A Woman That Was Different Poem by Gert Strydom

I knew a woman
that some people
would have called mad,
who was just different
and taught me well
about bipolar maniac depression.

If she were happy
she held parties
and singed songs
like a operatic star with her soprano voice
and she wanted to dance
until the stars disappeared,
or without a reason
she would hold a wonderful party,
or swim stark naked
in the swimming pool

If she were down
she went to bed,
listened over and over
to messages on her cell phone,
or played
conversations that she did record
over and over again
and tried to sleep for ever.

Darkness folded around her
and any light
that a person switched on in the room,
was too much for her
and like a searchlight in her eyes.

If she were angry,
which she could get easily,
words snagged in her
and she kept repeating the same thing
over and over again,
like a old scratched record
and she couldn’t get
to the next words.

If her anger went further
she smashed things,
or grabbed a knife and tried to cut with it,
or tried to throw oil from a red hot frying pan
over a person’s face,
or she took shots
with a loaded pistol.

She was destined to loose relationships
and amorous passion with other men
and every now and then
had a new lover,
that she believed would rescue her
and still she wanted
to be married to me.

After various suicide attempts
where I had to save her
time after time,
she went to stay with a lover
and I was totally free
of somebody that is a lot different.