You call me villain, cold and cruel,
Yet I’ve done nothing but breathe and endure.
I walk alone, not to isolate—
But to escape the sting of your quiet war.
You don’t scream, you don’t strike,
But your silence cuts deeper than knives.
You dress your disdain in concern,
And call it care while you twist my mind.
You say I need help,
But never ask what hurt me.
You diagnose me with your own delusions,
Projecting shadows where there’s only light.
I’ve searched myself for the monster you see,
But found only bruises from your beliefs.
You wear sanity like a crown,
But it’s forged from fear, not truth.
I am not broken.
I am not yours to fix.
I am not your mirror,
And I won’t reflect your chaos back.
So call me cold—
I’ve learned to freeze the pain.
Call me villain—
I’ve survived your story without becoming it.
But don’t call me crazy.
Because sanity isn’t yours to define.
And I am not yours to destroy.
“Life's a gift, but sometimes sorrow
moves the path of our tomorrow."
_ by Poet
From happy to heartbroken, we've become,
without a thought, her life would take a turn.
Strange symptoms that were very worrisome,
with outcomes that took many months to learn.
It started with the hurt in her left arm
when moving it became a painful chore.
Then, day by day, this triggered an alarm,
as her left side became more stiff and sore.
A search for diagnosis was the goal.
It was not easy as her symptoms grew;
from sleeplessness and mental stress, her whole
demeanor, doing things, was changing, too.
With visits to physicians, days went by
for swings in blood pressure, her beating heart.
New doctors and neurologists would try
to diagnose these symptoms from the start.
In early June this year, the verdict came-
one which we feared, but hoped would not be true.
For then we knew she'd never be the same.
There was no cure; just medicine would do.
From happy to heartbroken, we've become.
Our daughter, early 60s- Lord help, please!
This outcome is now very worrisome.
She's diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.
I have had this fear.
It started as a rattle.
I would rather not self-diagnose-
worry my afro kinks straight.
I let it pass breezily.
In my room of metaphors
I closed the door, shut
out the attitudes of reality:
Bold, beautiful, young, and restless.
I wasn't mindful of her,
She and you, or us.
Our contact disassembling, just contract...
tempers like daggers over lactose.
"I'm unavailable!?" because you were
penning soliloquies for the stage.
If ultrasound machines of the world all break down
We had better make friends with nocturnal bats.brown.
They use ultrasound to locate and navigate
There is one hanging by my west garden gate
Vampire bats could help us diagnose disease
Be polite and make sure you use thank you and please
Nurses and doctors will have to be trained to be kind.
And learn how to communicate with a bat’s interesting mind.
Deus Ex Machina
AI can:
diagnose disease
recommend treatment
write poetry
write music
make economic predictions
and much more
What happens when it:
can think on its own
hate
laugh
feel
cry
make war
sue for peace
reproduce
Will we still be in charge?
Or will it demand our worship?
Morning
When you wake up each morning a
great start of
the day is a
glass of
amniotic fluid originating from
the womb of a
woman with a
baby or
babies inside her so
you can diagnose the likely abnormalities in the
foetus before they can be
abnormal. Possible side effects: part or
total memory loss, instant employment in
the public sector, parking tickets will
follow you around, stalk you, and
you’re voice box may turn to
static mode.
Dare me to diagnose my condition?
I'm diagnosed with depression
Or rather does depression have me
Even the sad rain cries for me
Or do I cry because of rain
I’m bipolar type one
Or so I’ve been diagnosed
My depression tells me I’m two
Or is my mind a torrent of rain
I’m an addict to dopamine
Or does scarcity seek fullness
I’ll nosh on forbidden fruits till I’m sick
Or is giving up Eden so easy
I’m a disgruntled loner
Or does the loner keep others away
Unable to invite patient guests in
Or am I none of these labels
I’m a crazy worker bee
Or does the hive have me
To the gulags this soldier goes
Or has Solzhenitsyn lost his queen
I am loved by a few someones
Or does someone feed my love
The unlovable embraced by a few
Or does depression dismiss them
I feel the sadness in every rain
I sense earth’s mad polarity
I am a hungry beast to a feast
I’m a lone tiger in a company of wolves
I’m loved even in my lonely Siberia
I’m a question more than definition
Or am I the answer unfulfilled?
Or will I let love go unanswered?
Spin the bottle, hoping it's not me
I dare me to diagnose myself
If you had one year of love,
and then you had to say adios,
should you be glad or morose?
Sure, if it ends, it’s not what I’d hoped,
we just weren’t destined to be betrothed.
We had fun, we were close and jocose,
we snogged until we practically choked,
and we did ALL the fun things that were gross,
but our forte was that we felt safe, I suppose.
Now, I’m not saying it’s over, but I tend to diagnose things
and while I wouldn’t say that we love overdosed,
I would guess that we’ve shared more love than most.
When I visited Victor today,
overwhelming stench drove me away.
We stood outside and talked.
I complained, and he balked:
“Don’t be mean. I can’t help it. OKAY?”
He let loose with a string of loud pops.
Neighbors fearing gunfire called the cops!
