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Egeria Litha Jan 29
Sun rays poking from the windows
I can't get my head off this pillow
stale air in this room and I'm holding my breath
anxiety attempts to control what occurs next
then a seizure erupts in my head

Hits the glitch
in my automatic mask
I show for the world
and all those thoughts
I can't hold in my brain space
Desmond the poet Aug 2018
It’s a good day the lord granted.
Everything seems so perfect.
Weather is sweet.
Sun’s shining.
What could go wrong?


I felt you coming.
Like a hijacker through a rear view mirror.
How I wish for a false alarm.
Dear lord may this cup pass.
A moment to accept the inevitable arrived.

Oh my God! you seized me once again.
You came like a thief at midnight.
You hijacked my mind.
You exposed me to wrath of migraines.
Horrible 30 seconds in a 24hour day.
It's like a small stain on a white garment.

The cruelty of an epileptic seizure is inevitable.
This an expression of how a 30seconds encounter with with an epileptic seizure can ruined the whole 24hour day.
Desmond the poet Aug 2018
Those you haven’t victimized fear you.
Mighty and dreadful you seem.
Little do they know, you only seize flesh and control the mind.
You seize not the soul.
Hence be not proud.

You’ve dwelled in me for many years.
Imprisoned me to anti-epileptic drugs.
You’ve dispirited me.
You attack, seize, and control my mind.
Your attacks are but brief.

Epilepsy be not proud.
For I fear not what rescind only flesh.
I fear what abolish both soul and flesh.
Proportional to gravitational force I fell.
I’ve always find the forte to rise.

Epilepsy be not proud.
For against all odds, I’m still alive.
This poem to show that for as much as I've been epileptic for 32 years I'm still alive because Epilepsy has not managed to **** me.
Makenzie Marie Jul 2018
I am a passenger
In my own body.
Everything’s heavy
Memories spotty.

Working away
On a beautiful day
Until my heart begins to race

Adrenaline pumping
But still I’m exhausted.
Lay down on the floor
Feet up in the sky
Get blood to my brain
And continue on with my night.

An engulfing weight
Holding me tight
Pushing me farther
From consciousness’ light

I can hear you, yes.
All that comes out is a breath.
And then again,
I’m drifting away.
I can hear everything they say.

“Open your eyes”
They flutter, sight blocked
I can not
And again
My vision is spotty
A passenger in my body.
Desmond the poet Jun 2018
Nobody knows how it feels.
How it feels to live in fear.
Fear of not knowing my next seizure.
When, where and how?
Will it be in public or private space?

I fear the inexorableness of epilepsy.
Is the devil you know better than an angel you don’t?
I bet to differ.
I’ve been living with this inevitable monster since childhood.
That’s why anxiety haunts me even in parenthood.
Nobody knows why and how it feels except God.
Just an expression of it feels waking up in the morning not knowing when my next epileptic seizure will come.
Gray Jun 2018
I laugh because it’s over, I joke because it’s over for now.
I laugh and joke so others don’t look at me with pitiful eyes, their pitiful glances with eyes glazed over.
I am not a pity project, I am and will always be “recovering” but that does not mean I am weak.
This could have happened to anyone, my brain did not choose to be ill.
Even if I did not chose this I decided to laugh.
I decided to joke so you would not look at me though pity.
I realize this is a hot mess, my dearest apologies.
Desmond the poet Apr 2018
Every morning is a chance at a new day.
It’s never a bad life but a bad day.
Appreciate every seizure-free day. great feeling of rising post every fall.

Life's perkier focusing on what truly matters.
Each day may not be seizure-free,
There’s but, something good everyday.

I don’t live once.
Instead I die once.
I live every day.
I’ve been broken.
I’ve been hurt.
I’m however still alive.
As usual I share my experience living with epilepsy. This poem is about focusing on the positive because I'VE learnt a lot from living with this chronic condition.
Desmond the poet Apr 2018
I woke up confused.
I asked: what happened?
I’m broken and bruised.
Silently and violently, I was attacked.

I’m still curious to know what really happened.

The attack tears through my mind.
I’m separated from the world.
My mind was stolen.
As usual, I’m exposed to horrible migraines.

Oh! My God, it’s another seizure.

It’s one of many since childhood.
Oh! you inevitable silent attacker.
We’ve walked together since childhood.
You’ve got the nerve to even attack me at home.

I still can’t get used to our long-term one sided relationship.
Every epileptic seizure still hurt like the first time.
I am trying to express what I go through after every epileptic attack.
Always thinking,
Always fearing.
Always losing my control.

Could be better,
I resent her.
Write the letter of my soul.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.

It's so confusing:
The words I'm using,
To show the stories I have told.

Fight together,
Or against her.
The thoughts that I've heard are so old.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.

Suffering and obsessing,
Are the same thing or so it seems.
This obsession isn't sweet-
Constant thoughts of the fear to beat.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.
I was in the middle of a panic attack and somehow decide to finish a poem I started awhile back. Thanks!
poesuer Nov 2017
There is something wrong with my programming.
It's the the way I was manufactured.
Wires are crossed and some are missing entirely.

I'll probably short circuit again. Life will leave my eyes as they roll back into my skull and I'll fall down and I'll look dead. If I'm lucky my head will bang into the table and I'll fall on the floor and bruise myself everywhere.
It'll prove I'm still alive.

It's not pleasant, but it's a human thing to do.
Computers don't have seizures.
Old poem that I spruced up a bit. About my experience with dissociative seizures.
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