This place is magic, this place inside my head.
The place where my dreams prosper.
The place old dreams lay dead.
Sunshine and daisies, magical lands.
Unicorns, butterflies and childlike trends.
Bipolar minds live bipolar lives.
So many dreams, not enough time.
I know that I’m genuine, and I know that I’m kind.
Please mommy tell me, is it you that I’m like?
Or is it my dad, ’cause I know he’s sick too ?
But that’s a new story I wont get into.
I know you’re both sorry, and don’t be ashamed.
Mom, you raised a good daughter.
Dad, she thinks she’s to blame.
For my fears and my worries but we’re on the same page – of the book, near the ending where she carries the flame.
It’s the end of this poem, one last thing you should know, I’m a passionate person, for that – I THANK YOU.