My hand held out...
...to guard your back
When your friendships lacked
...to give money or supplies
When you couldn't survive
...to hold your hand
When you needed support
...to give you a hug
When you needed love
...to high five yours
At all of your endeavors
...to pat on your back
When you succeeded this or that
...to throw a thumbs-up
Because you never gave up
My hand held out...
...to cover my eyes
Through all of the lies
...to hide evidence
When you lacked common sense
...to understand the unreal
Amounts of items you'd steal
...to my chin to stipulate
The way you'd manipulate
...to cover my heart and divert
From your stories that hurt.
I could do this when I had two hands.
I could juggle these separate demands.
My dominant hand is limp now.
The tasks I take on are now simple.
I can only do one thing at a time.
Like, write out this single line rhyme.
When you see my hand out...
...from utter desperation
Please don't tabulate your accommodation
...remember I never asked before my disability
That you had previously admired my stability
...homeless, dirty and hungry
Offer to help me, without charging money
...keep in mind, it's the only one I have
My abilities and tasks all need to be halves
...perhaps don't act put-out or surprised
Because the person who's asking is paralyzed.
He reached his fingers to the stars
willed his legs to dance
forced his head so far back
that in the bow of his body
the bridge of his dance
allowed particles of flaring sunlight
little faeries of elation
to traverse to the other side
He saw his lean lithe body
pirouette and position,
ran screaming from one side to the next
in a perpetual wish to catch
that last step, that last grand
move, to capture small smiles
for infinity in his psyche
He said adieu to his last dance;
farewell to the music
only his ears could capture,
goodbye to a world of ballet
without him, his choreography
visible, but still resonating
in this time and space where
once he moved.
It was so silly at first, the tickling
as cotton would sprout from my cochlea.
The inkling that someone had spoken.
But neural crossed wires led to
crosswords of puzzling context clues...
One down—You need what?
Six across—Pardon me?
Nineteen across—One more time...
Five down—Can you say it again?
Relief was supplied by benign answers,
Easy words, can't be denied answers.
Sure, Maybe, Okay
But my nonmalignant maxims
swole to cancerous growths.
They knew I heard wrong,
and I always heard wrong.
They hate that...You hate that.
You are a bad listener
trans: You are a bad person
I turned to my savior, hand over heart,
Any otolaryngologist I will impart.
Yet I doubt that a beeping machine test
is keeping the best facets
of the human language in mind.
While Hamlet complains of the "Words, words, words"
I forget what the word, "word" means.
Maybe the doctors were right,
after all, its just beeps to me.
Because the only thing more ridiculous
than auditory anorexia
Is the concept of sound wave dyslexia.
Why must I strain to hear the words you tell me.
But when its you, every other word is enough.
------ must -- strain -- hear --- words ---- tell
When its you, every third word is enough.
------ -------I -------- --- hear ---- -------- you
Because I hear you, even if I don't understand.
The tides of time flow beneath my feet
Rippling and flowing uncertainty
I am fish in the waters of constant change
Unpredictable ain't it strange
Will I be eaten by my disability?
Devoured by the shark like features of my own mind?
The stormy waves inside my heart
Will not just depart
The sea the tides of time
Hide my lost treasure sinking in the deep forever
Atlantis a lost city in a watery graveyard
Drowning wreckage of lost sailors
the waves hold a watery vigil
a siren like fate waits
For me with a lover who could save me
or cast me into the murky depths
Maybe the seas of time are all our tears combined
throughout time inside are all our aspirations we cast our nets for
and still we cry more than we catch
So the seas are maintained
For us to sail on...
She sits for most of the time,
in a metal chair with wheels.
Counting out the value of life
with an injury that never heals.
She waits for most of the time,
to confirm that she is really there.
But how many people notice her
sat down in her wheel-chair.
She's invisible for most of the time,
she is there but nobody spies.
So she spreads her tiny wings
and floats unnoticed to the skies.
She cried for most of the time,
always alone and lonely in a crowd.
Now flying free her spirit rises,
there's no discrimination in the clouds.
© Pagan Paul (25/12/16)
The scream starts in my heart, but exits through my head
Every day I rise I remember that from the head down, I am dead
The things I thought would be poor sport, the wheelchair and work
Have turned to nothing more than piss and poo, and sometimes in the bed
My life changed in just one moment when I saw that specialist
But now I forget quite how I felt in that exact moment at best.
I lost the will to live when I found I could not do the things I loved
To walk upon the beach, to climb and see the coast
To swim, to run, to make love and be with the one I loved
So now I must sit and mourn and try to not look forlorn
There are those I love the most, who have given me hope
And those who slid away, trying to forget the other me
But when it comes down to it, I have to do my best on my own
I’ve been told I have to be strong, or that I am strong
The truth be told, I have no opportunity to be anything else
For who, if not me, will care to push me where I need to go
Life is crappy if not damned well tough
But me, I don’t have to accept it as anything more than a game
And so I propel myself through the inkiness of night
But I see the light ahead, as I cannot afford to fail
And as they say, life goes on and I will refuse to be left behind
So I am strong and hard, but inside there is space
Space for my feelings, space for my cares
All in a box I’ll not ever reveal to someone else