poems written on January 6.
day 3, mixed moods
Love is my dad, who hates reading or
receiving advice, scouring the net
for information on bipolar, and
presenting his (actually really useful)
research findings to me to help me.
Love is my mum, who knows just
what to do to calm me down. Who'll
sing me to sleep, scratching my back
and stay up listening to my
crazy talk even though she has a
full day of work tomorrow.
Love is her shutting me up gently
because it's time to get some rest.
And hugging and listening to
me all over again when I still
find it impossible to switch off half
an hour later.
Love is my sister, dropping everything
to call me though she's far far
away (and I know, very busy)
Thank you.
Love is my brother, who grumbles
when I put the light on in the
middle of the night because I'm trying
to read myself to sleep, but he doesn't
tell me to turn it off, or get out.
Love is the girls, who listened for
really long, even though this
must be so foreign and maybe
even scary. And asked questions.
Love is felt in the little things. Like
the pouring of tea, an invitation to
join in, being noticed in a crowd.
Love will come to you at the right
time. In the night when you feel
like giving up, Love is there.
Seek it, call out for it, never give up.
because Love, though we may not
notice it, is always with us.
Love is my people
who give me lifts
and ask me the right questions
and know just what to say
not to fix me
but to be my burden carriers
for as long as I need them
I know they'll be there.
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