"impairment" poems
I have a disability
Because it is lack of memory
Others refuse to accept it is
The way my mind shall be
After testing my memory
The PhD of Neuropsychology
Agreed that I suffer with
Cognitive impairment, MCI
My forgetfulness is here to stay
With me until I die
Yes, I can exercise my brain
It may help a bit, still I will forget
So just accept it!! PLEASE QUIT
Telling me to exercise my brain
I know my limitations best, oh Yes!
Everyone telling me to try to remember is really what
Drives me insane!!!
I have tried my hardest everyday
For years I have been fooling You
All in so many ways!
Now the truth has escaped
It is a relief, I must say
I am so tired of playing
The main role on the stage
Every single day!!
Please, all of you quit telling me
To exercise my memory
If this was happening to you,
God forbid, then perhaps you
Would understand me when I say
I am tired, oh so tired, of striving
for just an ounce of memory
Day after day!!!!
So again I say
Please, just let me be Me!
The Ole' lady with memory disability
THIS IS ME, ₩€ND¥°•°°•°•°°•°•°°•°•°°•°•°
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
Somebody call Ben Affleck
We got phantoms in this *****
This endless haunted mansion
Their presence pervades
No company
In this lonely labyrinth
Only phantoms
The only figures resembling humanity
Are the corpses of those before
Who couldn't navigate this torturous structure
And of course, the masquerading phantoms
My soul they aim to puncture
I tried closing my eyes
But I just kept running into walls
I tried sleeping through it
But I just sank deeper into the basement
When I attempted to join the phantoms
You were there
You waited until I was hanging there
On the rope
And eviscerated everything
Lycanthrope
The rope in shreds
Your heart then fled
Leaving me alone again
Lying in my exhausted blood
The phantoms sensed my desperation
And took advantage of my disorientation
So I ran to the darkest recesses of the basement
To retrieve my blindfold and sledgehammer
But is my hammer powerful enough?
Will visual impairment abstain the trickery of ghosts?
I put Sisyphus to shame
With the determination I utilize to demolish these walls
But the phantoms are devious
They ***** new facades
Thicker, sturdier, with odder textures
I destroy them all the same
It just takes a bit more time
And time means nothing
To a man who's sole purpose is knocking down walls
And cowering from apparitions
Yet a man means nothing
To a time ruled by phantoms
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
The clock struck midnight
With an informative pang
I couldn't face it's music
So I turned counterclockwise
But time kept moving forward
As my wisdom dissipated
Bad times I anticipated
As I wandered through life
Burdens grew
Weight added with each step
My feet started to sink into the ground
So I got in my car
And drove
And kept driving
The more I traveled
The more I witnessed
The less I talked
As I grappled with the futility and necessity of communication
The clock warned of night's approach
I decided to continue driving
Luminous fireflies pelted my vessel
Their lamps exploding upon impact against my vehicle
The ability to destroy light
Exhilarated me
And I became addicted
To extinguishing that which shines
Until darkness flooded my engine
And an abysmal order was made by my abyssal odor
I had to exit my vehicle
And consult a mechanic
He explained my engine wouldn't work
Unless my windows were down
Which solved my darkness problem
But those ****** pests pervaded my car
Their locust glow disoriented me
The slight variations of their unique displays
Manufactured chaos within the light
My eyes grew accustomed to entropy
My brain grew accustomed to impairment
Commuters noticed my erratic driving
And offered to assist me
By attempting to ram me off the road
But the impenetrable light created a force field
Impalas couldn't run through
For my light bugs too much
Buffering me from others
And driving others from me
Leaving me alone
As a giant pulsating light that never stops moving
Is this how a star is born?
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
He carries her purse on his arm
without awkwardness;
His comfort shows he must have been caretaker,
for some time.
Yet awkward she does feel.
He carries her purse on his arm
as if it belonged there.
Just another parcel to be handled
with care; yet not a care
to what this stranger thought.
This old woman hobbles
ambling behind;
a footfall - thrusts her forward,
one more step.
Doesn’t he understand she wants to go forward -
no more? One step closer
to the grave,
she can sense.
The cane catching
and holding her steady;
The pain, catching
and holding her firm.
She follows his lead; always hitting the mark
with her blue veined hand
wrapped around that staff
in her grasp.
Her gait, unsteady,
wobbly at best
As he carries her purse on his arm,
She follows his lead
one step at a time
A crooked cane
her only assist for the
ambulatory impairment she bears;
as he carries her purse
on his arm.
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
I.
Still thriving beyond immaculate walls.
