Happily Ever After

How hard is happy?

Meeting multiple matches

Left longing for love.

Seeking simple sentences,

Illustrating inquisitive invites.

Which wisdom will worry:

The opaque outcome ongoing

Or desire to determine desire?

Taming the torrential tides

Regulating response to rumination

Allowing aspirations all arenas.

Puzzling potential partners,

Considering commitments and care,

Fear of forgotten foils finality.

Breathe beside your beau

Everyone experiences emptiness

Never for nothing; new names.

Qualities quietly qualified

Working within walls of want

Gathering gifts of generosity

Ultimately uniting universally

Knowing the kamikaze kiss

Attained after admitting to always.

No Mal

      I write these blogs as a way to record my life and share in the hope to help others and give myself meaning. I am bipolar and odd and opinionated and I have come much farther in life (on every level) than I ever intended. Still, there are times when I get the feeling that I'm not really doing anything at all; the sense that I have this life thing all wrong.

     I always wanted my life to be a tale of triumph - of the spirit and heart and circumstance. Yet, time and again, the truth of who I am shines through and I realize how insignificant I can be next to everyone else. Our collective humanity is our weakness, but my humanity is as shallow as a puddle and as frail as an egg carton. I am a demon of my own design.

     My inability to truly effect change or joy in those around me seems to resound from the motif that makes me who I am; the gaping flaws that make me accessible also make me frustrating and untenable. The pieces of life have time and again fallen around me like post-tornado shrapnel, but the belief was always in the currents of life causing the destruction. It occurs to me that the whirling dervish my well have been me: a Tazmanian Devil of emotional ineptitude. Being bipolar may shade my view of the present, but more and more I come to feel that the disruption lies squarely on my shoulders as a Judas to my own professed cause.

      Now that I am aware of this reality, all I can imagine to do is hibernate from the world. A life lived as work, school, home, repeat causes few ripples in the gentle ecosystem. My current refrain causes me to leave a constant echo of distress on life's ocean. It's almost a curse to those who love me: "May you find love in an intesting person". I am sorry for all that I cause I'm the general flow of being.

     If only lobotomies were more practical. If only I were more... Plain.