OH, THIS BRAIN OF MINE

This brain of mine

Called bipolar

Is given plenty of drugs

To draw in the poles

And shrink the swings in its behavior.

But every half a year or so,

It still climbs the pole

Called manic

And I exhale - I’ll have a couple of weeks of feeling

More like myself, and relief

From that flat brain and its trips down the pole

Called depression

I wake up ready

To get out of bed and do stuff;

The stuff I went to bed thinking of -

And I think of stuff!

I do things while I’m doing things -

I can do several things fluidly –

Putting my hands to one after the other.

I sing show tunes out loud – usually Oklahoma! –

Oh, what a beautiful morning!

My room is clean before I know I cleaned it,

And poems write themselves in my head,

And I have to scribble to keep up with them,

And I eat standing, and plan the next thing

I’ll do after the dishes,

I finish all my half-knitted scarfs,

And feel ten pounds lighter,

Or ten times stronger,

Or ten years younger,

Or something.

I wake up, and I feel, and I do -

Whenever this brain of mine

Like a brightly colored flag

Climbs up the pole

I call MYSELF.