Sometimes, I’m verbal
The words rush
They press
They insist on getting out of my head
They keep me awake at night
Unless I shut them up
Turn them off with meds
Sometimes, though,
I’m simply not
Sometimes, I’m non-verbal
The words are not there
I do jigsaw puzzles
Watch TV
Play with numbers
Rather than words
When the words fly
They are raucous
Noisily filling my mind
Needing to get out
I need relief
So, I write
Then, I must get
The racing commentary
Out of my mind
Onto the screen or paper
In black and white
Where later I reshape them
Edit them into something coherent
Perhaps
Or, perhaps,
Sometimes, I leave them
In a jumbled mess
All over the page
This resonates enormously. I haven’t written yet about my own (extensive) experiences with mood disorders and writing, but this expresses an all too frequent reality so well.
What you write resonates with me. Many poets struggle with mood disorders. Poetry speaks for them, and for you.
I always just have the words. Nodding all the way through this piece. Yes.
Thank you!