To speak scientific truth and the ways of nature is now to hate one another, so it seems
Why is this? How possibly could spreading the good seed of knowledge be the equivalent to inciting violence or a hate crime? Humans are far too fragile, as they have been since the beginning of time. All these unnecessary wars, and for what reason? They begin by spreading facts or opinions that evidently cannot be handled. There is nothing more self destructive than humanity. The censoring has begun, and I reckon much worse is to soon unfold. Why must they defend so dearly, what does not exist? We are asked not to label, yet these people label themselves and us within the span of a second for not believing in fantasies. We stand subject to ridiculous trends, power trips, and the dangerous fragility of the human mind. Will there ever be an end?

Here is something I learnt today
Be careful on what you spend your pay
After a day of fun, I did not think
And downed a pitcher of energy drink!

Got to the pub at half past seven
Drank Monster and Redbull until eleven
Finally home and sleep I think
But sadly not, bloomin energy drink!

What is this madness, I wiggle my toes
Why can’t I sleep , my eyes are closed
I peek and see all my clothes are pink
But still no sleep, bloomin energy drink!

Some fine ideas come flooding to me
Animation too seems just too easy
I wonder if this is the missing link
Nah, it’s the bloomin energy drink!

So check the web, will I be alright?
Paranoia seems so much worse at night
Dad is up, my eyes don’t blink
I’ll be fine he says, bloomin energy drink!

So never again, I’ll be a good Daughter
I’ll probably now just stick to water,
You can drink so much just from the sink
And no more bloomin energy drink!!

As school comes to an end, I decide to
spend the summertime with my instrument.
I read music theory for two hours,
but my hands yearn for the touch of six strings.
Fingers position themselves to stroke bliss.
But my phone’s troubled with recurring rings.

****, it was mom telling me I have class!
I raced for my backpack, and I told her:
I will not slack. Papers grew so lonely
without their folder to cuddle them close.
I couldn’t care to organize them cause
usually, I’d lay in my seat repose.

Ionic bonds? What do they even mean?
And what the heck is “double replacement”?
Okay, I should start paying attention.
I grasp the pen. I notice the tension.
As soon as I write, my hands start to shake.
I start over. Now hands begin to ache.

What in the world is happening to me?
Two words: I scream. Head jerks, and my legs shake.
It has to be a dream. It has to be!
Don’t want to move, but I have to take notes.
Why are random words bursting out my throat?  
I’ma be real. I need my mommy!

Class is over. I exclaim to mother:
my fingers refuse to stop tremoring.
And I’m getting these tics. What set it off?
First thing I do is reach for my guitar.
I can’t hold it. I can’t ******* grab it.
Eyes of terror stay written on my face.

The next day I was in a wheelchair.
I cannot look straight- straight up to the sky
or look in front and into people’s eyes.
My right-hand curves to the left. A tendon
sinks into my flesh, and my left fingers
cramp up from being intertwined like vines.

They are stiff. Hideous. These are not mine.
But it does get much better with some time.
I can walk again, talk again, and write.
But all good things come with downfalls, don’t they?
My brain disease will come at me with might.
And I refuse to give up on this fight.

There will be a time when I reach stage five.
And I know it won’t be a pretty sight.
I’m ready for what will happen to me.
Dearest guitar, please know you’re my heaven.
Why bother to fret? Cause’ when the time comes
I’ll see you again in a few seconds.

ooh ooh ooh
   i've  got brain problems
over and over again
   i walk forward

and follow the self
   of the bear
and the dog
   going forward

many years i was
   where i am now
oh what a manifest destiny
   i dream of it all

do not worry
   no problem here
name me a loner
   a wildman

hey brain, take this brush
and paint by yourself
these hands of mine are rough and calloused
unable to lift and bend my cracking joints
paint your thoughts by yourself
because my arms are limp and weak
and shatter when touched

i've always wondered why you never thought of leaving
voluntarily staying in my withering home
so kindly and destructive
when you paint on my walls
forgetting that lead settles in the pigments
in the lines that drip from excess

though each stroke pains me the longer you create
i'll always compliment you
with a voice tone-deaf and ugly
thankfully, i feel pretty when you do
i feel pretty when i become your muse
and feel a little less incomplete.

Charged neurons firing,
Bombshell ideas explode,
Rifting old beliefs.