Personality Poem by James McLain

and disorder, returning order
running round it sleeps inside your head
little things that mean a lot
bipolor is the word we live without
the meaning it gives us nothing when you pause
to think, you are without
the need I reason with,
to read enough to know about the law
nothing that you give, you give it all
one minute I did stop, more or less
you gave it to us all, you love nothing but the best.
You love it all.