So I’m forced to take responsibility
For the actions of leaders I never trusted
And if I lack this absurd ability
You’d claim that I am maladjusted
But where were your morals when I suffered
What is your share of responsibility
For my troubles, why didn’t you offer
Your very supportive reliability?
Please don’t worry about to react
We both know the answer, don’t we
You may victimize me just like that
Then accuse me for playing a victim’s ennui
It’s an old tribal song, to shift the blame
To the poor, sending them to fight
I’m responsible for different songs to play
And I do, when the time is right.
Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.
In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors. “I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.
I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (‘political science’), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.
I envy those defectors, I pity those defectors, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.
Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.
Maybe there’s something wrong with us?
The house I wrote in
became an apartment for the ocean,
then a zoo for the innocently maladjusted,
then a garden for dreaming cats,
then floor-space - just floor space
to walk back and forth on.
The room I find these words in,
these metaphors, these bewilderment’s
of a younger blood,
flood me
now in my condo-maze-ment,
my spindle-boned easement.
Once I was a simile, similar
to something else, a green fracture,
the unseasoned sap of an analogy,
now I am upholstered, a place
roomy enough
for returning younger words,
their brain dizzying songs.
revisiting, unearthed,
as if they had just come to me,
and had not been arriving
from abandoned living-spaces,
from the forgotten foundations
of elsewhere.
On some painted wall they pee,
Funnily straightening themselves like a tree:
The peremptory command of their finished evil tea
And now complete rejection of a toilet with key!
The guys keep doing their thing with utmost glee,
Diametrically feeling incomparably free
A bashing of Propriety, never to such agree
And daring of sanitation department or their frightening fee
It is pointblank, a sight to not see,
All too obscene a urinating spree
That stings worse than does a bee
And only last week scandalized Sensitive Lee
From just the scatterbrained Eliciting “A Gee!”.
The whole lot, Maladjusted Adults,
To be not spared calculated insults!
The house I wrote this poem in
became an apartment for the ocean,
then a zoo for the innocently maladjusted,
then a garden for dreaming cats,
then floor-space - just floor space
to walk back and forth on.
The room I find these words in,
these metaphors, these bewilderment’s
these vernal chimes of a younger blood,
flood me now,
now in my narrow redoubt,
now in my condo-maze-ment,
my spindle-boned easement.
Once I was a simile, similar
to something else, a green fracture,
the unseasoned sap of an analogy,
now look at me.
I am upholstered, a place
roomy enough for a younger poem,
for returning to younger words,
finding ghosts in the spaces between them,
breathing through vowels,
with their open lungs,
their brain dizzying songs.
Revisiting
underlining, unearthing
blind roots, simple cyclic thoughts
as if they had just come to me,
and had not been arriving
from freshly abandoned living-spaces
places excavated
from under the forgotten foundations
of elsewhere.
Do you?
Fasten procrastination against the bed sheets of discontented motivation?
Sleeping into oblivion with depression settling in?
Becoming a recipient of insidious stigmatization?
Or, Do you?
Pull yourself up from the valarien labyrinth
of maladjusted madness into the meridian borders beyond a delirium of serious commitment?
I'm falling through the earth,
Another maladjusted birth of a lost soul,
Daddy went to war and never came back,
He was shot down by the cruelty of the western world,
They told me he went to special place,
but I know,
He's got a bullet in his head while rotting in the dirt,
Mommy's on the floor again,
in a pool of fluid,
Why can't this go away?
Why must we be in war because of some god in the sky?
My friend died today,
his mommy hid him in the closet as soldiers rushed in,
Shot dead.
They were all,
Shot dead.
I'm crying under the bed,
Mommy's not home yet,
I hear them marching now,
Killing everyone dead.
Fighting for honor, blood, and glory.
Is it really worth it?
