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I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need
Thanks For the Help Pirate!
I wish that I
was filled with stars
intricate, intimate arrays
to guide me to the edge
of myself and beyond

my soul
the brightest
in a unique constellation
of my naming

my love
many-hued nebula
expanding
to fill the void

my losses
supernovas
both beautiful
and tragic

But I am not
celestial
earth-bound
I must navigate

by stroke of skin
whiff of memory
trace of sadness
night vision

rudimentary compasses
in a sea of misunderstanding.
we were answers once
but then we left
and became questions
 May 2015 mjk plumage
Pat Adamek
A poem to make today meaningful.
Though I did something
It was nothing worth sharing
So you've heard before, no one's caring.

I'll write a poem to make today meaningful.
I'll be constantly reminding
You that you never had a good grasp of timing.
And it wasn't jealousy that forced me to quit responding
It was the fact that you would only text
me that I found alarming
...and you wrote a poem to make the end meaningful

You really must be my favorite author
I've bought your work time and again
I've your words stuck in my head
And you said
"You're reading too much into this" and had nothing else to offer.
 May 2015 mjk plumage
M
life
 May 2015 mjk plumage
M
it goes on.
 May 2015 mjk plumage
Sag
I asked you to read to me.
(I always ask them to read to me.)
(There's something about the way their fingers flip the pages
and their lips linger on certain letters
and their unique strategies of correcting themselves
when they stutter or mispronounce a word)
(Although your narration was smoother than the cliched flutter of a butterflies delicate wings.)
You agreed to be my raconteur
of the novel I let you borrow
and you painted pictures like no other,
of vivid skies and snowy German cities, all for me.
I couldn't recognize the medium you used at first.
I've seen watercolor landscapes and acrylic abstracts,
but you preferred oil portraits.
You knitted quilts of time passing train rides and hiding in basements.
Your voice was a foreign feel of fabric.
I once laid in satin, and then wool.
You were velvet.
Your head was in my lap while I braided your sheepish curls
and your fingers sheepishly traced patterns on my knee caps
and I could have fallen asleep right there,
easily, perhaps,
had I not been falling for the rise and fall of your breaths
in between cleverly placed asterisks,
chapter titles,
and clumsy kisses.
So tell me, what happens next?
I feel like this is a bit exaggerated/romanticized/cliche,
but hey, isn't all poetry?
No? No... Ok. Well... oh well.
 May 2015 mjk plumage
Pigeon
The sun is three planets away,
But you and I still burn like we live on it
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