Bipolar Dreams, Bipolar Tangles
Naked before this forest, this dream
I stand, a withering tree,
something has happened
at a young age, to me
and I can’t claw my way out
from a hopeless history
for I’m staid in the tangled roots we carry
I think of my mother,
whom I loved so dear
her
bouquet of flowers
were dowsed in fear
twice used
and thorny
and never for me
Love thy parents
was the command
it’s your lifeblood
in all the land
for it makes you
good and true and
and pure and right
they say
and yet there’s no escape, anyway
their yes’s and no’s
woven inside
your mindset
that harsh initiation
into the carnivorous
labyrinth you’ll continue to weave
one among a sea of many
lost in the tangled roots we carry
the rain is pouring
beating, imploring
me from my hopeless history
what do I see but a strange foggy mystery
I feel the reaper lurking near
and though alarmed, half dazed, I hear
that I’ve looked at life through
shapeshifting lenses
I thought I’d escaped
and changed my breath
But I’d only been gifted a kaleidoscope
to see again and again
what was done to my hope
For this day, she
did not feel what I
felt
could not see what I
saw
did not dare to
care, about that plainly spoken law
of children
that they need to be
sincerely believed
to have their souls, sweet souls relieved
of the burden, of no gain
in a life born of pain
love and flesh
and constant war
don’t force upon them
my shapeshifting lenses, that cut to my core
and murder the mind to which I swore
Standing, I, as a withering tree
I see the reaper,
but I lose sight
this dream
this poem
was it worth or not worth
the time that I roam?
American writer from Ukraine. Sometimes I wonder: Are my perceptions and understandings of life real or are they dreams that have no merit? Having been subject to a childhood where my feelings (and I) were invalidated and judged, it’s hard to trust any part of me.
In writing poetry, I go through moments where I’m so sure that I am getting somewhere, to some kernel of truth about something, and then inevitably a shift happens where I see from a completely different lens (shapeshifting lens) and believe that all the labor I put into developing my past vision was for nothing, and thus it continues.
I think this is connected to my childhood and learning to not trust myself. It’s hard to realize my dreams when I don’t believe my dreams for very long. It’s painful. Somewhere in the mix of all this lives my bipolar diagnosis. I welcome feedback.
