I hang happily
from translucent silken thread
decorated with clear, scented dewdrops,
suspended from my own private heaven
with rainbow cover to protect the dream.
See vast universe of me – rotating
spheres, whole worlds within,
revolving system
of intergalactic
mystery.

When medicine works
I see me: a molecule.
Subatomic particles, quirky quarks
bounce around, their energies recombined
to produce results rare, unexpected.
A day that begins with positive charge,
zip-zap trip to moon,
shifts in an instant
to negativity,
depression.

Swinging manic,
or so still I’m convinced I’m
dead – either way I have come to see how
biochemical imbalance, high-low
sliding scale of functionality steals
safety, serenity. Not easily
fixed, in constant flux,
this damned disorder.
Volatile condition
stymies me.

Boxed in, encircled
by perceptions distorted
and thinking skewed, I’ve been misunderstood.
I have been painted as all brightness or,
worse, labeled a dark spirit, cast aside.
Still, I wonder whether this pain, dis-ease,
might release rising
floods of imagery
to make a way for me,
set me free.