Fear seeps into my pores, and I sweat droplets of dread
Where I once saw you walk this path and I quietly read
The feelings that we shared, the blessings that prepared
My heart and yours, for this darkness that declared…
Cancer, the word no one wants to hear
The word so awful it brings the soul a tear
The feelings, bleeding through the night
Silence the wind, leave the world in fright
Cancer, the reason that I write these verses
In a prayer, praying healing that curses
All the darkness that has come with this disease
Cancer is a illness that causes you to fall to your knees
I wonder, though I believe, was I faithful enough?
Why has this darkness fallen – will it make me tough?
I feel so alone, so sad… God, wasn’t I tough ENOUGH? ENOUGH!!!
This pain, this valley, this struggle will surely rebuff
Cancer, leave my story – please just go away
God, please heal my husband, who I pray
Will live a long and happy life, a life I can say
Was blessed by love and healing that will not betray!
As far as anyone can tell, I am alive and well,
But I am still trying to end my persistent depressive spell
Through resilience and love, even as I go through Hell.
One day when I’m better it’s going to be fine.
I’ll get to be people then,
understanding the meaning of it all,
others not to offend.
Right now, I’m still quite set apart
Your fear has built my home.
Courageously and brave of heart
I seek a place called ‘own.’
One day when I’m normal I’ll be your kind.
I will really be people then,
acting and thinking like others, just fine
and maybe you’ll be my friend.
Mental Illness.
Just too much of too much.
Carrying a huge wooden box containing a single apple.
Rotting, burning core.
Saying I would never beg for forgiveness again.
Then tipping the doll house over.
Mental illness.
You would think the “too much” would implode one day.
Never.
Just weaves rotting roots to grow higher.
Creaking sounds like memories if they could swallow.
Destiny is always around the corner for no reason.
And my destiny is helpless too.
Mental illness.
Creates.
Weird, unfurnished feelings.
Just too much of too much.
Mental illness.
I know where it comes from.
Maybe they’ll know someday.
Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.
73 years ago
A kid my age steps off a curb.
And, in the motion of falling, he believes he can reach heaven.
He has the thoughts of someone
with an inverted ribcage
And he’s sick on cigarette smoke and hypocrisy.
A kid my age, 73 years ago, calls me a pervert.
Through the thin veil of time and space
We lock eyes.
I say “I see you.”
He says “You’re sick.”
But that’s wrong and he knows it.
I am not the sick one.
He is the kid with the killing hat
And the giving hands
That despise the people he gives to.
He is the kid with filthy thoughts and phony smiles
Who sees the hollow spaces between his ribs
In the innocence of a child’s eyes.
And despite the filth beneath his tongue
And the alcohol stinging his throat
I cannot bring myself to
Feel anything for him
other than
Pity.
God gave me too much of me
And some of me too little
That to live must be —
That to live must be reduced
To something less
A lesser someone
Or in fullness being —
A being forever bounding
To where the lesser could never reach
Or reach immensely slower.
God gave me too much of me
So I longed to pass as Elijah did
In my chariot of fire
Lacquered black and finely barred,
Run on one-way furnace rails.
Surely, we walked together...
But just like shadows,
Some cheap ghost climbs in nightly,
Pondering the same.
Were all our lives rich folktales?
Panic knots tighter,
As I must have lost your face—
The one that was mine.
His building plans as seen on zoom
Resemble an old Pharoah’s tomb
Though Epstein is dead
Jeffrey's king-sized bed
Makes a grand stage for Trump's ballroom
Geese are never all alone.
They live everywhere together.
But I am an ugly gosling always alone.
Meanwhile my family has each other.
Geese are always flying free.
While I live so flightlessly,
They live their lives and just be.
I am on my own and free, but I'm lonely.
When funds are cut for
The mentally ill and the
Veterans, you're just
Asking for problems
Having a run, but not in hand,
Excited for I know my prize is grand.
It’s time to draw, but not from the deck,
I drew too much, now my figure’s a wreck.
Making lines, my soul further in debts,
I add more lines, I like placing bets.
Instead of pounds, I use my own,
A little more cautious, now down to the bones.
A little on edge, for my cover mustn’t be blown,
Acting as stoic as possible,
Expression like stone.
I try and do my best bluff,
But maybe I didn’t try hard enough.
I might tap-out, for luck’s not in my favour,
My turn is overdue, I should’ve signed that waiver.
Knowing if I lose, the cost will be major,
But I’m not too scared,
For my life is something I often wager.
Liar liar
Pants on fire
That's what you all will say
Unless your pretty
Or cool and witty
Or have enough money to pay
Your on your own
Like a dog with a bone
Fighting an invisible beast
Followed by traitors
Who say there not haters
Like jesus at the last feast
Liar liar
Tongues on fire
That's what you all said
You don't even know me
One day you'll see
Why you don't wish people dead
I used to dream when I was young,
I would remove all of the thorns
of the most beautiful flowers
and place them in her hair,
lovingly,
Innocence is cute, its so divine,
then you grow up not so fine,
that girl you knew as a child,
can't even remember her name,
sadly,
There's a loneliness to every soul,
eating alone in a popular food court,
they may enjoy the meal, cooked well,
but in the end, solitary doesn't taste as good,
and love declines as the demon in you climbs
and now you realize, its a tragic fairy-tale
and now the large world appears small
and insects on your skin now crawl,
The realization,
it makes you sick,
now, floating past the jetty,
the strands of her hair.....
If quantum mechanics were understood,
and black hole singularities, space-time,
and gravity's well swallowed in a flood,
would bend to genius effort of this rhyme,
instead, might solve a wicked delusion:
that I am Center of the Universe.
If the Bell Curve, for IQ, ends confusion,
then my so-called “godhood” status, a curse,
permits the information paradox,
a test, to irradiate my manic strain,
turning Schrödinger's Cat into a fox,
collapsing my wave-function to Planck domain.
What now remains, is for me to theorize:
will this strange rhyme win me a Nobel Prize?
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