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I wish I could be one of those writers who can create despite mood or circumstance. But I’m not.

I get depressed, confused, lost and the words and thoughts just aren’t there.

I consider myself a poet, a BiPolar Poet.

Somethings I write, others won’t understand. Because they haven’t stood on the edge of madness and felt the pull to ‘fall’.

Wrote a poem today called Melancholy. Because that’s where I am today.

Full of regret, friends who have abandoned me or died and wondering, what if?

This is my poetry blog BiPolar Slip

I don’t write sonnets and follow the ‘rules’ of poetry. Sometimes I rhyme, but it’s by mistake.

I write emotions and thoughts and scars. There are no rules to emotions, they are jagged and raw. Each one different, and without apology.

Like my fragmented sentences.

Without apology.