The Bastard

by Nancy Chamberlain

The pod cracks slowly; gently, thoughts burst forth and blow,
Like the fluff of the milkweed carried on the wind,
Away on the breeze; as the vines of confusion grow
I know, once again, I'm headed straight 'round the bend.

Thoughts screaming, I'm trapped on a roller coaster from hell.
Like water down a toilet, I go swirling through the funnel,
Helpless to save my self, my mind; I am a shell
For the Bastard now in control as I am plunged into the darkest tunnel.

Nothing. I am Nobody, going Nowhere, nor ever will be again,
As Hemingway and Plath and others have gone before.
Yet I am I, and must win this battle to stay sane;
The Bastard only one small part of me that loses ever more.

My tastes, my moods, my loves, my life, nature rules must be eclectic;
Yet of all in life I'm thankful for--Thank God my stove's electric!

Nancy Chamberlain is a member of our Bipolar Disorder community, and originally posted this poem on our Forum.