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 Nov 2016 Feggyr Citack
Mike Adam
Some mountains pretend
They are unmoving

Their subtle lie
Pretends to permanence.

We are apart
For some reason
I cannot fathom

But trust
The chi
 Nov 2016 Feggyr Citack
Mike Adam
Now that life has
Scattered

To the ten
Directions

Blown by winds
Of change
Of chance

How

Where shall
We once more

Coalesce?
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed

‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!

His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'

And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath

With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing

Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
The torture I underwent on a visit to the dentist inspired me to write this... I thought I shall write on something a little less serious after a series of 'preachy' poems..... Dear friends, please take good care of your teeth or else you will have holes in your wallet and will be made to pass through such harrowing experiences !
The thing I like most about November,
It's that it's easier to let go than to remember.

But if I've learned anything from October,
It's that even relentless things can be over.

And if I know anything about September,
It's that love is an ever burning ember.

Or if I know anything about August,
It's that your eyes are flawless.

Yet if I know a thing or two about July,
It's that true love never dies.

And if I know about June,
It's that things can never start up too soon.

If there's anything I know of May,
It's that the cruel shall perish and pay.

If I know of April,
It's that people can grow to be hateful.

If there were something I knew of March,
It's that death's scythe claims a cruel arch.

But if I know of February,
It's that frost kisses my heart like butterflies kiss fairies.

And if I know a thing or two about January,
It's that I fear no fire, and that should make you wary.

And I know anything at all about December,
It's that the smallest memory will make your heart dismembered.

Though what I love most about November,
It's that I'm so glad you remember.

And whether you be near to me,
Or far is where you have to be,
I am here to stay,
Because even if there's a thousand miles between us,
I'm looking your way.
TODAY IT ALL BEGINS! YAY!
You told me this life wouldn’t pay off
You told me I would fail.
Hoping I should say.
You wanted me to become frail.
You used to tease me for being a *****
But that’s the way you made me.
This allowed you to analyze me
Poke around at me like I was a ******* lab rat.
But now that I am older
I realize that.
You were hoping that I would lay down and let you off easy,
You were hoping that I would laugh at your jokes which were so cheesy.
But I am standing.
I cant let myself die now.
You tried everything
You tried taking away my play when I was young,
Then my laughter by shunning me to my room,
Then my music and my friends
And now you try to take my dignity,
Man you have got to be ******* me.
Is it wrong to want a little respect?
After all,
I bleed the same color blood as you do.
Though I am a step son,
I try to step it up to become up to your standard.
But I am only met by pure slander.
I cant believe I am haunted by the smell of cigarettes
The bitter smell of it that lingers in your nostrils for days.
I knew that when I smelt your smoke,
You can guess who was coming.
I will never forget these scars that you elegantly stabbed into me.
I will never lose my gratitude for the bruises you have so lovingly begotten unto me.
You thought you could overtake my emotions
Treat the word abuse as easy as the word I love you
Made me constantly feel like what the **** do I do?
You
Are an evil man
You wonder why god doesn’t help you,
It is because god never meant to make a mistake like you.
And you know its true.
Dad, there have been many days I thought of you as a hero,
But then you chose to make me feel like I was on ground zero.
Im sorry I am not your real child,
But you don’t have to make fun of my family name,
Treat me so lame
Im done with you.
All these apologies are met with your broke *** analogies
And you leave me to say
Hey,
Please let me forget your actions today.
I know the thought of my success scares you,
Makes you feel suicidal,
Well how’s that for payback for making me feel homicidal?
For years I wanted run
And die
But I wasn’t brave enough, so I chose to cry.
I will never forget those memories because somehow they made me who I am today.
I am able to say that I survived, and still surviving.
Because no matter how many phone calls are made to the abuse hotline,
I still have to serve my time
In your house.
With your anger.
Whats with the term step anyways?
Like is it that I am a step down from your family?
Is it the one last step you couldn’t take so you could call mom a **** because she had a kid before you?
Because to be honest you didn’t just take my happiness, you stole hers too.
She is afraid of you, and that’s not called love.
That’s called oppression,
And you are the dictator at the pulpit.
More and more I find these writings are for you
And the question is if you really deserve my time.
So with that said,
*******
And goodbye.
for my father.
there are no dreams here
they are but fragments of thought
dismissed and abandoned to the wilderness
of our imaginations
to intersect or collide
perhaps hundreds or thousands at a time
to create some kind of patchwork mosaic of
tossed millisecond ideas and flashes of imagery
that have nowhere to go
these are not dreams
a vast wasteland of connected disconnected energy
of the mind

last night we walked together
and discovered our shared love of art
and ghosts
while the world slept
while I slept
I later met you in a book store
where we paged through Vangogh prints
and discussed the peculiarities of  'The Smoking Skull'
I awoke to a beautiful Sun and for a few joyous seconds…thought to
call you

there are no dreams here
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