Life of bpd
There’s a war inside my mind
where morning never stays.
The light comes in like a stranger,
then disappears for days.
Some nights, the dark feels endless,
a weight tied to my chest,
and every thought becomes a storm
that will not let me rest.
I smile so people won’t notice
the chaos underneath,
while sadness wraps around my ribs
like thorns beneath a wreath.
Then suddenly I’m flying
too high above the ground,
chasing every broken star
until I finally drown.
Bipolar tides keep pulling me
from fire into rain,
teaching me how hope can live
beside unbearable pain.
But somewhere in the madness,
a quiet voice remains,
whispering through shattered nights,
“You are not your chains.”
So I keep reaching for the sunlight
with bruised and shaking hands.
I keep searching for tomorrow
when today barely stands.
Because even the smallest candle
can challenge endless black,
and every time I lose myself,
I still keep fighting back.
The darkness may surround me,
may tell me I won’t win
but light was never born from ease,
it rises from within.





















































































