I’M FEELING IT AGAIN.

ALL THE ******* NAUSEA

Do ya ever feel that way?

You probably have a few times in your life.

But have ya ever felt it CONSTANTLY?

Every.
Single.
*******.
Day.
I feel it.

Sometimes it’s for a few hours.

But a lot of the time, it’s all **** day.

ALL **** DAY.

I’m so uncomfortable all the time.

Because of NAUSEA.

******* NAUSEA.

Forgive me for being a little bitter.

I’m just a little<a lot>nauseated.

We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.

We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.

We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.

We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.

We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?

Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?

Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.

Tube worms hellish creature
Centurion of pitch and isolation
No internal altimeter

Pressured to bake and cook life
Take energy from pressured light
Press and push and valve and close
Entrenched, in line to another world

A planet a dot, a dot a spot
a spot a rock, a rock a dot

Wiggle waggle struggle straggle
Life and death, dream and cot

It is hot down here
In passion of dream
and the brain can easily
Overheat

Brown, peeling rubber soles on big feet
Crunch crunch, the gravel and glass goes underfoot
The overcast gloom of the early morning.
Depressed and downhearted buildings lining the streets.
Weeds encircling the gardens like a dragon looming over its prey.
Flowers hanging their heads, gravely.

Smudged faces, dark purple eyes, gaunt complexion, another restless night for these children.
Bruises up and down each leg.
Trodden, broken. “Not good enough” ringing in their ears.
Dreary faces, ripped uniforms.

The school building silhouetted against the grey, emotionless sky.
“Line up in rows, nice and neat”
They would hear this repeated for the rest of their lives.
A zebra crossing worn and battered.

Cigarettes passed from frail, wrinkled, hopeless hands.
Hooked on 4 a day at the age of 13
The wind groaned through the yard.
Somber faces, with wide eyes awaiting an education.

Pale arms and legs bristling in the playground.
Teachers thinking the sun has set on their dreams.
The corporations rubbing their hands, stamping their boots.
Another day at school now, but do they have a future?

Although billionaire,
am the poorest man on Earth,
no family or friends.

it's like Opposite Day
The day when today It-is-not, but
Now the sun is shining and the clouds depart to show that it's smiling

it's like Tomorrowland
the land of the accomplished
where everything I said I'd do is finished and on time and I have no worries of the clock on my mind

it's like the neighbor’s yard
where the Joneses stay
with their better grass and HD TVs

—but it's Sunday night here in the present where I lay on the yoga mat on the cement floor
and try to think of the day I'm the Joneses and someone looks into my backyard