Black Sheep

You should try falling from grace, it feels better than staying neat and acceptable inside that empty outline our lovers draw for us—
The thin shape of our childhood by accident.

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Black Sheep

I see you there with that fat, dumb baby of hers
and something in your eyes…?
That should be enough, except you have to win this don’t you?
I would rather swim through an ocean of mistakes than settle for a world like yours.

Is this what makes us enemies?
When you fall to your knees I stare at black branches.
I am transfixed by how they reach across the sky like wild arms waiting to hold me—
It’s funny falling in love and failing miserably every time.
It’s funny over bottles of beer.

You should try falling from grace, it feels better than staying neat and acceptable inside that empty outline our lovers draw for us—
The thin shape of our childhood by accident. Who knows? Perhaps you have already fallen and landed in front of me half dead, blind to your own ruin.

It’s ghastly when the air stops moving and the smell of everything fills my head and I’m suddenly screaming without sound.
You could never understand that.
While you’re out in the world I can see the fat girls with too tight shirts and too tight bras
and too tight gazes.
I pity them.
I pity you sometimes.
One had blue ruffles like a doll’s dress all down her front,
mascara eyes leaking.
Why this sad reality without explanation?
She was like a stuffed bird—
It made me sick and I had to stare deeper,
past the pretense because I can’t ever let go of the lies people tell each other as if they believed them…
Like a platitude that brings joy
despite an unalterably human condition.

I would rather shrink to almost nothing than fill a space with the absence of what I could be.
I would knock my bones against bars of the cage of my body.
I would press my tongue hopelessly against the teeth that grin rudely keeping words stuck high in my head.
I would fight to eclipse the ballast of you and your enormous face that won’t leave me alone.
I don’t mind floating.

If I left myself as a watermark on paper would you understand then?
No, no, not you and I couldn’t even have that.
Because death is never what it means to be except in movies. Where no one really dies.
It comes down to submitting and God knows I can’t stand that.
I’d rather drown.

You’re a believer in boxes and pieces of stupid little love songs!
You know nothing of love and I tried to teach you but you threw my words away without hesitation.

Regardless—
And still—
My joy creeps up despite all of this. Despite you and your facades.
It weaves through the pores of my skin.
It lives in a different sort of woman staring back at me.
A woman without fear, her heart like a steam train—
Brown eyes like wells as intense as mine.
I am a child again!
This is my space and there is a lock on the door protecting her and I—
Just we,
No pretenders allowed.
We laugh like magicians, like poets…like little girls.
You become a pest.
She’s made you as small as you were all those years ago—
And the relief is almost unbelievable.
Buzz off shit fly!
My time is fleeting and I’m saving my moments for moments without you.

Kimkoa 2012

Author: bravelybipolargirl

I’m a writer and stay-home mother of three. I live with my husband, mother and 4 1/2 year old daughter in Wasilla, Alaska. My two teenage sons 14 and 16 spend summers and holidays with us. I am diagnosed bipolar 1 with psychotic features and my mission is to eradicate the stigma of mental illness in our society.

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