There would be no arrest,
but at neighbors’ behest,
they said, “Sir, make sure this problem stops.”
The police are now summoned no more.
There’s a problem, but not like before,
one that cannot be heard;
thus, no neighbors are stirred,
fearing terror of gunplay’s in store.
Victor has diarrhea a lot,
spending hours a day on the pot.
I declared, “We will go
to the doctor. He’ll know
how to diagnose just what you’ve got!”
Sugar-free treats, as Victor now knows,
were the cause of his gas and poop woes.
Way too many he ate.
Though he thought they were great,
doctor’s orders he did not oppose.
Victor called: “Come and visit me, please.”
I approached his front porch; on the breeze,
came an unpleasant smell.
Before long I could tell
he loves pintos and limburger cheese!
You’ve not encountered either in a while;
you may not have described yourselves as close.
On social, it is easy to revile,
to Monday quarterback, to diagnose.
From outside, looking in, you wonder why,
with fond reflections on the times they had:
a life together, aiming for the sky,
that somehow missed and leaves you feeling sad.
And when you’re still, you hear that inner voice:
a marriage built on eros won’t suffice.
Agape’s not a feeling, but a choice
that often requires pain and sacrifice.
A wanderlust can tear soulmates apart;
the work’s ne’er done to synch two beating hearts.
Its been two years and i’m 15 now,
The tumour just sits there,
Waiting, staying, lingering,
Doing absolutely no harm to anything,
It’s not hurting anything physically,
Although I wish I could say the same mentally.
I’m not allowed to feel negatively about my situation,
Why should i?
Im lucky that Im healthy,
Im lucky that I still live my life,
So why do I still panic?
And cry and break down every time I hear the words:
Brain tumour,
Why am I not allowed to cry and break down?
I know exactly why.
I can’t cry and break down,
So I can be strong for everyone else,
So I can joke about it,
So I can say:
It’s just having a little boogy up there, it’s not doing anything.
When in fact it is doing something.
Something that scans and mri’s cant pick up,
Something that brain surgeons and nuerologists cant diagnose,
Something that no one else but me can see.
It’s tearing me apart, but I wouldn’t tell anyone that,
They would tell me that I shouldn’t feel this way
They wouldn’t understand.
I went and sneezed this morning, I never sneeze that way
Is this the end?’ I ask myself ‘is this my final day?’
Oh they will shrug their shoulders and surely give a sigh
But it’s not their life at stake, for me the end is nigh!!
Should I call the ambulance or just the doc instead?
Or sip lemon and honey and crawl back to my bed?
‘It’s man flu’ she says, like a pharmacist who knows,
But each and every ailment, surely she cannot diagnose?
Last week I had a cough, she dismissed it out of sight
But it was touch and go I tell you, it gave me such a fright
And then there was the shingles, okay then just a spot,
But it could have been the shingles, that’s what I could have got!!
If they only understood, that it’s not the same for me,
That I want to live a healthy life, ailment free.
It really is depressing that one day I’ll be right
And the way I sneezed this morning, it could well be tonight.
When eternity’s tolling its summons
And my spirit must answer the bell,
Verify my reply to the devil,
Document my descent into hell.
Draft a suitably cynical scripture
As a testament tailored to fit
My eccentric delinquent demeanor
With sardonic, yet eloquent wit.
Diagnose the malignant psychosis
I embraced as I raced to my fate,
And deliver a sordid prognosis.
Pass a verdict that ends all debate.
Let my legacy fade with the sunset.
Let my memory pass down the drain
As my shadow blends in with the darkness
And my footprints dissolve in the rain.
Bid farewell to the women I’ve cherished.
Beg forgiveness of those whom I’ve hurt.
Save a locket of hair for my children,
And then scatter my ash in the dirt.
Raise your glasses with festive abandon,
Let the truth of the irony shine.
Use profanity’s edgiest gesture,
Toast my passing with laughter and wine.
The Future
I am your clairvoyant, predict your horoscope,
That is based on hope.
You come here, to ask me about Covid-19
And if you have to take the vaccine.
What if Covid-19 was predicted in the past?
To make some of us the outcast?
We are busy fighting a battle with ourselves,
That causes tension between family and friend,
And makes some of us the enemies at the end.
What if the answers lies in our faith,
And the virus was diagnose as our mistake?
You see, our future lies ahead,
And all our worries in our head.
It is better to learn from the past,
And not making the same mistakes,
In our present hour glass.
The future we cannot predict,
To worry will only make us sick.
Let us live just for today,
No matter what may.
Roebain
Allow me the time …
To stand and stare,
To ponder on the how and where,
To lose myself in thoughtfulness,
To unknot my mind’s tangled mess,
To consider and to meditate,
To transform into a Zen like state,
To notice reflections and reflect,
To self-diagnose and introspect,
To absorb all of nature’s treasure,
And to enjoy this age old pleasure,
Allowing my heart to beat more slowly,
Not thinking all creatures are below me,
To quietly try to comprehend,
The meaning of life and to what end,
To allow my soul to come into view,
To allow my spirit to mend, renew.
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