£5.00
175 in stock
By Laura May
ISBN: 978-1-84991-121-4
Published: 2010
Pages: 62
Key Themes: poetry, bipolar disorder, manic depression, anxiety
Description
“Poetry, for me, is so expressive. When I was struggling through my teens, not knowing what was wrong with me, not understanding the mental health system, poetry came naturally. Now, I’m in my twenties and my first collection is being published, and it still seems so surreal that this lifeline has become more than just my own personal release.” – Laura May
In turns haunting, tender, humorous and shocking, this compilation of work from Laura May, a young woman tackling Bipolar Disorder, is a genuine collection of thoughts expressed through poetry
About the Author
Born in 1983, Laura May was always ‘different’. In 2008, after ten years of being treated for depression, anxiety and suicidal tendencies, she was diagnosed with rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder. Over the past eleven years Laura May has experienced psychotic episodes, has attempted suicide and has had several bouts of extreme mania and depression, all of which she has tackled through her writing. Laura works full time, and possesses a degree in English Literature from the University of Hull. She lives in Essex with her wife and their ‘babies’, the many cats and dogs.
Book Extract
The Kitchen Table
The kitchen table,
in our home,
sees it all.
The kitchen table
is littered with my tears
where I have rested my head
on it’s comforting wood.
The kitchen table,
in our home,
feels it all,
The kitchen table
bears the scars
of many red rings
from bottled nights gone by.
The kitchen table,
in our home,
hears it all.
The kitchen table
hears each letter
from the many witch doctors,
telling me my own mind.
The kitchen table,
in our home,
is where I fall each night,
with my love,
to talk about the day,
and forget tomorrow
is still going to arrive.
Clouds
Some days the skies are blue
and bright
without a cloud in the sky,
and your mind is clear
and the day slips through your hands like sand
and you smile easily.
Some days you wake
and the sky is cloudy,
the sky is so powerful in its greyness that you just can’t see,
you can’t think,
and you can’t feel,
because you are empty
Your throat is thick with thoughts that won’t form,
things you can’t say,
as you struggle against the tide,
the waves that hit as you try to breathe,
try to smile.
But trying is not always enough to feed love.
Sometimes fighting,
even fighting dirty
with pills and words
and fear masquerading as love,
doesn’t work.
You can’t fight forever,
The clouds always bruise the sky.
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