There are five at the helm of my mind, and they all have moods. Hard to categorise, and occasionally a new one turns up only once and then gone--never seen again.

There's the intellectual. He rebels against my body with his flattened chest and shortened hair, but this is how he appears. He dances along the back of conversations:

Tell them about the fact that 'Sonic the Hedgehog' is also the name of a gene, a ruthless one for malfunctions- can cause cyclopedia!

Scientifically speaking,....apOe helps digest meat.....evolution took us here randomly....there used to be giant dogs....we used to have larger brains than we do now.....the universe is constantly expanding....

Did you know...

He is the terrible choking laugh I can't control when someone is incorrect and he knows it. He always knows, even when I don't. Arrogance, is that your other name?

The tumor metastasizing between my amygdalae has many names. She licks her way around my brain in whispers, which turn to screams if I let them. She is heavy breathing and standing on the edge of the world. Her thoughts are more daring than mine. She occasionally feeds off the intellectual in order to wrap her arms tighter around me.

They're talking about you.....but it doesn't matter...nothing does....he told me how you will die soon....your imperfect body decomposing.....even the worms who eat you won't remember your name....tombstones decay....but your name is pointless to remember...you have done nothing anyway....

She has a fun nickname for me. "Mistake". She seems to know that I wasn't born to fit here on this earth. She tells me nothing matters but she brings my heart to a stop at the slightest noise. She tells me she's much better at reading facial expressions than I am.

Then there's Child. She's a screamer, a squealer of delight. She dances in the kitchen and talks to the walls. Everything matters, everything is new and fun and happy. She has a sister, Older. Older is still happy and she still delights but she is peaceful. She is lying in bed at 3 am in tandem with the silence. She's reading a book next to the one you love. She tangles with her whirlwind of a sister in my mind.

LOOK IT'S A FISH!!! LOOK LOOK LOOK HELLO FISH OH MY GOSH HE'S SO CUTE I WANT TO DANCE I'M SO HAPPY WOOOOHEEEYYYYYY!!!!

Calm, sister. Take a breath and look at the sunrise. It is beautiful in a way you cannot scream... even though you try so hard. Keep breathing this all in...can't you feel how it fills your soul?

There are smaller voices. You might call them insecurity or anger or jealousy. The last voice speaks very seldom. A deep, somehow ancient voice that silences all the others. Immune to even the tumor, the fear. I have only ever heard it say three words. It speaks them through my mouth once in a blue moon.

I love you.

Mommy, what’s wrong with our cat?

Nothing honey. She’s just a little sick.

So why are we taking her to the vet?

Just a checkup.

Right. A checkup that ends in euthanasia.

A checkup that ends with the warmth leaving her fur and draining into my sweating hands.

It’ll be okay.

Right. Okay. A relative term.

Define okay?

Tears as my best friend dies? Tears as I realize she’s gone over the rainbow? Tears as I realize there is no one protecting my loved ones?

....

Tears as I realize I can’t do anything to stop it.

First came the evy,

directed at me.

Wanting everything I had,

but not the flaws she was to blind to see.

The anger followed,

and I'm shure she felt hollowed.

Seeming to have nothing,

since self-pity was as she had,

she felt much greif, and she wallowed.

How much she wanted my stuff,

led her to bluff.

No matter what she stole with lies,

she never had enough.

She began to grow stronger,

as I grew meak.

Her reign grew longer,

and she made me weak.

She wanted my life, but she still had her own.

Whatever she lost would cause her to moan,

no one could have what she didn't,

and her anger caused her to rip her life

into peices that could never be sewn.

So let this be a lesson to all,

if you begin to envy, you will begin to fall.

Trapped in a web of lies and schemes,

you would lose all your hopes, and lose all your dreams.

And so this is Christmas

But still the shells fly

Machine guns still rattling

Though no-one's sure why.

Not over by Christmas

We clamoured to go

But still we are fighting

For what? We don't know

Friends falling and dying

In squalor and pain

It's not what they told us

Its all death and rain

Remember us fondly

Lest others forget

The war to end all wars.

Did that happen yet?

Remember the fallen

What the poppy is for

For respecting the dead

Not respecting the war.

Lest We Forget.

It was chilly November 

Our love just an ember 

I remember the glow in your eyes 

Then you left in December 

Extinguished the ember 

Our love was a game, I’m the prize 

I remember you told me

The world ain’t so lonely 

If only you hadn’t been wrong

Now I wish you would hold me 

But I’m all alone and 

I’m stuck wondering where we went wrong 

And I’ll 

Stumble and I’ll fall

But I’ll get back up again

When everything seems lost 

I’ll make it to the end

And I’ll  

Always think of you

But it wasn’t meant to be 

I thought I needed you

But all I need is me

My palms begin to sweat as WildWing searches through my trunk. He gets to my underwaer, and I try my best to look emberissed.

"You know I can't hide anything down there," I grumble, with a dramatic eye roll.

"Actaully, ShyBird, I think you did," WildWing replies firmly.

"Oh, dear brother," I murmer softly. "Where? What do you see?" I look into the trunk, and repeat what my eyes were telling him- a lie. "You know I would't... besides, theres nothing there! Just wood."

"The bottom of the trunk on the inside doesn't match up with the bottom on the outside," he says, fingering the wood.

I don't argue, I know it would never help.

He manages to open up the little door, and finds a long, thin branch that glitters in the sunlight.

"Your wand!" WildWing exclaims.

"Oh, right," I finger the wood, and my brother gasps when he saw I got it from him without struggle.

"What's going on, WildWing?" SwiftWind asked from his post.

Luckily, I had already disapeared with my trunk on my back and my wand in my hand.

I can say my first honest heartbreak was when I realized my little brother was an adult, but I discovered it in the worst way possible. My little brother had always been my best friend, confidant, and there was no one I trusted more in the world. I remember playing super heroes, video games, action figures, and strapping our sister's barbie dolls to the ceiling fan. I know his laugh in a crowded room. I know his stance from a mile away. We have a trick we play where we can get one another's attention by staring very focused on the other one. And then I got a call at 2 AM that he was in prison.

Within the span of one phone call, I learned that my little brother's marriage had been on the ropes for a long time. I had learned that he had been battling an addiction for years. I had learned that the little boy whose hand I would hold when I crossed the street and to this day still panic when I look behind me and don't see him, was an encarcerated criminal. At first, I blamed myself. Why didn't I ask if he had been having problems? Why didn't I see that he was struggling? Why didn't I, of all people, not see that he was going down the wrong path? When did I let go of his hand? When did he stop being my responsibility?

I watched as the world turned against him, spat on him, and he lost so many friends and family. And he just sat there and took it, knowing that he deserved every bit of their hate. I couldn't stop it! I couldn't stand in the way of the bullets being shot at him! I couldn't protect him from what these hateful people were saying! I had let go of my little brother's hand while crossing the street, and the cars were barrelling at him, but I wasn't able to reach him in time. I remember once when he tripped fell, breaking his nose. My heart had stopped and I screamed for help as I tried to stop the blood.

The little boy I held when he was so small was bleeding out now, and no matter how much I screamed for help or tried to defend him, I failed to save him. I wasn't and never will be angry at him for what he did. Hate can't live where love is the driving force. When I visited him, he didn't want to look at me, but I reached out to hold his hand like I used to. I told him, "I'm glad you're being so strong. I can see how much this is hurting you. I'm so proud of you, little bro, for being a man and taking responsibility." And we cried and held one another.

I little boy crying with a broken nose.

I man crying with a broken life.

But he is still my brother, my best friend, and my confidant. He's pulled his life together with the help of his wife, true friends and the family that helped him to heal. But he can stand tall now, because he decided to do the right thing. I'm so proud of him, and he will never know how much. My little brother became a man in the short span that I accidently let go of his hand then turned to look for him.

Why

Oh why

Oh why!

Does it all have to be angst and sadness and emotional madness?

There’s so much joy to be had.

Playground laughter

Love ever-after

Everything doesn’t go bad.

Are writers all sorrow

Bemoaning tomorrow,

Decrying the present and past?

Can you not raise a smile?

Celebrate for awhile

Rejoice and stop being aghast!

Write about puppies and flowers and rain

And celebrate all that is good

The mood hoovers here are destroying my brain

And stealing my positive mood.

You promise the earth and take all my words

Then leave me with anguish and tears

Like a withered old whore, you empty me out

As you have done with others for years.

You think you’re a pro

But I’ll tell you, I know

Your words are creating black holes

And we’ll all get sucked in

Like a great sadness bin

Forevermore stealing our souls.

This Institute of Prose

Is breaking my heart.