Simultaneously-

 

Being both creative and clinically depressed

is like harboring an inward storm,

Violent, sweeping, clearing the shore of debris

at the same time leaving bodies 

of sea-mammals on the sand 

for the art of it. 

It’s salvation and destruction
holding hands inside your chest,

one hand slowly pulling every shred

of individuality out into the air,

while the other tucks it back into your guts.

Some people know their life’s song
From the moment they are born-

They hold certainty in their bones-

But a clinically creative’s

symphony orchestra has too many

crescendos to keep time, or decide

what song it wants to play, as if a single 

genre could ever hold their world steady.

Thus, you accept this music for what it is- 

winding and erratic,  

you take the waves in stride

as they pitch sharp notes, long rests, 

a flurry of beats and time changes-
Most of all,

the clinically creative endures exhaustion

of mind and soul, the struggle to create-

the true pulling out of that which inextricably binds us to our humanity-

almost always outweighs the urge to spend 

midnight moments in malaise-