I find myself lacking the ability to find elation
in the parts of my brain that give me satisfaction.
In the parts of the world that are supposed to bring me
whatever the opposite of misery is.
the same way you lack the ability to find brushing your teeth in the morning
anything but tedious.
Because my brain is too big.
Your world is too small, mine consumes all that lives.
As if I was born to vegetate my own existence
and pick the pieces of my brain that hold fascination.
I care less about what you think.
if only I could step out of myself to stop and jot on
my eccentric behavior
the way I express myself even when I eat.
my supernatural way of thinking
and how that coils its way into my connections
with people who are only self-aware when the situation is far from the person
who is mindful of.
Would my analyzation of my core and the outsiders of this world
make me neurodivergent?
Would I be accepted into society because I need therapy?
Would it make me less human if I declined help from another one?
Of course let the person who is qualified on reading others
like a book read me like I'm just page.
Grasp on to the things I can't just understand yet.
Help me understand myself even if you are not me.
It all sounds vague.
let the therapist teach me how to be self-aware and learn a new ability
to not panic as much
the same thing we all care about in the minds of the animals that we eat.
I am not a pig.
I doubt I'm even human at all except the parts of my existence.
I can't even tell you what the world is
but I can definitely tell you what comes from it
and how it rebirthed me.

here it is warm
but the company
colder than
white
trying
subtly
to differentiate
from one
or the other

a blip
on intuition
wasted
and desperate

she reaches
deep
into her womb
grabbing
squeezing
spongy tissue
aborting all emotion

expelling all
that was lost
the first time
she called
your name

you never heard
her voice
blank
silent
ignorance
did you ever love
her silent words


she allowed
you to push
inside
deep
pleasure
mistaken for love

gliding
thrusting
grunting
moaning

***

contracting
throbb­ing
spurting
dripping
screaming

crying

bleeding
incision
decision
circumcision

birthing

A rupture in silence, stolen peace
Uninviting brightness signalling my release
Unshackled, torn from where I lay
Involuntary I enter the fray

I present thou my mere body and soul
Unbeknownst this presence shall take its toll
Overwhelmingly consumed, sworn to cherish
Inevitably destined to once again perish

Carve the canvas, paint the way
Defiant to thy bidding, led astray
Cast adrift where echoes wane
Cursed to orbit fear and pain

Wounded and struggling to retrace
Attempts to rekindle, efforts to replace
Futility lies beneath the dark glare of despair
One shall not walk this dreadful path, I swear

The forsaken now seek to guide
Where many had fallen and tried
The adept stand as stronghold where one should falter
A last and valiant attempt for fate to alter

Inexorable strife lurking from the uncharted rift
Once more, my soul I lay as gift
In brittle armor I stand before thee, ghost
And plead to take me off this tarnished coast

Sink where time no longer weighs
Fade into the quiet haze
As the echoes draw a conclusion to the trail of shattered stone
In the moment of reckoning all will be reduced to dust and bone

Now the echoes draw their final breath
All is dust, yet what defines death?

On yellow sheet of faded whites and blacks,
With twenties' laughter peaking over hats,
A bride in white beside her groom in slacks,
Across the window, near the bedside sat.

The daises fresh were kept in vase at first,
But peaceful days were lost to tiny hands,
By second year, the days were spent in jest,
The tiny terror tracking trails of sand!

As days passed candles longer stayed at nights,
As lady kept her vigil over food,
So, she and he could catch the starry sights,
But not before the child was tucked in bed.

The lady bakes her man's beloved bread,
With sweetest, crunchy crust and spicy smell.
Just after kissing lady, out he fled,
With coffee aftertaste from morning bell.

The son is playing throw and catch with dad,
While heaving ball no farther than four rolls.
With strut triumphant, holding spam in hand,
Declares that she had saved five cents in sale.

The husband washing dishes after meal,
While heart of hearts with needle, mends the rips,
In summer rains, he repairs the roof-seal.
They both in winter enjoy skinny dips.

The child has fever burning one o' two,
The mother cried before the lord and kneeled,
The father threatened doctor that he'd sue,
To cure his son whatever bill it reeled.

The boy is charged and spanked for ***** mouth,
The boy had grown three-fifths a quarterstaff!
The boy then moved away to room in south,
As bed no longer fits their two and half.

The family sets out for Sunday church,
In tight and formal dress with sulky teen.
And after sermon stop for early brunch,
Then homeward bound for chores yet unseen.

As dandelion the boy has flown afar!
The lady knits as Christmas drifts away.
The lord of house has lost the balding war!
She hides from mirrors showing white and gray.

Awaiting granddaughter’s letters every morn,
And taking longer walks along the lake.
While holding me to breast, they softly warn,
That only death together may them take.

Then moved away from lovely bedside stand,
And packed inside the cardboard box with rest,
In shadowed attic I was left to guard,
The tales of dad and mom were laid to rest.