A bipolar perspectivist poem by Andrea Grey

one day we may all come to see
that the way I treat you, I treat me it’s disguised from our eyes
and operates energetically
we don’t have senses to sense this
as the thickened ego wall prevents this
when the walls come tumbling down
it all floods into the heart
up through the ground
down through the heads crown
a well spring of emotion set in motion
a felt sense of responsibility
a new devotion
are we going with this together
fish in the same sea
birds of a feather
if I release the tether
will I weather the weather
the tension is palpable
don’t worry I thought it was the most nauseating conversation too okay she surprised me
is there anger about the lack of care
the lack of recognition of innocence
we all want love
is there a new way to see
why am I angry at malformed and mistreated bodies
the spirit cannot fully abide
the opening of the souls aperture
light pours through in ecstatic rapture
so good yet can’t be captured
humorous however
together we laugh that all we can connect in this disconnection
misdirection of non-direction
pathless path, causeless cause
step rendered useless use less, give more
sweat drips from my pore’s tears pour
energetic open sores
be, love, soar
feed the hungry, love the poor
love flowers evermore
ego-self cowers as programs of power
devour human mental powers
where is original thought and fresh insight
memes are mind viruses
constricting eyes irises
so that our pupils are pinholes so minute
our brains can’t even compute
what if we could see
we’d surely dispute
thinking is preconceived notions
delivered as potions
no discernment required
and preferred passive assimilation
the universal song needs a new chorus
that sings gently of how Earth is here for us
until we can’t breathe because we’ve cut down the forest pseudo reality blocks the perception
the trees are one with our lungs
without nature we lose all that which we have clung
how did I get in this situation
how can I get out of it
shit I must go through it
oh just fucking screw it
I won’t do it
my sacred temple packed with poison pills you really think this will fix my ills traumatized through the flesh
suppressed so I can function
until the cog breaks at the sacred junction heart pounds feet off the ground
listen to the inner sound of terror
of screams echoed through the ages where is that love spoke of by the sages
I’ve felt love before
from the perception of a newly open door
the door closes, I’m locked in
on the inside I grin
for once again there was that vision
of that dream to move towards
start again
to lose my mind
on the journey to the centre of the human heart

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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.


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