Tag Archives: mental illness


I am a trend, 

The young woman affected

By a myriad of undiagnosed 

Illnesses, relating, relating, relating- 

I am foremost depression,

My soul is concave,

Pulling always towards

The center of the earth.

It dips enough

For the weight of my

Life to sit and push

Air from my lungs

Until it comes only in sips…

From these dark sheets 

I become anxiety,

Held in the bars

Of a homemade cage,

Too shaken to answer 

A call or read a text,

“They’ll find out,” my mind

Repeats, “they KNOW they 

Know they know they know-” 

Then I am manic and 

Filled with spontaneous 

Magic, it’s fire and warmth

Licking up my innards 

And spouting from these eyes!

The world is completely

Within my reach,

I have no fears and 

Leap from dream to dream to dream to- 

-I dissociate-

What was once full of

Charcoal warmth

Slowly turns to ash

In my palms,

And I draw stick figures

On the walls of my mind

With a skinny index finger

Dipped in the remnants

Of my own inspirations.

None of this is as real as I thought it would be. 

I am undiagnosed professionally,

But only because I fear-

I fear above all else 

What my mind is capable of 

Creating, of consuming, of captivating-





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-