. I came across the ferris wheel  at  Casino Pier. I looked up to the tippy-top. It may as well be One Conservatory in NYC. “Too high.” was my immediate thought as my stomach turned upside down doing flip flops and cartwheels within me. In my mind, I scanned the top view of the ferris wheel  looking out over the ocean. I imagined it toppling into the sea  Like it did during hurricane Sandy. Then, I imagined drowning in the ocean below. The sky looked sunny enough, clear not a cloud in sight. I was without excuse. I found myself walking in the direction of the ticket booth with cash in hand. “What if I throw out my back?” That was my next thought. “This is not a roller coaster, stupid!” I chastised myself. I slowly handed over my money  to  the cashier. She s...

I don’t t exactly remember  when I became a slave. I thought it was my birth rite according to my view through the cave. There were no barriers to speak of that hindered my release, it should’ve been obvious. I could’ve walked out any time, but I was oblivious. If you had told me it was an easy escape just straight head, I would’ve said you are crazy. I would’ve said stopping my trained pacing back and forth would be lazy. My isolation in the cave  created the lens of my worldview. until I dared to believe my escape  would eventually lead to You. You came inside my cave several times as I would allow until You made me angry that my cave was to be disavowed. I screamed at You  that my soul didn’t need to be saved. Of course, that would be my mindset  in my view through the cave. I would then get angry with myself As I thought I wasn’t worth saving, even if it was the Way out of Perdition  I've been craving. You told me outside the cave  Is the Way out o...

While growing up, I listened to Karen Carpenter songs. I love her. I miss her. Don’t we all? A few of her songs defined my whole life. This included  the song “Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down.” As Mondays go, I dreaded they’re  forthcoming. Laughing at myself knowing they’re inevitable. How silly of me. As rain goes, it served as a disappointment that stopped all the good in life. It ruined everything. Barbeques, outdoor weddings, slippery slopes to trips to the mall. Rain became the trope of my story. I filed my life  under D for Dismal. Especially after I was served a diagnosis for severe Bipolar disorder. I thought BPD was for others, and not for me. I looked down  my nose at it. Until I found myself simply looking down. If I didn’t know better,  which I didn’t, I would have known how BPD could  contribute to  the positive stuff  in my life, creating a new life for me to become a better  version of myself. I could learn to love a...

  When I was sent to the rubber room I had no idea  that the doctors and other staff wore straight jackets. Mind boggling as it is, they absolutely should be drawing their needles and  multi-colored pills upon my waking  in drab quarters  complete with a bathroom that has no locks. They think I will somehow  try to hurt myself behind locked doors like trying to  jam my finger down my throat  in efforts to choke  on  my own vomit. My meals don’t exactly consist of steak and eggs. Try green-tinted pizza,  and slimy spaghetti writhing in questionable watery tomato sauce. And the arts and crafts room? Oh, please don’t get me started! I’m a little too old for crayons and finger paints! I should have never revealed that I wanted to off myself like a dictator  such as the Queen of Hearts of my own life. It was never my life  to do such a thing, anyway. Now, I’m here, singing “poor me” to the resident psychiatrist about this shit ...