i’ve already had my fifteen minutes
& now all i have are my hours.
the only thing quicker than the clock
is me
so fast to forget my tracks, the trail,
& all the tremulous time it took to get here.
i’ve the unique ability
to fit twelve months in a week or two
while other times it takes me
a year to disappear & drown a day;
i’ve been blessed with beeps & bright lights
bipolar is a time disorder;
when i awoke it was january,
but by lunch it’s june.
anticipation is another word for anxiety
who knew you could confuse the two
just by changing a couple letters.
the beginning is like dusty leather
coolcrispcrinkles against my skin
i’m afraid to be an open book, afraid of what i’ll find,
afraid that if i look, i’ll never be the same (again) (this happens every time) —
the flicker of anticipation that quivers in my stomach
that bubbles through my throat
courses it’s way up&down my veins
feels like i’m dropping out —
you are my kinda familiar you are my favorite sound
i am constantly refreshing & i am counting down,
i am getting my numbers all messed up
but again, that’s kinda my thing.
“it’s been a while”, you’d say,
& i’d agree,
but i’m still here:
just standing outside the doorway in the wind, waiting for my mind… . . . .
snap back to reality, and boom
again i cannot breathe
sometimes i’m surprised i’m still surviving —
cool irony that these’r
the only things that shock me
with some kind of consistency.
& now i’m too nervous
so i put it off —
my stomach has wings & i’ll take a minute or two
to chase it around the room
on two left feet &
arms that don’t reach.
dancingindarkrooms 