"disabilities" poems
The cover might be torn.
The pages might be worn.
But never judge a book by its cover.
Never know what you'll discover.
There's so much beyond what's seen.
Just need to respect the poor as well as the queen.
The words might've suffered scorn.
The theme rejected before being born.
But never judge a book by its cover.
There might be a gift for you to discover.
The healthy now the ones mourn.
Disabilities sprouting like corn.
Never, I say I never judge a book by its broken cover.
Because in the fragility hides what you must discover.
Copyright 2011
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
Its just ***
So why you catching feelings
When your body was the only part of the deal and
We agreed that your mouth don't come with it
Do you want us to quit?
He would say
As he ****** her soul from between her lips
And tighten up his grip on her hips
You had a choice before
You dont wanna be "just friends" anymore
I never wanted a rrelationship
You got yourself into this situationship
So stop that whining ****
He whispered looking into the mirror that was once her eyes
Before he made her blind
Before he couldn't see through her
I llove what you give to me
I love when you pleasing me
But I don't want you loving me
The *** is just enough for me
It was fun when it was hard to get
Now you're just hard to respect
Now your eyes are clouded with regret
He moaned thrusting into her mentality
Stroking her disabilities
To love herself
To love anyone else
Cause he's all she can see
He's the only thing that's real
He's all she learned to feel
And he's just expecting her to deal
Chill out with the feelings
You're getting unappealing
Your soul is so revealing
The poet in you lost all her meaning
You're demeaning
Youre no longer a woman
You're a substance
You're just a thing
He reveals stripping her of self security
Ripping off the bandage that she placed over her heart so carefully
But you're light
You shine so bright
You're all I think about at night
You make everything so right
But you're making me weak
Love is sweet
But not for someone who makes a living in the streets
I'd rather love you in the sheets
And rip your heart out before you leave
The biggest punishment that life could ever give
Give to you I mean
The biggest punishment would be falling in love with unloveable me
He thought carefully
Quietly
Watching the tears fall from her face
Watching her steps as she leave his place
As his home and heart and soul becomes empty again
He only knows how to cause pain
Only knows how to inflict gentle suffering
Cause everyone he's ever loved left him in the rain
But she let him in
And he's letting her go again.
After all its just ***
So why did she catch feelings
When her body was the only part of the deal and
He gave her the choice before
To be "just friends" and nothing more
Although he wants so Much more .
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
To each their own form of bravery
For though this life is an individual test
It is not a challenge of rivalry
All have their hardships
Struggles of pain and unfairness
Working to rise again once being tripped
Do not judge another by what is seen
For bravery is often quiet
Keeping hidden where they've been
There are struggles that you
Will never, ever know
That may be very real to those around you
From physical limitations and disabilities
To emotional pain and despair
Life shows us our certain mortality
The goal is to still appreciate the gift of life
And become a better person
Becoming refined through our strife
So at points when you're low
And especially at points when you're high
Never judge someone, for you never know
Someone you see could be fighting
The fight of their lifetime, so think
Before you assume it's weakness you're sighting
Their fight may have just begun
Or maybe it's been going and going
And they can't last, they're done
No one has the right to judge another's bravery
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer
We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..
But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all
Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers
Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about
But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains
We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan
We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it
When we get
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life
So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
Yes I have a disability
Special needs
I don't let my disability
Rule my life I might have
A disability but it doesn't
Defines me because it is
Not what I am as a person
I have a disability but I am
Humans too I get sad and
Mad too I can be mad at
God but I not mad at god
Because he creates people
With disabilities to teach others
You do have to be perfect because
The way you are is perfect to god
Yes I am a child of god people with
Disabilities are gifts from god I am
I fine that I am different because
Everyone is different and unique
In there own way on ones are the
Same because that how god want
It because he see everyone as beautiful
And he love everyone unconditionally
I am blessed to have a good friends and family
In my life and I am believe in god ours savior
© Amanda Kay Hill
1/22/17
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
I'm told its best to eat low on the food chain
so if its okay
i'll start at your feet
and work my way up tenderly
excited like a child climbing a great tree
for the first time
aspiring to your kind mouth
but forgive me my love, alas my manners
have left me
and
i fear i'm stuck between your thighs
your shimmering slit has me woozy
oooh candy red lolly
so very cherry jolly
my favorite color since i was six years old
you know
and so wet like babies drool
can we open this butter cup
it all loving alizarin silk
a gift for my tongue
splashing pink
little fluttering bull frog
ready to turn into your prince
the taste of epiphany
my attention deficient disorder
vanquished
my learning disabilities evaporated
why didn't they teach me to read like this
i can taste the entire alphabet inside of you
numbers come with colors now
making sense suddenly
i feel the alchemy of poetry and art
high mathematics and astrophysics
i hear the music of the spheres
and every molecule
of
the earth giving birth
to the spice of creation
next you say,
would i like to know the constellations of heaven
yes please my lady
i'm definitely going to kiss your ***
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
I've done a lot.....
I've done a lot in my lifetime.....
I've done a lot in the past 11 months...
I've felt even more...
I've made decisions....
I've made mistakes....
I've created conclusions and shoved them in the mirror's reflection.
I've made a finalization...
I've terminated the story...
I've concluded this connection.
Now I'm alone...
Now I feel like excess emotions left in a puddle to be stepped in and splashed in, for fun or dismay.
-a muddy disgrace of distaste.
-a muddy reflection of disgust.
-a distraction on the path to your destination.
I feel sick...
Sick to my stomach
Sick in the Mind...
Sickly branches that creep out from my heart, determined to entomb my entire internal system, and hold me there to deal with what level I've continued to stoop myself too.
Myself... the one that's so much better than what she's encountered and how she's figured her future.
I deserve what I have, and what I choose.
I deserve what I get, for what I've chosen.
I'm throwing up...
I'm throwing up everything...
everything that my heart has eaten right out of the palms of those who've given it to me.
I don't wanna feel it anymore....
I don't want that pressure forced on my stomach any longer.
I'm sick...
I'm sick again.
Its all coming up....
I'm letting it out... all the emotions that so rightfully belong on the floor in a jumbled mess rather then crammed in my stomach where they explode with temptation as my stomach thrusts itself in circles....
its looking for a way to let everything go.
My body knows whats right....
I'm emotionally anorexic.
I throw it all away without wanting to let it go, I would rather keep everything that reminds me of that time, that time when my stomach did not churn in agony...
I am miserable....
I am mistaken.... and misjudged...
I am sick...
and distracted...
I'm... lost?
Lost in the mirrors and fine lines... fine lines between punishment and disabilities...
I can see myself....
I see myself pale and done.
Done with everything I'm hearing and thinking right now.
I've gone too far.
I'm done.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.)
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
I have bad grades.
I’m aware of this, but they
still insist on shouting as if
three letter F’s
determine my worth
as well as my ability.
I’m not athletic,
never been remotely decent
at sports,
picked last for soccer,
football, basketball,
and everything else,
tried to do parkour once-
however,
that hope quickly dissolved
when I discovered
that it was still nerve-wracking
for me to climb a fence.
(One of the many gifts
that comes with a severe
lack of coordination.)
I’m not a quiet person.
I don’t know
how to hold my tongue
most of the time.
So when my father’s paycheck
is cut shorter and shorter,
when he makes little enough as it is,
my stay-at-home mother
fighting her demons of
the severe depression and anxiety
that she passed down to me
as well as her (auditory) hallucinations,
her BPD,
her physical disabilities,
not making a paycheck at all,
and my school supplies
consist of 50-cent notebooks
that fall apart,
and 75-cent pens,
I get a little… “upset”.
I’ve played guitar for three years.
Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at,
playing strings of notes
and minor chords
that come together to form
beautiful harmonies-
but more often than not,
every note is sour…
Another thing I’m not good at.
But I am a writer.
People don’t pay attention
to teenagers, they say
We’re so full of ourselves,
We think we’re so important,
they say
We need to communicate,
but when we try
all they hear
is whining, and complaining.
Teenagers telling their friends
in passing conversation
that they’re suicidal,
that they hurt themselves,
just to see who will notice-
who will listen-
and of course, no one does.
Nobody notices that
teenagers are the voice
of our generation,
and our generation,
as such,
is royally ******
because nobody pays attention.
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
But I am a writer.
And I have
a voice,
a pen…
And paper torn
from a 50-cent notebook.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
All my poems are
The same, aren't they?
*"You're being lied to by a corrupt,
Imperialistic government,
Corporations own your soul,
We're destroying the planet's
Natural resources, making
It uninhabitable, to ourselves and
Driving other species to extinction,
Capitalism is unethical, and
It subverts the potential
For real democracy,
Yada yada yada yada
Blah blah blah"*
Maybe I should write about
Something else, but what?
I like flowers,
Flowers are nice,
Especially orchids, but
Not those weird,
Smelly ones that grow
On Callery trees... no
Those things reek like
Stale **** and sour milk.
Ah, but who could deny
The pungent and delicate
Fragrance of a rose?
Someone with anosmia,
That's who.
What, you didn't
Stop to think about,
People with disabilities?
How incredibly
Inconsiderate!
What are you?
Some sort of
Overprivileged, straight,
White, cis male ableist?
**** off, you ******
You might as well
Be a fascist. I would
Tell you to go back
To **** Germany, but
HEY, NEWS FLASH,
It's 2015, buddy,
Grow up and join
Us adults here in
The real world.
Wait... where was
I going with this?
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."
A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.
A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."
A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Dear Dad
I know you have physical disabilities,
but you are the centre of my heart,
the love of my life,
so thankful to be your son.
I am never ashamed of you,
because you are my perfect dad;
your heart is never disabled,
your love has had no divisions,
your mind is pure,
your words calm a raging foe,
and your smiles are infectious,
I will always be your son,
I love you Dad.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Studies have shown that corporal punishment
at a young age
only results in learning disabilities,
God smacking the grey matter out your brain...
So the cycle of self, ego, perpetuating abuse, goes.
It is a series of footsteps, streams that become rivers;
and we are composed of these chaotic streams: energy
Dreams.
And my brother is a perfect window into "America"
He has a five year old boy, a Girlfriend with a boy and a girl;
They both believe in tough love and hitting;
On Sunday, as they were entering my mothers house,
his son hit him with a snow ball near the crotch, so he hit him
in the stomach, and I saw the boy lose his breath.
"You're a terrible father."
I picked him up as he started crying.
My brother said he was bad all day before that.
What am I to believe?
That you are raising, caring for, and loving unconditionally,
or you are ******* up as a parent by hitting your child?
What am I to believe? That glimmer of light is a deamon
or that the deamon is you, my brother.
When you slap your child, or any animal, you reduce it
its brain, its body, and its mind. That's why alphas ****
they just want to reduce the other males around them.
Its an evolutionary trait that carries through to today.
And so do fools, my nephews mother wants to medicate him...
when science meets spirituality, mind spirit
we replace the box with a tree, a galaxy.
We replace the pill with therapy, and community;
petrol with the sun, burning a hole
in the unity of our dreams and the whole of our destiny.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
**On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.
Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.
Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital support to grow.
Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.
When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.
Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.
In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.
All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively
On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.
Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.**
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
Hardship.
After hardship.
After hardship.
After hardship.
...And why?
"This makes us stronger people,"
My mother always told me
With tears in her eyes
"God knows we need to
Improve something.
He is just giving us an opportunity
To make ourselves better."
And I sort of believe her.
Just a little bit.
Mainly I just think
That life likes to **** on us.
"Oh, your dad got a good job?
Nah, we can't have that.
Lets make it temporary.
This job will last 6 months."
This happens more often than not.
And it's crazy.
I don't know anyone else
Who has it like us.
And I'm not trying to say
That my problems are greater than yours
We all have hardships
They're all just different ones.
Some people have disabilities
Some people are suicidal
Some people abusive lovers, abusive fathers
No, I will not disregard these people
All I'm saying
Is I'm tired of this ****
It gets real old
Real easily.
And it never seems to end.
Hardship.
After hardship,
After hardship.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".
It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.
She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.
I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).
The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
I have been invisible before.
My thoughts and justifications were transparent.
All anyone could see were my actions;
the way I failed and stumbled,
and ran head first into doors that lead me down path after path of distraction.
At least they seemed like distractions,
oh, but they become my destruction.
I spent my time quietly imploding,
only to change my mind last minute,
and suddenly explode.
I changed my mind,
but my body stayed stock still.
I stood in front of the judges
and while my tongue was granite,
the urge to run from the podium had never been greater.
I wished to be invisible.
I wished to go to a dark corner of the room and finish my implosion.
Out of sight,
where I could hide and self destruct without a sound.
And then if,
or when,
I picked up the shrapnel,
I could re-join everyone on stage at graduation.
I could hold my head high
and with a smile,
pretend no one saw me crumble.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
I'm an ugly person
for the way that I think.
The things I say under my breath.
Wrapped in grubby chains of envy
at all who walk past.
and I do mean all.
I'm angry because I'm not as good
as everyone else,
not as pretty.
I'm angry because beauty is granted to everyone
and those with disabilities.
I often think this girl is pretty,
but the only reason she has a modeling contract
and has this fame
is because she lost an arm
was bullied
showed her insulin pump in her photo
has a disease
or is deformed.
girls who look worse than me
praised like Gods for their beauty
because they have something wrong with them.
I'm jealous of that.
I fantasize often about my grand sad story,
jumping in front of a bullet, attacked,
cancer, loss of limb etc etc
I want their awful story
just so people will like me
and think I'm pretty.
It's disgusting.
Their life is hard
and they are brave
but I think it's unfair
and I'm still jealous.
They get praise and treated like royalty
because they're sick.
beautiful and sick is beautiful.
ugly and sick is beautiful.
beautiful and normal is beautiful.
ugly and normal is nothing.
ugly is ugly.
and even as I recognize my disgusting thoughts,
they're still there.
brooding and boiling
in a *** of green slimy jealousy,
jealous because they're lucky
and blessed and fortunate.
I'm ugly because I'm jealous.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas
If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake
Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.
Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.
Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!
The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton
Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!
******** was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything ********
because it is inappropriate and insulting
This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like
*******
gimp
deformed
disfigured
Freak
insane
lame
******
*****
spaz
stupid
whacko
Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.
Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.
Get some new **** paint
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
Dear Wish Granting Factory
I know you said you are not the world
But for a minute,
Can you be?
Dear Wish Granting Factory
You asked me what I would wish for
If you existed
Right now, in this moment, I believe
You exist
What do I wish for?
Oh, Wish Granting Factory
I wish to know the sensation of feet slapping against pavement and lungs burning so bad that you feel you are going to faint
I wish to know that the muscles in my fingers will not fail me when I spread them and cross my arms over to make the Nerdfighter gang sign
I wish to know what it is like to look at myself in the mirror and think
I like the way I look
Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to see myself clearly through the eyes of someone
That Someone Who will one day look at me like I am the most beautiful thing in existence
I wish to know that that love exists and it is not just a figment of my imagination
Dear Wish Granting Factory
Do William Darcys really exist?
If so, please point me in that direction so I can find him
Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to make a difference in this society in which I am the minority
That my voice may be heard loudly and clearly even though it trembles
That my story be told truthfully and I, a person, a human being with feelings and emotions and thoughts that are not invalid because I have a disability and are therefore “inept” am represented as I see myself
A strong, confident, young girl who is living her life the way she wants to see it and nothing will hold me back.
Disabilities do not define me now, nor will they ever
Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to live to see the day when I meet my birth mother and face her
As a stranger, though her daughter
And tell her these words
I love you
I forgive you
I missed knowing you
Dear Wish Granting Factory
Sincerely,
Z
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Being a diabetic
Comes with less treats and more tricks
Being a diabetic
Comes with many highs, and many lows
Being a diabetic
Comes with little catches, and so many blows
Being a diabetic
Has its ups and downs
Being a diabetic
Comes with problems from all around
Being a diabetic
Comes with lots of disabilities
Being a diabetic
Comes with the lack of your abilities
Being a diabetic
Comes with lots of responsibilities
Being a diabetic
Messes with your heart
Being a diabetic
May literally tear you apart
Being a diabetic
Comes with many hopes
Being a diabetic
Comes with a lot of false hope
There is no cure
There is no fixing
But those who are a diabetic
Can conquer the way of living
We can survive by fighting
We can live long lives
As soon as we find the silver lining
As long as the sun is shining
Our smiles can keep on flying
I am a type 1 diabetic and I know the struggle. If anyone reads this and needs a friend to talk to, I’m here.
Stephanie Davis
10/15/20
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
Sit down,
the nun says,
bringing Magdalene
into her office,
pointing to a chair
opposite her desk.
The nun eyes her
seriously, her face
framed in a black
and white headpiece,
her hands on the table
in front of her
palms down.
Magdalene sits
and stares at her shoes.
Do you know why
you are here?
the nun says.
You asked me
to come in here,
Magdalene replies,
lifting her eyes
to the nun's face.
The reason why
I asked you
to come here?
the nun says firmly.
Magdalene shakes her head,
fidgets in the chair.
The nun sits back
in her chair
and stares coldly.
Silence fills the room
and Magdalene moves
back in her chair,
crossing her legs
at the ankles.
There have been reports
of you and Mary Moran
being seen entering
a toilet cubicle together,
is that true?
the nun says,
head to one side
as if her neck had snapped.
Magdalene shakes her head,
no, who'd say such a thing?
What wormy ****
would say that?
Magdalene says.
The nun eyes her colder.
Sister Bridget saw you,
the nun says.
With or without
her glasses,
Magdalene says,
she's a bit short-sighted,
she often mistakes me
for the Murphy boy.
The nun stares
and shakes her head
and says,
you should show
respect to the nuns,
and not try to score
points off of other's
disabilities.
Magdalene looks
at the nun's hands
on the desktop,
tapping away
on the old wood.
I was not with Mary Moran;
I was on my own,
and why would Sister Bridget
be spying on me
going to the bog?
Magdalene says.
The nun slams her hand
down on the desktop,
and says,
DO NOT BE SO RUDE
AND TELL THE TRUTH.
Magdalene stares
at the slammed down hand;
once it had slapped her thighs
as a young girl in R.E,
for not raising her hand
to leave the room
for a *** now
she just stares at the nun
and says,
that's the truth
after all said and done,
cross my heart
and hope to die.
The nun rambles on,
but Magdalene
no longer listens,
recalls the kiss
on Mary's lips,
and the spark
in the nun's eyes
that glistens.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
There are ten of us-
Make that eleven-
Barreling down the highway at highway speeds;
two elderly thai women,
a middle aged man
with some sort of mental disability
his eyes hunting, hungrily for someone to listen to him,
three old men in the back
talking about cars, women and building houses
(while riding the bus on their own in old ripped clothing)
and the strange mix from my stop;
two women no older than my mother
that look older than my grandma
from an obvious history of hard drugs,
and elderly grandma-type woman
who could be a therapist,
engaged as she is in reading some sort of case study.
The driver keeps an engaged, concentrated look on his face
as we zip through sunlit countryside
that I have never seen this way.
It's only 9 AM
and I'm listening to Counting Crows, Sugar Ray and The Goo Goo Dolls.
The women who are older than they should be
get off at the casino.
The man with the disabilities clenches his seat
as we pass the," entering Sequim," sign.
The Thai women put their purses on their shoulders here
and I take my headphones off,
wrap the cord around them and put them away.
Two of the men in back are still talking,
the third has fallen asleep,
his head against the wall,
mouth pointed toward the ceiling.
The grandmotherly woman gets off at the co-op
the rest of us disembark at the bus station and go our separate ways.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Welcome to the Federal Emergency Management Agency
Crowd controling
↑Exit here safely
Caution conscious doors open abruptly
Please do not block the doors pathway
Where have i drove?
I think i made a wrong turn back on Bohemian Grove
Disabled to able let yourself wake up
Embedded ability of endless disabilities
Another general relief grief
Do not pay attention to me
Be aware and beware when the wilderness cries
The ground breaks caused by earthquakes
Your life spins away for tornado sake
No i dont hold ******* to melts your hearts pain
No i dont have marijuana so you can procrastinate
No i aint got opiates for your appropriate dosage
Say goodbye to anxiety we've made our arrival to sobriety
Interviews and insights of inside lies
Secret mysteries of the practices of Freemasonry
Symbol revealing ritual deceiving
Alternate aura while i talk at my altar
Trespass into my chamber of reflecting
The body of a text in order to preserve its meaning
Take forth my poetry of conspiracies
Note the noetic scientific technique
The attempts to extend your human abilities with a little parapsychology
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC