I hit potholes, and my lips lose control
shape-shifting into a hotheaded troll
But when roads are silky smooth
I downshift back into cool
Potholes are the cause of Tourette Syndrome
TOURETTE
Tic tic tic
Twitch
Jerk
Lash out
Kick out
Click clack
Stutter
"Those are the tools of Tourette's trade"
My psychiatrist says, and he is smiling
"That's how your body's brain is made,
Such is your brain's different wiring"
I merely assumed that stuttering
Caused extreme concentration,
Made extremities flail and fling,
Hoping for better pronunciation.
"No", he says, "but you can learn
To suppress and focus for a while.
Channel surplus energy in turn
To writing, singing, dance. So smile!"
Yes he is right, it's just a name
For what I do, it seems, a lifetime.
But deep in me I have such shame
It may be me, it's far from fine.
All the surgery the future brings
Will improve my life, I love it
But won't silence Tourette who sings
And dances as long as he deems fit.
So I will dance with him and stutter
My words on paper or from my mouth
My face will tic, my hands will flutter
With dignity, because I am proud
This here is me, I'm writing colour,
Paint images with written words
It's giving happiness, therefore
I am allowed, I may be heard.
"Can you sit still, for a change?
and stop the annoying clicking?"
I'm trying hard! It doesn't work!
I click, and keep on ticcing
"Sit in the back, don't want to see
your twisted face much longer
Pick up your notepad and your pen
Before I show my anger"
I spent my years in school alone
A quiet, silent dreamer
Because of what I couldn't control
I grew defensive armour
And only now I understand
That deep inside my heart hurts
That I am allowed to be just me
With my freaky quirky outbursts
This is just me, a little guy
Who writes and loves his wordplay
Who opens up his heart for you
So smile and please, please stay.
He rides his wheelchair like a racing car
The rainbow colours blending into one
He grins his infectious grin, his wide mouth
welcoming and warm
He stutters, his sentences an intricate mess of
words that won't come the way he wants them to
And Tourette is not HIS name, but all the same
it makes him a wondrous one to view.
He doesn't understand most jokes, so serious!
But laughs uncontrollably at his own pun
So fun! But one must love his beautiful hair
His green eyes, and everliving optimism
I know him well, from the inside out, so proud
is he. Remember well! This does not define
the him he is, I live with him day in, day out
Because you see? I do not notice disability.
For me he is as normal as can be, for I am he
I live with me, and disability, and poetry.
***
4th Place in Contest: In a relationship with a dis-ABLED person - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: W. Thomas Markham
Tyrannical,
tourette-ical,
tic-tic-tic-tic-tocking,
twisting, tangling, tumbling,
the words tie in tight Gordian knots
trying to flee the faltering tongue
in a staggering, staccato rhythm,
sounds now chat, chat, chat, chattering
out of his mouth as unpredictable
and uncoordinated utterances;
as if, as if, as if, AS....IF
they were bubbles, popping
as they rise, rise
from the depths
of the sea.
You quote a man not known but known to everyone when speaking to me
You still are my favorite one to dream about
I choose my words carefully when talking to you
Constructed forums for self doubt surround my delusional landscape
So do consider this an ode to you and your false perfection
I climb all the ladders in reverse when trying to reach you
O'er freezing waters and under painful thoughts
Around you is agnostic heaven
You are a graceful angel and i am your charmless flipper baby tourette baring sappy tap
danced party joke :/
smile...i like it
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