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 May 2018
Cné

Poetry comes back to me
where long there had been none.
Lyrical, the imagery, once shared
and then was done.

Thoughts of such sincerity
in words that grace the page,
Race across the span of time
that bridge the gap of age.

Trusting in the ardor that
has cooled and healed with time,
I read again the tender lines
of kindred souls, in rhyme.

Oh spirit of another age,
reach out from time and space.
Fan the embers turned to ash
and torpid ruin replace.

It seems my body succumbed to all these feelings,
Helpless but breathing.
I shake and **** -
Made everyone confused,
Then I struggled to reach,
Not even able to get a drink.
What they said was seizures.

Seizures usually stop though:
It's day 34 now.
Next I wasn't able to walk,
Do you know what it feels like
For your body to just give up?
Collapsing is now regular,
Sometimes my whole body won't move
And currently as I write this,
Sitting up is a joke too.

Psychological seizures -
Last longer than usual
Yet can mimic epilepsy.
All the tests back normal,
Except from the ones which take weeks.
In my head, really?
That's basically what they said.

Now at a specialist talking therapy session,
For 'exactly what I have'
They told me:
You can't separate the mind and body.
The thing I like that they said most
Is that the physical symptoms are real,
That I'm NOT making them up.

However, I still don't appreciate when they tell me "this is good".
You see, they act like because it's not caused physiologically:
It's much easier to fix.
At the hospital: "I'm confident this will just stop
And probably won't come back."
Here I am still counting days,
I was in hospital for 3,
The 34 does not include the first week of milder ones,
One month till my exams
And actually it's just under that,
I count the minutes I can attempt to revise for.
I recognise the month I missed when I finally became productive,
Now I don't have a choice.
The teachers compliment how well I'm doing,
But they don't see me
Lying on the floor at home,
Pushing and willing my muscles to set me back up,
Whilst going
Absolutely nowhere.

My great Granny is way more capable than me.
Do you understand how embarrassing and berating it is,
When the paramedics come for the second time within a week or two,
Just to tell you quite simply:
"There is nothing medically wrong with you"?
"You're breathing is perfect,
Oxygen 100%"
"Does she have social anxiety"
-One of the first things that he said.
Can you guess how many anxiety attacks I've had?
Enough to be sure I'd recognise them by now.
"I wasn't anxious" I told them,
Desperate to be heard,
But as soon as they know about your mental health,
Nothing ever matters.

It's true that you take independence for granted,
Until it's taken away from you.
I don't think I've ever wanted to leave the house so much,
Than when I physically couldn't exit for
Just about a month.
I don't like burdening my family and friends,
It doesn't matter how they assure me
Either way I'm still dependently relying on them.

Although this does have one benefit
And some of it does make sense;
There are things I haven't been wanting to do,
By this it means that I can't do them.
Putting this open and honestly:
It's a potential get out of jail free card.
This way not doing it wouldn't be my fault,
Because I am physically unable.
That makes sense that it's psychological.
Another thing I tried to disprove it with was that,
"I've been better lately"
Which yesterday I finally got that explained,
The symptoms come on when you're relaxed,
As they are finally given the chance.
My body's saying no,
And sometimes I partly agree.

What doesn't help me is the:
"Therapy is how we treat this"
"It's good you don't have a physical cause."
Right, yeah, okay then.
So look me in the eye again
And tell me that it's fine.
Tell me how I recover from this debilitating illness
By doing what I've been doing for two years,
If that was going to work surely it would have been prevented?
People with a physical diagnosis receive physical help.
But what about me,
Do I just fall through the system's gap?
What happens when I can't walk,
When I fall off my bed from lying flat?
If I had a broken leg they'd give me crutches,
I get an "it will go away soon but it's impossible for us to say when".

If there's anything you take away from this,
Then it should be that:
One. It isn't just in my head.
Two. I am not in control of what's happening.
Three. It may be a conversion disorder but it's no less real.
Four. The last point states the fact that it causes PHYSICAL symptoms.

If I want to tell the whole truth then I have:
Non-Epileptic Attack Disorder,
A movement disorder causing seizures often looking like epileptic fits.
The truth I will give (probably) most people:
I have seizures which are not caused by epilepsy,
Which makes me shake and collapse
And if I'm feeling generous I might add another symptom on,
Because the longer this has lasted,
The more there are that come.
 May 2018
aviisevil
there's nothing but silence-
or maybe,
silence and nothing.

is there a way to feed on the silence,
if not-
would i be hungry forever ?
i seek solitude in disguise,
served in solace-
with a hint of serenity in embers.

but i am sure,
it must feel alone-
for we haven't seen each other
in a while.

it's so exhausting to walk so many miles.
only to find scars and a barren land,
i hope someday i would understand,
why i see a man-
when i stare at the night sky.

the time swept the tides,
and now i see no moon-light.
only street-lights grace this oasis -

made of star-dust,
but a heaven no more.

pillars of concrete emotions,
rise through the air.
who ate the sky, i wonder,
who could ever dare ?

it's not yet five in the morning,
but it feels so close.

i left my dreams to die, again-
and yet i feel no remorse.

there's nothing but silence-
or maybe,
silence and nothing,

but i still breathe,
and then some more.
 May 2018
Lorenzo Neltje
I don't remember being 3 years old
But I do know what he was like -
A puppy, bouncing around,
A prince in his very own castle.

I vaguly remember being 6 years old
I know what he was like -
They said he was getting old for a dog
He was always grumpy, but at least he
Remembered who I was when I came,
The old king of his castle.

I remember being 12 years old
Visiting again, that Jackie
"He's an old man now", they said
He was tired sometimes
Yet he still acted like royalty in his house

I remember being 15 years old
We were on holiday together,
His owners and my family
He slept often, and was bitter in his years
And I told them,
"You know Jackie's as old as me?"
I calculated that in dog years,
He was about a hundred and five

I am 16 years old, approaching 17.
And Jackie's still here.
He's tired and he doesn't really move much from his seat.
But this is still his house as much as anyone else's.
He'd be 112 to 119.
He doesn't argue when I go to pat him now
He's calm,
Like he's got no fight left in him.
And it's funny,
I can't help but feel he might outlive me
I know he hasn't been this welcoming since we were both three.
My family friends got their dog in the same year I was born. And every time we've visisted since my 14th birthday, I've been so scared to go to their house and find out he'd died, but we went over for dinner last night and he's still kicking. My sister has a theory that small dogs live forever out of pure spite.
 May 2018
Eric the Red
The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves
 May 2018
Phantom Poet
Surviving and living,
Both have the same meaning,
It is just the difference in feeling,
Let me begin explaining,
Surviving is staying alive,
Just for the sake of being alive,
Surviving is struggling,
Competing,
Fighting,
It is a rough journey,
Full of hatred and being lonely,
Whereas,
Living is surviving,
But with happiness as feeling,
It is a rough journey,
But feeling happy,
In every little story,
Feeling happy with oneself,
Happy with whatever is happening,
Even if your world is crumbling,
Find joy within the disaster,
The aesthetic within the storm,
Don't waste time competing,
Struggling and fighting,
Live life don't fight it,
Once you can smile through a storm,
When happiness is the feeling,
That's when you know,
You are living,
And not surviving.
 Apr 2018
Hadrian Veska
Lay me down to rest
To mourn the nightmares
That used to comfort me
For even they have now passed
Dispersed among the faded stars

The sun is long set
remembered only distantly
In the vague stories of spectres
Whispered by candlelight
In the deep places of the earth

Only the broken moon remains
Blankly vigil over me
And over the shattered remnants
On the sterile surface
Of the broken earth below
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