Society Is Bipolar

Emotions.
Running, pulsing, pushing, grabbing, torrent emotions.
The teenage brain.
A stew of hormones, each one competing, desperately needing to be on top.
The things we feel are no jokes at all.
They remain real, painfully so, keeping us awake at night and crazy during the day.
Wanting to be mature,
Desperate to stay young forever.
Too much fat, not enough abs, my hair’s not right.
Pages of the magazine ring criticism as it rains down like confetti.
Glossy, sleek.
Ribs are the new cloths with hands to cover the things we don’t want others to see.
Sex sells and spreads like fire in a gasoline-drowned forest.
Popularity.
The line between slut and well-liked blurs, thinning like a stretched rubber band.
Will it snap?
Love, hate, anger, pain
Al accessible, all combustible.
Bi-polar means nothing in the world of swirling troubles, and everyone’s caught the disease.
Adults tell us we’re over dramatic, or peers tell us we’ve become much to static and teachers tell us we must be more dynamic.
Can’t I just be me?
The me is too plain, too boring, too much and not enough
I blush at the wrong time, laugh to loud, and my shirts aren’t low cut enough.
Thoughts and feelings and emotions.
Bitch. Slut. Whore.
The words splatter the walls like gore
And I just can’t take it anymore
No more.
But how do we make it stop?