An intellectual mind,
Split in three,
Reassembled in a new image,
A more robust and clinical assessment,
Fighting for the mental sovereignty of this Warrior Poet.
I stand corrected,
Not by the necessary pills of mitigation,
Rather,
By the internal dialogue,
That uplifts even in the darkest moments,
Realizing that the ability to express,
Is as important to survival,
As blood through veins,
Or deep breaths stolen from the crisp winter day.
Reviving this pallor hero,
Of words,
Champion of truth’s expressions,
Kicked repeatedly while down,
Menaced by inordinate repression,
As if to stultify this beautiful mind,
Caressing the hidden suppression of love’s intention,
Outbreaks as bleak and disparate,
As the days of life so far lived.
Going back in time,
To research where it all went sideways,
Friends closest and therapeutic guardian,
Observing the dedicated fight,
A crushing defeat,
(down but not out)
To run away but not from,
The survival instinct as strong,
As the joie de vivre beginning a hasty advance,
Returning the I to me,
And me to I.
Currently strangled by these imprudent feelings,
Stumbling upon essential resources,
If I am to defeat finally,
And without equivocation,
The demons that attempt to beleaguer my will,
Bipolar disorder,
My Black Dog,
The burden of intellectual minds since the beginning of time,
Playing virtual chess,
Check but no mate,
The clock has not yet run its course,
Your move as I realize,
The race is not yet run,
Whereby I recognize,
The reclamation of me.
SDM
Beautiful