Nothing But A Vision, A Poem

If I could re-dream a dream, it would be the one where she asked me about my attractiveness.
And that sensation in the pit of my gut when she balked at my modest “I’m average, I guess”.
For she continued to adore in an awe-struck manner, eloquently, dominantly, decidedly.
She brought out the sheepish in me, complimented by none other than shock and brutal flattery.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
How often can I dream?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
Is it false or is it right?
If I could re-direct my direction, I would have never been in the position to spend the night.
And that blow to the hollow of my gut when she cried at my frantic “I’m sorry, I swear”.
For the scene continued in a tension-filled manner heartbreakingly, desperately, recklessly.
She brought out the remorse in me, complimented by none other than shame and tender injury.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
How often do I scream?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
Is it false or is it right?
If I could re-emerge an existence, it would be fluid and the inventor of charismatic overdrive.
And that warmth that rushes my gut when she notices my assertive, “I’m happy, I’m me”.
For I endorsed a promise in me, to re-birth in a manner so gracefully, graciously, remarkably.
She brought out the risk in me, complimented by none other than force and sincere approval.
She isn’t real. None of it was real. It was nothing but a vision, a stroke of my imagination.
How often does it seem?
Every day or every night?
What all does it mean?
It can’t be false if it seems right.

Happy Anniversary to Nectar Madness!

Today is the one year anniversary of this blog. In lieu of this little milestone, I’d like to reflect on what the world of writing and what creating this blog mean to me.  But for starters I’d like to thank everyone who follows me & relishes in my mental spew. You inspire me and I couldn’t have gotten this far without you!

I first put a pen to paper when I was only a couple of years old. I would draw, make my letters, and allow my imagination to take me where children ought to go. Soon I would be making up stories for my mother to record, and by age seven, I had written my first poem. I always loved reading, word games, and anything to do with literature. By the 4th grade I had joined the Young Authors club at my elementary school, and in high school my favorite class was Creative Writing, which I also took in college, in between various composition, poetry, and lit courses. I originally majored in English when I started at the community college, but that path was soon re-routed. I had to drop out of my second semester of college due to a stay at a psychiatric hospital for my bipolar disorder. At this time I had just recently been diagnosed, and hadn’t had any serious episodes – until what seemed like a manic crash, resulting in suicidal behavior. Leading up to this point, I was an avid poet, writing about my feelings and trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Many of my poems and essays were dark and seemingly psychotic. Once I was in the hospital, I was pleased to be able to keep my journal by my side, for I had a whole new arena to explore and creatively make sense of. The following months proved to be challenging, for I was hospitalized a couple of more times, and was really struggling with getting a solid hold on the whole bipolar thing. My writing was my release, and helped to clear my mind. About a year after I was released, I returned to college. This time I came back as a Psychology major. I was taking the whole mental health thing to a new level, having experience on the ‘patient’ side, I wanted to be on the ‘professional’ side as well. My passion is still the written word. I just apply it in personal ways.

Now that you know a little about my background in writing, what you need to know is that I tend to this blog to help me grow as a person. This blog allows me to channel my bipolar disorder into a cozy place equipped with avenues of understanding and an army of like-minds. I hope that what I write can be interpreted by whoever cares enough to take a gander, and that maybe something will ring a tiny bell and resonate with that reader. I enjoy sharing my personal sagas in a safe environment, and I’m not ashamed to say that it is therapeutic at the same time. On occasion, educational blog posts are important because there is no such thing as too much advocacy. And of course I take advantage of the opportunity to share my poetry as well. I hope to continue to improve upon this blog, and let it be a sanctuary for even more readers.

Thanks for stopping by and CHEERS to another great year!


When Boredom Makes You Lose It

Blasé, bored, mundane. 
Everyday the same.
I think I’ll go insane.
But just myself to blame.
Sugar dripping in the rain.
Porcelain robot I became.
Stimulate a thirsty brain.
Force fed back into the game.
Trading glitter for cocaine.
Imagination taking aim.
Disenchanted I sustain.
Listless hours ought to shame.
Unamused, dried to pain.
Chaos spikes a dull mind-frame.
Boredom has me on a chain.
Slaving to a world so tame.


Crutch, a Poem About Bipolar Depression

Okay, the not so exciting part of Bipolar Disorder is that nagging feeling of depression. The downside of the pole. The dark cloud. You get my point. And because I’ve been dealing with it’s annoying existence, you get to hear about it. Haha. On that note, here is a poem I wrote describing my current state of mind, and how I feel stuck, but want to be free from it. Enjoy.

Cut me up with that serrated tone,
Surviving multiple tricks and tangles
to leave a fragile core un-mangled.

Swallow me whole then spit me out,
I feel that destructive appetite
then savor that insatiable afterlight.

Take me in before it gets too cold
in my pretentious cell, so ripe.
The gradient dream is impossibly bright.

Drink me and my liquid darkness,
Saturated deflation once in vain.
Desire to evolve never the same.

Cradle me with a protective whisper.
Convince my thoughts to fade away.
Compulsive existence plays the break of day.