"handicap" poems
I'm the *****
the quiet girl in the front of the class,
according to the handicap stall in the upstairs boys bathroom, a ****
I love, and when I do I love to no ends.
But you'd never know how much this ***** loves, because there is no love shown.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
Time apart makes all things
New - a nervousness
An excitement
Needy and naive
The memory of your touch
Fades - but not the intensity
Of my love
Checking like clockwork
The departures and arrivals
Heart thumping
My poor vision
A true handicap
Scanning the masses
For the most familiar face
In the world
Of whom I know
The span between my thumb and index
Is the same as your chin to earlobe
And my finger could trace the shape of your lips
From memory alone.
When my eyes
Settle upon your face
My hard heart beat
Hits slow motion
And stops -
Everything runs through my mind
But I think nothing at all
Reach out.
Kiss.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone
Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier
Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets
Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend? Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn
Friend one:
wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs
Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs
Friend one:
Sets up “camp”
Friend two:
holds crap
Friend one:
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”
Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket
Friend one:
pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****
Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie
Friend one:
starts to snore quietly
Friend two:
nudges her
Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”
Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill
Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere
Friend two:
Sneezes yet again
Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship
being how she is one :)
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
If I only had a daughter
I would pass along to her
All the things I've learned in life
The things that are and those that were
I would try to smooth her way
When everything was getting rough
Still, to have me for her mother
Might be handicap enough
1999
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the
parameters of my body.
No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’
I witness dates
and
feel as an apprentice of such a trade might
an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me
Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity
Childhood is laced in linens of silk
Soft-spoken words
and
Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility
Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor
Depravity seems to chain my soul
which leads to
a Resolution in pixelation
due to
a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right
My friends make me happy
but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &
half-full
one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes
for
My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold
Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation
heavy on the mind
light keystrokes
Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma
i ask myself
What good is it?
To be thoughtful
Yet have no action
What good is it?
To fantasize
Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation
What good is it?
To be dramatic
Yet have no one at your performance
I do understand what it means to ‘be’
Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks
- lacking peaks -
As I continue to lay under clothes line
Wrapped in a melody of melancholy
But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’
My mind feels as a lemon candy might,
sour at first bite -
hollow on the inside, then gone
Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
To relate,
to imagine something similar
to what is being shown,
to imagine what it might be like.
A metaphorical meaning is like
being a shadow
that tries to relate to a star.
A poem with metaphorical meaning
is written with more effort, research, and a deeper understanding
of language.
I have written more metaphorical
poems than average poetry.
I work harder on metaphorical
meaning than I would with basic techniques. I love a challenge
so that's why you see more metaphorical poems
written by me.
I have researched many languages
and meanings to words,
my techniques for writing
reflect my efforts.
I am a writer who writes with imagery and metaphor so often that
I am known to be an eccentric writer.
It's an exotic way of expression.
It helps my readers
to relate to what I am thinking.
Also, it is how my brain sees
the world.
I was not born with language
like most people are,
I am an autistic person.
I don't have a natural language
in my mind, I have learned how
to express myself through writing because of my handicap.
I am not perfect but
I try to improve myself
by learning and practice.
I am still learning not to criticize myself too much. I am never a good judge so I try not to think about it
too much. I analyze everything so
I think it's good for me to try
not to analyze my writing
as often as possible.
I end up changing my work
until it turns into something completely different than
it started out if I do.
I want people to see the effort
and time I give my poetry,
so I do my best to show it.
I am always happy to do
something new and challenging.
My grammar and spelling
has improved because
I am willing to take feedback.
I love it when people are honest
and tell me if I made a mistake because I can learn from
the mistake.
To grow and develop you need
a plan and a place to go
when you need space.
I have learned this and
I believe that is what helps me
to improve.
Metaphorically speaking,
I am like a leaf I change with the seasons and I am willing to grow
within a tight space.
I love being with other
leafs like myself.
That's why I join communities
like this one.
Thank you, Hello Poetry.
© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
I feel like
I'm learning
To live
With a handicap
Disabled I am,
I'm learning to walk
Without you,
I'm learning to speak
Without you,
I'm learning to not feel
Without you,
To strive on ahead
And deal with the world
And the stares
And doing everything
On my own
Without you,
And at the end of the day
After I'm tired of it all
I feel the pain
I feel the broken
Parts within me,
And I know
I'll have to do it again
Tomorrow; healing
Without you...
APAD13 - 047 © okpoet
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
The Holy Ones
I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting ***** I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** **** This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of ******* and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this **** And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
A baby clutches his mother’s dress
Unaware of how it will save his life
Unwary of the saving grace that will come to rest
The child is soft and clean
His name is Eugenius, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a babe, no bigger than an infant can be
A toddler clutches his mother’s dress, the hem
Unaware of tragedy
Unwary of the Horror that awaits him
The child is frightened and shaking
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a little one, no taller than Mama’s knee
A child clutches his mother’s hand
Unaware from behind her skirt as they are herded
Unwary of the disaster to come from the cart
His name is Genie, the second of three
Before Mikey, after Richie
He is just a child, no higher than Tata’s knee
A boy holds his brother’s hand tight
Unaware of the danger he is in
Unwary that the coin from Mama’s skirts will save his life
The boy is healthy and strong, though not for long
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Michal, after Richard
He is naïve, but soon to grow up prematurely
A prisoner holds his own shirt, unsure
Unaware of the pain that is coming
Unwary that he shall walk away nevermore
The prisoner is hurting and ******
His name is “Gefangene,” the second of two
After Richard, before the crimson mess
He is crying for a ****** towel carried by
A handicap clutches Mama’s leg
Aware that he cannot cry as she shuffles him out
Wary that outside her skirts is the hunt
The handicap is hurting so badly
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before the new bump
He is unwilling to believe
A kaleka holds tight to his brother’s back
Aware that he is a burden
Wary that he is a load
The kaleka is waiting, waiting.
His name is Gene, second of three
After Richard, before Theresa
The kaleka is ready for release
The dziecko holds again to Mama’s skirt
Aware that he is now free to leave
Wary that he will never be independent
The dziecko is elated and mourning
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Theresa, after Richard
The dziecko will never be the same
Sixty five years later
Gene holds Rosie’s hand tight
Aware that he is old now, having lived fully
Wary that death is imminent at last
The great-grandfather is peaceful and content
His name is Tata, Grandpa, Gene, husband, and more
He is the last one left of his war
The survivor is ready to reunite with his family
He gives thanks to Hattie’s skirts
That kept him alive though the hurts.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
Handicap suburban hippies
Cruising like hyenas
Trampoline ******
****** tissues in ashtrays
Natural born riders
Liquid courage makes little peanuts
Alien Nation
Infomercials on mute
Strange thugs and dark markets
Needles and pixie sticks
Under the manmade weather
New types of bullet holes
Slaying the jabberwocky in
The new Transylvania
The Yes monster
Cranium stadium
Swords and roses
Barren space
Insolent minx
Holidays gone bad
Continental drift
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Fat people canes
They buckle and break
Fat people canes
They smell faintly of steak
Fat people canes
Always arched
Fat people canes
Holding up the heavily starched
Fat people canes
Struggle down the street
Fat people canes
An aid for battered feet
Fat people canes
Support poorly distributed weight
Fat people canes
Caught within a sewer grate
Fat people canes
Can't handle the load
Fat people canes
Easing movements slowed
Fat people canes
Used to skewer crumbs
Fat people canes
Used to butter buns
Fat people canes
Prop for a hefty handicap
Fat people canes
Can't fit within a taxi-cab
Fat people canes
Deserve a wage
Fat people canes
Traded in for a Rascal with age
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
Sad pretty girls,
Doing ecstasy
Just to escape from reality.
Seven blunts,
In
Seven inch pumps.
And
Poppin' pills
In
High heels.
Trap
Hip hop
Trance
And
Reggae.
Getting high
To
Euphoric music.