He struggles with emotions
He struggles with emotional wounds
He struggles alone unable to share
He struggles alone slowly self destructing
For his well of tears is dried up he cant cry
He was socialized to believe men don't cry
He was made to believe men don't show weakness
He was made to accept men never admit weakness
He struggles alone unable to shed those healing tears
For his well of tears is dried up even hurt he cant cry
The soul wound festers making him maladjusted and bitter
The once jovial youngster now days is all gloomy and sad
The once promising destiny has now been poisoned by fate
The once radiance person now walks with his head cast down
The well of tears dried up but id rather he digs deeper- tears
Eye control darkness
Standing in creek consciousness
Eye pain portal
Me maladjusted myalgia
Hyposyncratic virilence
It tick, me tick
Bit me
Me sick
Loads shells, no click
Arabic apotheosis shrouded in defamation
Famine lives thru sublimation
Disgorge over the stern of the barge
Decrepid canal lazes with crude afterbirth
Charged with aborted sludge
Stripping the last shreds of life from the shopping carts that pose on the bottom
Fist-nose, lymphnodes spliced with tar
Near here the fear steers clear from afar
The fetid bargeman stalks the scape defiled
Drapes his rape on the nape of the last paedophile.
Can't cope so forgive me
I see the world in true form,
Not the fantasy easily reached and perceived.
Truth is the standing which resonates,
a strange sense of comfort
It is not negativity, but positivity,
in a Victorian fashion of bewilderment
It is the pulsating vibe of the bashful butterfly
And the satisfaction to the parched throat
Gently hypnotized by succulent refreshment
And self rewarding.
Though dilenquent among others
A raw sustenance, in solemn acquaintance
I am not alone, though inherit no home
And I eagerly await anyone who shares,
and begs for anyone in agreement and care
This is a DNA molecule and hair
Gemstones on a shoreline
maladjusted to the saltiness of fallen tears
basted in the din of sunbeam atoms colliding
the neap, a resting time from mortal waveforms
towed beneath the sanded plasma of sinking unblown glass
a final lash, a glinting sorrow, an eternal goodbye
so many facets unturned, a reminder of the emptiness
no shimmer on the barren plains of shore, a reflection
of the once and final aortic beat
The tired and the hungry
the broken and the poor
shattered...all but scattered
a home without a door
South of the equator
exploited and ignored
squatters live in squalor
engrossed in civil war
Socially maladjusted
cruel dictators heavy hand
forcing many across their borders
beyond their birthing lands
Parents weep,their children cry
knowing these little ones must rely
but try as they try,and try as they must
unforgiving world,for them turned to dust......
the sweetness
out of mind
out of controll
roam and moan
left to fall
dying crying flying sighing
no one to love
all alone
shall i always be
trapped cast out
why won't anyone save me
denial suicidal
built up breakdown
smother it all away
can't leave it behind
lost in my mind
driven insane
blast it all away
it bekons again
thrown out putdown
cold and hurt
frozen within
bleeding screaming
nothing left but hurt inside
eating me up
leaving me down
repressions all i find
maladjusted no motivation
sleepless nights
i sit and wait
nothing nowhere dead
i've fallen again
hours fracture by
spigots clog every pore
the ideatron flickers on off
on off, on off, on off
flexing muscles and flipping through
maladjusted soft spots in the lightly lit dayroom
sometimes i soak in the inane and wonder
am i really inching closer to something worthwhile
or am i ever falling, flailing arms into the ruin of insanity?
but there's something inside me
it must mean something
it must mean i'm losing it
Something inside of me has died.
On several occasions to myself I have lied.
My blackened heart in the palm of my hand
Offering it to you just as I had planned
My skin infested with your touch
I can smell you in my clothes to which I helplessly clutch.
Empty and thoughtless, seamless and bare
Weakness envelopes me,
Infectious stare.
My skin burns
Cold inside-starting to itch
Normalcy is for what I yearn
My thoughts maladjusted-My stomach turns.
I take a deep breath and
I slowly close my eyes
Offering you another sacrifice
Just to watch another piece of me die.
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