He Called Me Bipolar



He called me bipolar, and that wasn’t very nice
He’s just a mean disgruntled man, with a heart of coal
Thinking attacking my emotions will give him control
But, I know his type, he feeds on sweet souls

He called me bipolar and it still weighs on my mind
That he gets such pleasure from being unkind
He so casually silence me, each and every time
Like my feelings doesn’t matter; holds no value like dirt

He called me bipolar and I’ll never forget
How easily he dismissed me, knowing my fragile state
I could show him bipolar, but that wouldn’t be kind
He’s already a very sad man, I’ll pray for his soul

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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