Bipolar Day: Amby Style

Didn't sleep the night before. Staring into darkness willing myself to not walk into midnight. Sunlight appeared and a scream came from so deep within that the cleaning lady of the hotel came to check on me. I got back into bed - used it as my straight jacket as I searched for a scar reminder. I cried. I wailed for the lost little girl, for the abandoned young woman, for the broken me. Yet, at that moment the new scars reminded me of my story.

The tattoos replaced a pain that once was received by any sharp object I could find. Then I remembered her. Zophiel. The angel that always has my back even in the darkness. She was kicked out of heaven just as I was and now purgatory is my dwelling. So I wrote. 

I let the words spill onto the keys and began to breathe. The tears stop. The rage bleed through my voice in poetry. And I was finally released. It's okay to not be okay.