Caught In The Cracks

Regretfully, I failed to separate my halves,

so now I can’t think of myself as just Me.

My Past haunts me, maybe that’s the wrench

in my machine; She knows I’ve lost my spine.

But maybe I wasn’t always so scared of Her.

Or maybe I’ve been scared since the start.

Maybe I’m stuck with my Former Self,

Maybe I’m stuck in-between Her and

the distant land where there’s still hope and light.

But under all my worries and doubts,

I find that good intentions can foster change.

I truly believe deeds that encourage benevolence

will keep my heart and mind at bay.

Will counteract those negative interactions with Her.

Now I can have thoughts with my Future Self, but

she asks to fight with the Previous Me…

*

At the very start, I knew they couldn’t see me.

But despite that, the thought of belonging was alluring.

I couldn’t help but dream, maybe dreaming is all I have.

But it turns out I was burying Myself deep in the trenches,

escaping to lose Myself once again in “before”

and “later,” under the pretense of practicing self-care.

It was kindness as a cloak for madness.

But then who would blame the silly girl.

The girl who needs to keep maladaptively daydreaming

just to muffle all the noise of the backdrop called reality.

How cruel and how harsh it was to keep

persisting with words of encouragement.

It kept me from taking my much needed medicine.

But it’s bubbling now, and no one likes hot cough syrup.

So it is now up to me to be open and honest even if they

cannot see me, but they will in due time.

Still, even now I see people don’t read between the lines.

They invent what they wish to see and

they don’t ask who, or when, or why.

So when I fall down, you mock me again.

I see you don’t get what any of this means,

you just caught me at a bad time.

Somewhere in the cracks of my facade.

Trust that this is the last time

that I’ll reveal these cracks to you.

*

My bipolar disorder yearns so badly

to control me. Eats what I’ll give to it, so

I quickly deny it. I’ll live my own life

not constrained in a diagnostic cage.

I will break the cycle of trauma.

It’s what stands in-between me, and true freedom.

But now I know for certain, at last I see the truth.

That having freedom is the least of my worries because

none of this matters. So then why do I still

feel that if I’m not my perfect self,

then all my existence is forfeit?

If not now, then when will I truly recover?

Why must these questions be unaccompanied

by answers? Can they be neither or both?

I’m left hanging right here on the ends of question marks,

I won’t progress nor will I retreat because

I know that there is no way left to be.