Brisk snap of night
threatening its boundaries
between life’s stars
meteors of change
tower of babel
wrinkled with cracks
moonlight changing clothes
dons gray beard
of reeking clouds
lets me live
my life out loud.
Rebellion for a bipolar type 1
Is unpredictable, but inevitable.
When it comes, it takes you over.
It may be wicked.
It is rarely wise.
And it definitely involves a lot of lies.
The revolution is at hand,
so take a side and take a stand.
Those who sleep will finally wake,
the world will have a choice to make.
Those who stand for peace and truth
will likely rise and start a coup.
“Enough injustice! Enough with lies!
Let this movement mobilize!”
Those who think there’s nothing wrong
have been willfuly deceived all along.
Ignorance is not bliss, you see?
It is disgusting complacency!
Evil leaves clues everywhere,
so how can you be so unaware?
But thank God, life is cyclical
and truth will reign again in the physical.
Authenticity, creativity and loyalty
over fakeness, plagiary and treachery.
So take a side and take a stand,
or keep scrolling, like a ship unmanned.
My daddy thought he knew what I needed.
I knew what I wanted.
My daddy showed me a way.
I ran in another direction.
My daddy did not intervene.
When I got myself in trouble.
My daddy sent me help
I did not recognize it.
My daddy forgave me.
I could not forgive myself.
My daddy belieived in me.
Even when I denied him.
My daddy accepted every facet of me.
When I could not accept aspects of myself.
My daddy welcomed me home.
When I had no other place to go.
I spent a lifetime in rebellion against my daddy.
He spent an eternity caring for me
a part of himself his beloved child.
I just had to.
It was in my genes.
Stretching the envelope,
Then breaking the frame.
They were rebels too, in a way,
And going back,
up to the trees,
Where some ancestor decided
That he needs a change.
How vile I was,
Then quiet, because,
The wisdom I rejected,
Was learned and learned again.
And will it ever be learned before?
Won’t someone listen
to the call of the aged.
Not me, too late.
Had to learn things the hard way.
So now , sad faces, bitter tang,
Is my table set, all sitting round.
With all mistakes, and traps ,
And fissures in the muscle,
And cracks on the lips,
And bruises in the depth.
Great. Another generation
Of stubborn rebels,
Busting to make new fissures.
When A Nation Rebelled
I was 15 when the Civil War started and was living in Virginia. My Daddy and Momma had a farm and about thirty slaves working the seventy-acres of land Daddy owned. My two brothers, Paul and Allen, were every bit as hard on those slaves as Daddy was. Momma never said a word against him but she told me once, "With this war, things will change for all of us."
And it did.
I would wince, and many times turn away when Daddy or one of my brothers would whip one of the slaves for either not working hard and fast enough in the fields, or, as was getting to be the case in many counties ... for trying to run away. Twice, Daddy had two black men hung from a Sycamore tree. I would throw up because he made me watch.
But there had been a lot of talk going on in Virginia. Some folks wanted to keep having slaves, others didn't. A lot of fights between white folks broke out, some being killed for defending their belief that slaves should be free. And then the day came where Virgina split in two and was fighting hard to become a state. And I liked the way these people were thinking so much, I packed up a gunny sack and left home, but not first without telling Momma, and that I wouldn't come back until after the war was over.
As I was making my way down the road, I could hear Daddy yelling at me to get back home. I turned once and shouted back, "I'll come home when you start treating people like human beings."
That being said, June 24, 1861, I signed up with Company F of the 2nd West Virginia Volunteers in Wheeling, West Virginia. They said I had to be sixteen so I said I was and that was all it took.
The first year wasn't so bad. We had a few skirmishes and the lot, a couple of us were killed, and a few died from sickness. I found out right quick, war isn't fun.
The following year we all had reason to celebrate because West Virgina became the 35th State of the United States, in June of 1863, and that's been about a month ago from what I can remember. A couple weeks ago I signed on with the 3rd West Virgina Voluntary Cavalry Regiment and we were ordered to head for Gettysburg.