"eat me out
'til I'm no longer
Stressed out"
Smoking marihuana,
Hoping
It'll cure the bulimia.
Three C's,
Coffee
*******
Caviar,
Show up to the party
In high fashion.
Sad pretty girls
Go to the bathroom together to
Snort lines
And
Smoke marihuana
In the handicap stalls.
There's an empty hole inside
Sad pretty girls' soul
That they fulfill with drugs
To become
Happy pretty girls.
And maybe not forever,
Just for a little while.
Anyways,
Forever doesn't exist.
So doesn't happiness.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Even though I have one leg limp
I would train even if I were stem
Bodybuilding keeps me in shape
It keeps me from dwelling in my present state
I loss one total body part
It was pure inspiration I made from the start
I am an intensity male Bodybuilder
I compete to put my body to the test in being a challenge
I am the living testimony in encouraging others to train no matter what
Who says one must settle because they have a handicap?
Bodybuilding is the ultimate and you will become your own vascular map
I am your Coach floor plan
Follow my Bodybuilding success being at your demand
I may have one leg gone
But training is where I belong
Bodybuilding has taught me too be conditioned and the theory of discipline
The training in me is everything I found it should be
It’s the results for all to see
Yes I am a Peg Leg male Bodybuilder
The training gives me endurance and the intensity makes me even stronger
Strides in Bodybuilding principles determined to continue to make
No matter what the struggles, training is never ever too late
I encourage you to make it a date
Keep me posted, as I want to see your update.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
When I was a girl I loved cars and Kim Possible
And green rocks I’d find in the pebble fillings of our school playgrounds,
Because they were rare and therefore special.
I read twenty books on gemstones and minerals and stared at the pictures for hours
Hoping one day I could be beautiful and solid and reflect the colours
You can’t see
If you burn your retinas looking directly at the sun.
When I was a girl I became a driveway because I thought
If I paved myself with tarmac or cement
I’d be hard enough to withstand the weight of everyone around my heart
And grounded enough to support myself,
But the construction workers forgot to check for groundwater
And I caved in when people decided
To unapologetically and unquestioningly park their ***** in the handicap spot,
Mistaking the importance of my handicaps for the importance of their egos.
When I was a girl I became an asteroid,
Seeking a gravitational pull around a star that would give me a name and meaning.
But instead I found a black hole,
And before I realised my mistake in universal direction
Her gravity obliterated me
And absorbed whatever the **** was left
Of the force I could have been.
When I was a person I became a tree,
Rooted to the earth rather than separate
And absorbing the light for sustenance.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be hardened,
But even my cells have walls around them
And now I’m as afraid of the ground as I am of the sky
And brave enough to reach into both
And just maybe find some answers in the crust or clouds.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Your eyes are a hazel terrain
A land foreign like mars
With valleys and peaks
Of yellows, browns and greens
And hints of frozen oceans
Your eyes are the geography
Of somewhere hidden and forgotten
A place I am supposed to navigate
But love, I'm so bad with directions
So give me more time
I plead
You know I have a handicap
And I will keep on trying
To orient the map
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
I'm wearing a straight jacket all over
As my fashion statement
My body got the memo early
That the world wouldn't be able to handle my movement
So it doesn't move...
