Retire the roller coaster analogy. This bullshit is a storm during hurricane season, a tornado in the midwest. Sucks no matter how you analogize it, though.

The looming storm.

Approaching apocalypse.

Impending doom, though it’ll never really reach you. Will it?

Forever in the distance,

But close enough to drench you,

Drag you,

Overpower you.

Gray, no –black.

Devoid of everything but full, too full, of everything at the same time.

Dull, but as a painful sort of sensation.

Jagged edges, not quite like a razor, not enough to frighten most people

But when applied continuously, persistently,

Do enough damage, do more damage.

(Although the edges get sharper as time stretches on,

How is that possible?)

With the patience of death lurking around the corner from certain catastrophe,

It comes.

Hits like a hurricane touching down on the coastline,

Like a tornado touching down,

Shredding everything in its path with the force of pure chaos on its side.

It comes. It destroys.


And then it leaves.

Abruptly. Gradually?

It leaves. Eventually.

You are left among the wreckage,

Life and all that it holds strewn about,

Tossed around like garbage. (It adds insult to injury)

The tattered pieces,

The frayed connections that tie who you were to who you now are,

They’re barely even present anymore.

But you. You…

You are tasked with putting it all together again.

Making sense of it,

But not the same sense it had before.

Put the puzzle together but arrange the shards of it differently.

How very disturbing that you’re in this place, again,

But the reworking, the rebuilding, the reconnecting…

Creates a mosaic. It’s the best you can do.


It’s beautiful, especially from a distance.

Especially from this safe distance.

You’ve removed yourself from it…for protective purposes.

Meanwhile, you make an emergency plan, map out your escape route,

Hoping to hell you’ll never have to use it.

You hide the sticks of dynamite, may they never be found

By the looming storm, the approaching apocalypse,

That is still, STILL in the distance.

i suck at poetry, but sometimes trying to be artsy about this nonsense is the best way to go


“how do you catch a cloud and pin it down”
what a stupid fucking question, a metaphor that doesn’t beg an answer
because why would you want to capture nothingness and keep it locked in place?
it asks how you can do something impossible, & to that we can either answer “you can’t”
or, if you want to be inspirational, with “be creative, find another way to look at the
problem, capture the essence of the cloud instead of the actual thing,”
the whole sentence is utter bullshit.
but that damned cloud, the damned vagueness of its meaning, the impossible task I am
faced with in figuring it out, it plagues me.
it’s elusiveness is wild in its ability to defeat me.
how do I latch onto one strong thought, a single, powerful distraction,
(the epitome of “nothingness” if I’ve ever heard one)
and keep it held within my grasp
so as to not feel surrounded by such tumultuous chaos?
drowned in the anguish of searching for the safety of certainty and never getting it?
metaphorical answers aren’t required, I know, but­­­­­­ I want them & cannot grasp them.
trite descriptions of moods and energy changes and bleak, dull reality
have been used too often, have overstayed their welcome.
in this fleeting, fly-by of emotional torture, in this not knowing how to catch a cloud
and pin it the fuck down,
I am giving up.

Waking up like “how long will it take for the weight of the day ahead to smash me into a bad mood,” and spending time to counteract life’s crap

woke up feeling shitty and anxious and mopey

spent lots of time wondering why i felt that way and thinking about confusing shit about how i have to constantly readjust my moods and how i’m literally just unsure of how to do that at this point

taking my adhd meds helped because now i can at least focus on something distracting or productive

ingesting hella caffeine is making me feel better too

and my favorite band (reel big fish) playing in the background is working to make me not feel shitty



and now for a vaguely poetic brain dump


Wake up.

It’s comfortable at first, and then the world hits you.

Mind too big in a world too small.

Or perhaps the opposite.

Because there are too many thoughts,

Too much noise at too high a volume,

But there’s too much room for it all to fly free in total chaos

Which means you have to focus,

Use specific, deliberate effort to adjust and readjust.

It requires all of you,

The effort,

The fight, from within and without, against unseen demons.

And as you look around at the confusion

That has nearly turned your mind,

Too big and too small,

Into ruins.

Get it out.

It’s urgent to do so.

Spill it, pour it, put it elsewhere,

Into the ether

Or onto a page that may or may not be read

Or even remembered.

An hour into consciousness and you’re tired and unsure.

Anxious? Depressed? Empty?

(You are continually putting words to the intangible,

But somehow can’t when it comes to emotions, those mercurial things).

Take your meds. Drink some water. Eat something.

What are you even doing,

Sitting there comatose when you have shit to do?

Inhale. Exhale.

How can you hold it together today?

What’s the plan (you’ll be lost without one)?

Put on some music,

Your favorite band,

Turn it up.

The forceful pressure recedes, permitting some sort of flow,

Some influx of something that resembles calm,

Some release.

Your mind shrinks,

Or perhaps grows,

But you’re not analyzing it so you feel better.

Your free-flying thoughts organize into

What is more reminiscent of graduation caps mid-air,

Thrown up in celebration of achievement.

Still messy.

It’ll take time to find your cap, the one you were looking for.

That doesn’t necessarily matter;

The photographer snapped a picture and the frozen moment makes you happy.


So maybe, you think, there’s something to strive for

In the potential to turn a day around

(or a month, a year, a life).

Potential for new thoughts,

For finding happiness as opposed to forcing something vaguely similar to it,

For not letting sadness with when all else fails

Because you’re coming at life with full force.

Although survival mode played its role,

It’s in the past for now.

So tomorrow if you have to drag yourself out of bed

As you doubt your ability to get through the day,

Don’t wallow in confusion.

Let it out, find the words, 

Take your meds, drink some water, eat something.

Breathe. Music.

Let your mind shift, take shape, rearrange and reorganize.

Give it time, don’t dwell, stay calm, and fight hard.

After all,

Haven’t you proven your strength to yourself yet?

People will criticize your dreams,

Layer doubt and uncertainty on your consciousness

Because they don’t understand

The intensity and ferocity of your fire,

With its red passion,

Aggressively orange desire,

And burning yellow optimism,

Your fire, your eternal, internal warmth,

With its propensity to spread, to expand.

They’ll approach the ladder you’re steadily climbing

And insist you’ve missed a rung or two,

As if you haven’t reached a higher altitude already.

They’ll warn of the dangers that lay above you

Without regarding the successful resilience of your past

Or the Houdini-style escapes you’ve scraped your way through.

“You can’t marry the mood,” they’ll chime,

Thinking they’re ringing out like virtuous bells of truth.

But if I can’t marry the moon,

Explain to me why I’ve been bathed gloriously in its light

Why it’s soothed my dubiety,

Quelled my ever-questioning mind.

Explain why it’s kissed me goodnight

After I’ve collapsed into a cocoon of blankets and pillows,

Exhausted from the efforts I’ve left behind,

Whispering in my ear that the sun is going to rise again soon,

Powering the winds of renewal

Like my perfectly-paced, everlasting forward motion.



You are a fighter

which is another word for

magically resilient…

openly battling an enemy,

heart like a fist punching the wind out of opposition

however much of it there is.

A fighter,

you are a threat to life’s struggles, however strong they may be

(or seem to be).

A force to be reckoned with

because goddammit giving up isn’t an option.

Collector of emotions extreme,

sometimes (all times) aggressively powerful…

You are a fighter at all times, in all places

partially because you have to be

but mostly

because you simply are as you are

*keep fighting



Morning Affirmations

The sky woke up with a dull, gray covering this morning. And although I usually prefer when dawn chases the night away, forcing it to retreat while purples become pinks become oranges, I’m trying to view this rainy, stormy day as a potential adventure. The heavens are open, life-giving water is pouring into the earth, and the sound of rolling thunder is somehow calming. I’m at my favorite coffee shop. The meditative, chattering background noise along with the raindrops pitter-pattering against the large window in front of me soothes my mind —which is fairly quiet this morning compared to a typical day in my life. I’m taking slow, full breaths, inhaling the deep aroma of freshly brewed coffee and positivity. Exhaling thoughts of today’s potential chaos. My insides are expanding to allow space for observation; today I will watch my emotions flow back and forth, melting into one another, as an impartial judge. I refuse to contract, to fold into myself. I refuse to decrease in size, to shrivel into fear, to let myself tighten when I needn’t let myself tighten. I am vast and all-encompassing. I greet this day with a curious disposition. And as I sit here in contemplative stillness as the world and I wake up, gaining conscious preparedness, following the tried-and-true routines that keep us safely secured amid the rush of life, I know I can retain the cozy comfort of this rainy, stormy morning.

Still some fight in me

My car has always been a sort of limbo;
I wait here, time passing.
I am not patient but still content
to stay here listening to classical music
(some of which I remember playing, years ago)
that reminds me I have a past
that was full of pain and torment but
also of
music and its reverberating explosions that send shockwaves of unimaginable hope through my being,
out my arteries, down through my fingertips,
and carried back to my heart with triumph.
I cannot always hang tight into that hope
(I don’t know anyone who has a right to blame me).
I cannot always see a way to weather the storms
(that come fast and hard, quicker than ever now, gaining intensity and ferocity)…but
I am intensity. I am ferocity.
I cannot always know this, see this, understand this, feel this.
But it doesn’t change that I am.
So I sit in limbo. Waiting, time passing…
Minutes march on,
thank some sort of god that they do,
and I’m surviving
(though not always actively).
How often have I sat here in the in-between?
Does it even matter?
Does anything?
I don’t have to know.
I’m wearing makeup and earrings
and a shirt that says “hello sunshine;”
I clearly have some sort of fight left in me.

A poem about my daily life that ends far too optimistically, but whatever…

She woke before seven, excitement abundant, still groggy but ready to thrive.
She sprang out of bed (or did something like that); it was morning and she was alive!

With a handful of pills and a few sips of water, she began with a plea to stay stable.
Then came washing and dressing, while counting each blessing…the gratitude made her feel able.

The birds started chirping, the world started waking, the sun started brightening the sky.
The quiet was punctured, (perhaps that was better), and then the thoughts started to fly…

With resolve she stayed focused on what she thought mattered: the good that this new day would bring.
Because in only one hour, or probably less, she had felt her moods climb, fall, and swing.

“Come ON,” she thought loudly above all the chaos, “you got this, just sit and calm down!”
But would sitting there help when annoyance was rising and rage on her face put a frown?

The always-there need to be NOT sitting still then took over. She got in her car.
She wanted to drive fast, away from confusion, away, anywhere, near or far.

She wound up (surprise!) at the cafe in town, as if the paths toward it were paved.
And soon coffee was brewing, her passion renewing. Just maybe the day could be saved.

For her mug full of love was symbolic of passion and all the excitement it brings.
With sugar and milk added for extra goodness, the winter outside became spring!

“Alright,” went her brain-talk, “you know now you’re able to change your emotional state.”
Deep inside, though, she knew her bipolar disorder would get her, would always checkmate.

What was she to do, this mess of a human, when life brings such her up, down, and up?
She takes all the meds and she thinks the right things, she forever fills her coffee cup.

Though the grand fluctuations are now less intense, though the coaster-ride invokes less fear,
The daily uncertainty, constant unsureness, make it hard to know ‘normal’ is near.

Yet for all she knows, ‘normal’ is just as dramatic, confusing, and full of such flux.
So honestly, why should she bother? She shouldn’t! She shouldn’t give so many fucks.

Now tomorrow is dawning, it’s come to forgive her, to show her a new chance to live.
And yes it will test her, and also will bless her, will prove to the girl it can give.

Because that is tomorrow and that is the next day, that’s life in a nutshell, you see.
The crazy’s expected, can even be fun, once you realize this you can be free.

Unified Contradictions

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
—Walt Whitman, poet

The acknowledgement is certainly true; when you dive into the core of what makes me who I am, you will find more facets than an expertly cut gemstone, each one vast and expansive, so it is no wonder that contradictions arise. “I contain multitudes.” The potentially understated truth rings out again as I repeat the phrase over and over, speaking the words out loud, in a strained attempt to understand myself.

“I contain multitudes.” My pieces abound, filling me with various morals and behaviors and interests, fitting together like a puzzle (albeit a fluid one) to create the human being that I am. The whole of me is divided into parts, too many to keep track of so don’t insult me by trying. I cannot be boiled down into a single substance; I am more complex than that.

“I contain multitudes,” but two opposing personalities prevail:

1. I am a badass bitch from hell and I take no shit. I am at times overly aggressive, but I blame you because you provoked me. I hold myself tall in spite of my stature, and intensity flies from my hands as I gesticulate wildly in unison with my words. I stare daggers at you —they pierce your very soul. You may not be intimidated, but FUCK does it feel good to assume you are. My confidence is natural. I am a force to be reckoned with. Even with the world out to get me, my shields are impenetrable.

2. I am sweet, gentle, innocent. The world is harsh and I need to be defended from it. I want to be defended from it. Cruelty, which exists in amounts too high, hurts my heart already weary from taking on the pain of everyone around me. I absorb energy like some sort of empathetic sponge, may God damn the portion of my brain in charge of that shit. I am molded around ideals of what you want me to be, the struggle to define myself too much to handle. My eyes leap to the ground at the first sign of disappointment and only flick up to meet yours when it feels safe enough to do so. I crave comfort. I seek calm.

“Do I contradict myself?” How silly to ask. I do, and frequently, vacillating between two distinct versions of myself every other minute, all in the matter of a single conversation. The juxtaposition is obvious and confusing. It begs the question: how is such a phenomenon possible?

“Unity is plural, and at minimum, two.”
—Buckminster Fuller, author and inventor

I am and always have been of two distinct poles. It’s a simple truth that pervades all aspects of my life. I am highs and lows in rapid succession, incredible joy next to impossible sadness, light and darkness wrapped up and folded within themselves.

But if not for my parts how would I exist as a whole? I am all of my facets, and isn’t the assembly necessary? After all, “unity is plural.” Addition may combine two or more numbers, but the sum is its own entity regardless.

How is such a phenomenon possible? I am a sweet, gentle, innocent badass bitch from hell. I am overly aggressive, but the world is harsh and I need to defend myself from it. I hold myself tall but don’t always look you in your eyes. I gesticulate wildly while absorbing your anxiety and her stress and his energy. My confidence is natural, my need for comfort real and persistent and intense.

It is obvious I’m confusing. But…

I am the embodiment of yin and yang, I am the promise of a rainbow after the storm, I am reminder of differences coexisting. I am who I am.

I am proof that it doesn’t need to make sense.