Got a letter from Momma some time back. Paul and Allen died at Bull Run. Daddy's dead as well. Momma said she's going to hold onto the place for me when I come back. I smiled on that one.
Funny, in a way, I left home a boy, and here I am now in a place called Gettysburg. Bloodiest battle I ever seen. You look around you, and there are dead bodies everywhere you look from both sides.
And we pitted brother against brother because of slavery? We killed thousands of men and boys like myself for freedom? Looking back on it all, there had to have been a better way.
Both sides took a stance and rebelled against each other; an armed rebellion that has fixed it so, so many lives will never get to go home ... on their own two feet that is, but more like a pine box.
Like me. See, I was one of those thousands.
Do you ever stop to wonder, do you ever stop to ask,
how the daisy grew out of the cracks?
We look in admiration, to see beauty so clear.
Yet, the mirical of it all seems to disapear.
Forever we are going, going non-stop,
only glimpsing what should be caught.
If only we could dampen our quick pace,
we might understand that beauty cannot be seen in such haste.
The flower is praised for looking so fine,
yet, what I see, is something that defies time.
Her power lies in standing tall despite the stampede of boots.
She is brave for just exsisting, she is a rebel because she made her own roots.
Yet, as the sun sets and society marches,
she can’t help but to feel the darkness.
It becomes evident that growing through the cracks may be beautiful
to the ones that just pass by,
but it is lonely to be the only one that survived.
You painted me in
thick black lines
and taught me how to walk
back and forth between them
You let them dull the color
that existed in the deepest part of me
Bright yellows and vibrant blues
transforming into a dull gray
You told me that standing out
is the worst thing to do in this world
Placed a mold around my heart
and taught me values the masses agreed to
“DO NOT STAND OUT.”
My vulnerability could wreak havoc
an uprising of reality that could unsettle the sheep
I struck my wrists and let the colors bleed
then cried out,
“STOP SHAPING ME!”
The dull gray began to change inside
my body, growing and pulsing with life
The vibrant colors were back,
all shades of the rainbow flowing out
My eyes, for the first time, could see.
I see your American dream.
Husband- a successful lawyer who works late but can’t wait to run home to his wife.
Wife- a stay at home mom who cooks just as well as she cares, and rushes to that top performing prep school to pick up her daughter.
Daughter- vibrant and innocent… possibly a cheerleader and gets teased by her big brother.
Brother- a football playing champ who goes off to college next year, and will miss his baby brother.
Baby brother- 10 months old and loves laying next to the family dog.
Buster- a golden retriever who likes bacon as a “good boy” treat.
I see the big two story house- open floor plan with a home office upstairs and a man cave downstairs.
I see the pool in the backyard.
the patio, the three step stoop.
the beautifully green front yard.
A happy family. The American dream enclosed by a white picket fence…
But I will challenge your dream, scream the whispers, highlight the darkness..
And I will paint that white picket fence blue.
What my rebellion looks like
Recently my family and I have gotten into a fight over what my life looks like now. I have a boyfriend whom I love, and I know (as does he) that we will eventually get married. We do have sexual relations, and my parents (and older sister) don't believe in pre-marital sex. And neither did I, but I know that I will be spending the rest of my life with this amazing man. My family (namely my mother) is now becoming very hostile towards him; she doesn't want me to spend as much time with him and thinks that he should see other people, and maybe he should, but that's for him to decide. He took some pychology classes in college and he has noticed (in his personal life and in his friends' lives) that if one side of a relationship (their family) is less accepting and open, then the person will naturally gravitate towards the other person's family. And I find this to be true, because the other night I was so scared of what my family thought of me, that they might yell at me even. But my boyfriend is so wonderful at allaying my fears and comforting me.
Rebellion can have many different faces; I believe that a person's family and their beliefs can definitely constitute what a rebellion in that person would look like specifically.