Just so that the world doesn't explode from my
Awesomeness
Eyes are glued to me
Like gum to my wheelchair
Because I'm fiercer than Beyoncé
Some have the audacity to try to berate me
Thinking that I'm lesser because
I don't succumb to the filth of the floor
I won't descend to that level
My feet weren't made to stand on this world
God knew that only the best would do
This world isn't ready for my Heavenly struts
Rihanna ain't got nothing on me
I refuse to accept my situation as a prison sentence
My heavy skin isn't my prison warden
It's my accessory for my outfit
Even though I'm rolling here
I'll not only be walking,
I'll be soaring in Heaven
So you don't have to give me your discount pity
I take cash
You may call me a handicap
But I call myself a Princess
Who can only walk on golden roads.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Today the last seam ripped
From the veil of purity
I bound myself within
I’ve come to the realization
It was merely a handicap
Masquerading as a noble cause
So adamant not to play the game
My choices left me with no defense
No shelter
I’ve given too much credence to the interactions of chemicals
Falsifying chemistry
Turning a blind eye to deceits
In a way I was always aware
But I eagerly brushed those thoughts aside
Hungry for something else
Aching for some sort of natural connection
But when everything is coordinated and man-made
Manipulated
There is no such thing as innocence
Merely naïve souls unwilling to adapt.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
I hope you don’t judge me
By the pigment on my face
I hope you see more in me
Than the inches around my waist
I hope you stop believing
That age is a handicap
I hope you don’t seclude me
If we’re from different places on the map
I hope you don’t feel
As if I’m a threat to you
Just because my choice of partners
Is crucified by taboo
I am not the inferior gender
I demand equal place and pay
And when someone wrongs me
I hope Society doesn’t push me away
I hope you don’t shun me
Because my gender is undefined
I hope you don’t try your best
To crush me in the world’s grind
I hope you open your eyes and see
That our He was always the same
We need to stop all death and destruction
That happens in His name
I hope this system of division
Hasn’t stuck to your mind
And when it comes to basic rights
I hope I am not left behind
- D.S.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 11:30 PM UTC
Simple thoughts ...not simple dreams
Don't settle for the middle
Dream Big and aim much higher
And therein lies the riddle
Don't set your sights on second best
Don't go for mediocre
Aim for the top and reach your dream
Don't settle like a joker
To set a goal below your best
You're cheating yourself first
Not taking on the challenges
Will make your bubble burst
Don't start off with a handicap
Dream as big as big can be
Not setting goals you earn to reach
Won't set your talents free
By doing what's just good enough
Won't get you to first place
It's like going out and betting on
Each horse that's in the race
You know you've backed a winner
But, you've backed a loser too
You want to be the winner
When your loves and dreams come true
So, close your eyes and see your dreams
Dream big....and one step more
For shooting at the middle won't
Help you make it through that door
Simple thoughts, not simple dreams
Aim high and make a start
You'll never reach your destination
If your goals aren't in your heart
Make smart choices, but don't settle
Know there's always more to do
Smart decisions and devotion
Will make your Big Dreams come true.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
In the moment just before wake,
The last fragment of a dream eludes my grasp.
As I cannot distinguish thought from memory,
I am astounded that my imagination could conjure such bliss.
If only at will…
Not every night, but some,
I see what I am capable of.
Mind at ease and running free,
Latching on to these ideas
That exceed my perception.
And my attempts to recall or review,
Are but failed attempts, futile.
Deemed too beautiful for consciousness,
But from what I can remember-
I fight, I play,
I sight, I run from beasts.
I find, I make,
I lose, I have the world.
I live, I breathe,
I meet, I die sweet deaths.
I fly, I kiss,
I smile, I love it all.
The fluidity of instances, the current of time,
No-these do not exist in my mind.
Or are rather transcended,
Bent, broken, then mended.
Allowed in my altered state
To transform and create
A world where everything is designed to please me,
While, simultaneously, my fears run free.
Ah, but not too much to handle.
I have fragments, puzzle pieces, crumbs…so little.
Oh sleeping self! I beseech you
Spring alive and come and teach me
All the wonders you have known,
But sadly do always withhold.
Revise my mind, what poor creation.
Have mercy on my indignation.
Am I really to believe
That you are so wiser than me?
Smiling, sleeping beauty, I
Foresee the dangers of the eyes.
Masterfully handicap
My body to this nightly trap.
Thus looming possibilities
Of habitual retreats,
Delights in excess to relieve
Me of my duty to receive
Signals from reality,
Abundant sensory deceit,
Of forlorn mental interactions,
Of achieving distant affectations,
Obtaining hopes and admirations,
Beholding nonsensical perfection,
All this, too more, are so designed
That my mind can never wholly dine
On the enticingly addictive
Highly imaginative symptoms
Of the body’s hidden fluid source
That rarely tends to make its course.
