two months later
and it already feels
like a distant dream
the slowly growing hair
the only reminder
of what I've been
through
there is a small sense
of hope
and dreams
like it was a warning sign
even if I did nothing
to deserve it
I just was
and will continue
to be
part of me
thinking its overcome
but another part
still afraid
that this was a trial run
for the real thing.

would you believe
I only get burnout
from my hobbies
and not my full time
employment?
the ideas explode
faster than I can deploy them
inside,
echoes become
chain reactions
become
nuclear fission
become
tactical explosions
become
mutually assured destruction
I should I should I should
I should certainly rest
without guilt
to take it easy
go for a trip
or simply sleep
alas this drive
I cannot quit
with both the handbrake on
and a strange steering
cliffs and walls approach
I have learned to let go a bit
but there's still so much more
to go.

a brush with death
painted with the most gentle
of brushes
a full moon piercing the fog
in between cold, rain, and wind
1x BEP is the name of the game
with the most attentive of nurses
in a calm quiet hospital room
I am the youngest patient there
I get looks
But we all carry the IV stand
just the same
when we use the toilet

Halfway through it's semi-tolerable
no worse than a bad night out
but more persistent
forcing tiny meals through mild nausea
so as to not get worse nausea
through less meals
In the morning, we'd all arrive like school children to the hospital,
my parents driving me, their children driving them
I may even have a crush on a couple of nurses already
but mostly I simply
distract myself from reality
with music, books, movies, social media
and plenty of sleep
it has become a full time job updating everyone
I would be curious too, after all

the catheter is the annoying part
a strange appendix piercing skin
after three stabs to get it right
almost fainting me
I keep expecting this whole thing
to get worse
as the toxic cocktail slowly accumulates
I'm already pretty sensitive
as far as men go
that's why I'm writing this
instead of pretending
it doesn't affect me
at all.

family is always best
at pushing buttons
triggers ready
while safety is off
but at last
some rest
for how can I afford
to get upset
when I'm discovering
in real time
if my body needs to puke
or I'm about to faint
or if the constipation
might turn into an explosive
evacuation
at the last minute.
yet another hidden gem
from this gift that keeps on giving
which is
slowly being poisoned
again

there's the objective concepts,
of trauma, prejudice, guilt, lust,
then there's the cultural flavors
of them.
how colorful these are,
how disorienting,
to one arriving someplace else
without assimilating;
that we should learn the differences
lest we fall into the confusion
that only our flavor of
weakness
exists

indifference used to be
the prison,
but now
it is
the
fuel.
it used to be a heavy weight,
but now I can fly
far
away;
in short:
weakness
into
strength.
and for those
still trapped,
I say,
everything can be
an asset:
fear,
pain,
weakness of will,
or of the physical.
all from Nature,
at your disposal,
night or day.

the couple of times per year
when I return to Lisbon
I wish for my mother
to again be my alarm clock
just as she was
when I was little
I suspect this annoys her
for I am much older now
I should know better
but I cannot quantify that comfort
of her voice, lifting that burden
if only briefly
even if she does so
chiefly
I couldn’t explain it well
that feeling
and admittedly
not much time has passed
since then
except now
when I brush my hair
the first white strands
leave my head