Bipolar is inedible,
not even digestible.
A food you could never eat,
like a poisonous treat.
Bipolar left a nasty taste in my mouth, thoughts and mind,
leaving a foul order, lingering for years to come and to find.
Bipolar was never on my life’s menu,
my dream or choice of my venue.
I never selected it, it selected me.
My name was listed on the bipolar menu of names
of people chosen to play the destructive bipolar games.
I was hand-picked
and then kicked
to the curb.
Do not disturb
that would soon begin to take place,
many struggles and obstacles to face
in the future, ahead and in front of me,
a vision I could never imagine or see.
Soon my inedible bipolar was there
to destroy, consume and to be shared
with everyone I knew, loved and cared.
I was fully erupted
soon to be corrupted.
Hated the taste of bipolar, vomited, expelled and spit it out,
until finally I bought it and accepted it for what it was.
I knew I had to, so I did.
One day at a time, I learned to love life and the feast,
finally acquiring a taste for my bipolar beast.
I am alive and still here,
my life and survival I cheer.
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