But holds great power menacing,
As well as gently flowering.
I envy you, my resting mind,
My well worthy unconsciousness,
Whose power is tempted unconstricted,
Whose fascination’s limitless.
Who teases me, a window shop,
An ocean reduced to a drop.
The very inkling I most relish;
Waking memory’s a feather precious.
Delicate and dancing ‘round,
High hopes, in journey, treasure bound.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
i had a dream about you last night.
i’m wearing mismatched socks.
my face, bruised and ******
my body, slumped
in the corner of the handicap stall.
you’re standing above me
smiling, happy even.
“not happy, just killing time”.
your voice so soft, so sweet
the perfect lullaby
to put me to sleep.
i pass out from your love.
i woke up this morning
phone cord wrapped around my neck.
felt like a noose,
felt like you.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you”
(but you’ll do it again).
cigarettes in the backyard.
crossed legs on the patio table.
it feels like my stomach is filled with acid
and my head is filled with smoke.
you grabbed me and it stung like a bee.
i want to drink ’til i forget you.
i want to get so high that i forget myself.
i’m no angel.
i’m just a little dolly who gets broken easily.
i’m an artist using their own body as a canvas,
razor blades for brushes, blood for paint.
be a disaster with me.
ruin me with your eyes,
fill my soul with *****
and break my bones.
i’m feeling emotionally dead inside.
like forgotten flowers in the attic,
unfilled holes in the ceiling.
i’m hollow.
like vintage television sitcoms,
trap doors in old houses.
the chambers of my heart are filled
with cobwebs and spider eggs.
eyelids swollen shut.
mud up to my ears;
i’m choking on worms.
you’re killing me
but a very muffled “i forgive you”
still manages to escape my lips.
there is no remedy for a sickness quite like this.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
I used to carry two buckets
It was easy, each swing weightless
I filled them with thoughts of the day and put them on the shelf at night
People began to fill them with their favorite things
At first I liked the kick knacks
Bibles, shards of scrapping paper, handicap stickers, elephants and stars, kids menus, empty party bottles, movie reels and a wadded up half finished confession on the back of a napkin.
The weight began to grow
I enjoyed it, the build of muscle, the struggle of hard work. I could feel the sweat on the sides of my forehead and I was proud. These buckets were a sign of success
they were my trophies
and I polished them every night
the sweat began to pour
into my buckets
I hated the sloppy stains left behind, legs bored with the gain
no longer willing to put in the time
my buckets. my little spits of treasure
I wanted to tip them over the bridge like a butcher chucks his slimed waste into the dump
I let things go
Into the river. let the buckets settle into the slush at the bottom of a cool drink.
If I want to hold something, I'll use my hands
and if over my palm all things drop- I'll know I'm only human
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
It's no longer a mystery.
This...thing.
This thing that plagues my mind
with the ups and downs,
ups and downs.
and downs.
I've wondered so long,
the root of my insanity.
And now it has a name.
An identity.
They call it..
Cyclothymia.
A mental disease.
And truthfully,
I don't know what to make
of the newfound knowledge.
To be happy,
or to be sad?
It is strange
to think of it as a handicap
when it has become
an integral part of who I am.
And yet, I have wished.
Oh, how I have wished
it away for so long.
No, I am not this disease,
it is just part of me.
But who am I without it?
This thing...
This..
Cyclothymia.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
With your satiny hairs,
You amble without a normal foot.
But with a pristine look,
Your big eyes shines luminously.
Dear, Maybe people call you a handicap,
I call those bullocks a madcap.
Interestingly, what, I am a handicap mentally, here I reveal.
Everyday I fight inside the close door when night falls.
A few days ago your eyes have cried a lot,
Let me clear here, you are a daring person.
It gives me a reason to fight with his servants openly.
You are a bizarre, I don't know you Monica Sharma.
Though we did not shook our hands at all,
But whenever these eyes squints you,
A new story creates a History...
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC