Two girls in one… both of them me before I got the right mix of meds and therapy. A not to folks who have the same condition, please know I’m not making fun of those struggling with the manic part. It’s OK for me to laugh at myself, but I’m NOT laughing at you, truly. I’m part of NAMI Stigma Busters. Amy
DEPRESSED
Leaden footsteps dog my pace
Straining, forcing smile on face
Gravity has conquered me
Hard to muster strength to… be
Wheels are grinding ever slower
Ten more steps to my front door
Dropping bags and sloughing coat
Sitting in a sinking boat
———————————————-
MANIC (WITHOUT TREATMENT)
Wow I feel great I’m late for work but it’s
not my fault this jerk on TV was sooooooooo
fascinating I had to watch this invention
and the audience was soooooooo enthusiastic
about it just twelve payments of $19.95 plus
shipping so I called oops that credit card
is maxed, went through three before I hit
the jackpot it’s a juicer that also vacuums
your cat whattaya think about that? Gotta
run run run I’m late for work wait there’s
the Dunkie’s need coffee and a doughnut
first catch you later what’s your name again?
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This one was inspired, in a way, by the Kafka Metamorphosis, but… well… GAFBers, this one’s for you!
READY, SET, BLOW
I started off so fat
carefully dressed in white
that clung to my body
like Travolta’s ice cream suit.
OW! That burns,
but I am comforted by kisses
lips caressing me,
I am passed from friend to friend.
I’m the life of the party.
Glowing like the star of the show,
as the lava lamp flows,
bloop… bloop… bloop…
Minutes later, spent.
They’ve used me until I’m
a scrap of my former self
Now, indignity. Out comes the roach clip.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Our word at Sunday Scribblings this week was CURIOUS.
CURIOUS GEORGETTE
She trudged through our high school halls, lost
Aimless, claiming no one as her love,
let alone as her friend.
Defenselessness, defensiveness, born of low self-esteem…
Her mirror reflected no redeeming qualities – only questions.
She never knew we admired her aloofness.
It seemed like proof that you could survive high school
without a claque to back your every utterance
Graduation for Georgette was a slam of her parents’ back door
and a bus to the Left Coast.
The most she could score was a waitress gig,
but the tips were sometimes rolled in papers
or powdered, in neatly folded, palmable packets.
This was bliss. The otherworldly state, what was missing.
Communal living, easy giving
A belonging, a sense of family at last.
She offered her body to many men and
contracted various venereal diseases.
Still, she was pleased that she was wanted (though warted).
Dabbling in acid: Placid conversations with river frogs.
She produced artwork – optical delusions infused with
confused contortions of her new reality.
The hissing kiss of hashish in a hookah led to opiates of a wide variety,
side-winding her to limited life choices.
Not heeding her inner voice
(with its annoying mantra: “CAUTION!”),
she finally gave way to the needle.
Super Georgette, the heroin of her own life story.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Down the hold, harasses by nasty queens (and other tarts)
who wanted their money, honey.
Mad slatterns offered a spot in their stables,
and she complied… lied to her parents when she’d call for money
“I’m behind in my rent”
(I make rent using my behind)
smaller and smaller georgette shrank
until one day, shanked and shriveled,
she ceased to be at twenty-three.
Curiosity killed the kitten.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
VICIOUS CYCLE
First up and around in the house
Brewing coffee for The Beast
who will turn into my mother after her first cup
She stumbles down the hall
First Bel-Air in hand
I make my breakfast and my lunch
Even at seven, I knew this cycle
would never end
Keeping Mom happy enough to live with
In later years, after I had indulged, passively by
breathing others’ smoke in late-night jazz clubs, and
actively by drinking, snorting, and toking
I decided there was another path
and that this merry-go-round of “self-careless”
must have an exit
Today, smoke-free, drug-free, booze-free
I know she was caught on that carousel from Hell
and that choosing otherwise was possible
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
True stories are always the best!
WHERE YOU FIND IT (SoCal Christmas)
That winter we were broke
Broken into bite-size pieces by our
Topanga Canyon appetites
Doobies opium hash wonka windowpane
drink snort smoke toke more more
wasting days and wastrel nights
By Christmas Day we had nothing
to give our friends
but canned vegetables
lifted from the local market
wrapped in the funny papers
Presents taped carefully, lovingly
exchanging gifts with one another
as though we had each one of us found treasure
Opened the cans and found a pot
to make Stoner Soup
The most generous Christmas of my life
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 