Tincturing the water that solemnly streams in the river,
I await the corner of grassy marshes, and
Gather your secret spells.
In days when the land is prey to rhythmic beats;
The water dances with disturbance.
I run through the meadow barefoot, and
Cast the sun-dried bricks beyond me.
The red Moon drowns in woeful bliss, while
Its jealous relative illuminates the dew on Morning petals.
I glare through my destruction;
And see your silhouette.
Torn bridges of yesterdays misfortune send
Violent waves forth, undying they proceed.
Bravely-- they despondently conquer me;
No longer a trace of you I see.
II.
Unable to grasp reality, bitter
Tears of a Bright knowledge no longer in possession.
Red yonder, cognizant of former tribulations
Appear among the contour of wilted trees
Desperately searching for extraneous disposal,
Only melted clay reflects the ruins of an icy marsh.
Spring is obscure; but inevitable.
Soon harvest shall return to the field,
And barren no more will the land be.
No longer riddles, or secret spells;
Greet the stream of lost memories.
Impairment heals itself; it weaves
Filaments of seconds- to create a
Labyrinth of Time.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Blindfolded I look forward
To the blessings of death
Beyond my ignorance
There nothing left...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
daddy fractured our world,
titled it off it’s axis, sent it
careening out of control.
that was before the day
his own impairment
made him overcorrect,
****
the mercedes onto unpaved
shoulder, then back
across two lanes of traffic,
and over the double yellow
lines, head-on into traffic.
that was before the one-ton
truck sliced the passenger
side wide open. that was
before premature death, battered
bodies, and scars no plastic
surgeon could ever repair.
yes, that was before
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
The firmest handshake
I've ever felt
Was that of a woman with
Only three fingers left
On her
Hand.
The biggest person I know
Is about the same hight as
His wheelchair.
His life is a richer one
Than mine will ever be.
Because he makes it so.
What worries do I have?
Yet some days are heavy.
I suppose being born
Unimpaired and staying so
Is an impairment at times
In itself.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
Were there no stalkers or high school shooters in the 50s?
Or are social web sites just more influential than our parents think?
Did texts and tweets raise the *** drives and black out drinking?
Or is the thinning atmosphere contributing to mass judgement impairment?
It's strange
that we have a cure for small pox, can remove cancerous cells
but can't convince some to drive home sober.
It's fitting, in a way,
that Mother Nature has figured out a system to keep the human population relatively in check:
we have the technology to survive diabetes and malaria
but access to delicious saturated fats is slowing down and stopping hearts from properly earning a living.
Progress has ended many terrible ailments and has expanded understanding and brains
but has also given more creative ways to be lazy and irresponsible.
A double edged sword, with most likely more benefits than setbacks,
we have all become hypocrites under advancement.
We learn of the monstrocities in far away places we will never see,
yet still do the very things that contribute to its existence.
Sweatshops?
I'll buy an anti-slavery t-shirt!
(made my children. in sweatshops.)
Pesticides?! I'll go organic!
(and perpetuate pollution with the fuel used to import the goods. and continue terrible working conditions)
It's impossible to resist the inevitables, like death and setbacks and corruption
so sometimes it's best not to fight
but to just do what you want, even if it's stupid or lethal or involves making an *** of yourself.
We're all stupid at sometime and susceptible to faulty thinking,
and sometimes advanced thinking leads to inventions that create crutches for living or coping,
but the fields level out
and global common sense always balances individuals who lack the ability to be actively responsible.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Norwegian summer night.
She opens her guest room window and
Balcony door to
Give the scent of warm pine and
Sunstroked willow a free tour of her
Apartment on a welcome breeze.
I mute the TV, as she enters her bedroom
Leaving me shirtless in shorts on her
Sofa, headphones nearly plugged into
My laptop when she requests a tuck-in,
Knowing that granting me the remains of
Her Saturday night sixpack means
She's going to bed alone.
I kiss her forehead goodnight. She steals
A bonus hug, wanting it to
Last until morning though it's
Futile. I bury my face in warm, soft
Neck. She
Releases hesitantly. Smiles.
She has bed. I have Johnny Cash and Chet
Baker, Alan Watts and Allen Ginsberg,
Beer, time, and a window of solitude.
"Silent" and "listen" are spelled with
The same letters.
My impairment is that I am a man.
I love her. And the aloneness that
A man can only obtain when
Even the loneliness has left him.
I can't feel my feet, unless she does what
She has learned to do;
Give me space. Space with the texture,
Colour and pattern of the
Blanket one tucks
Around
The legs of someone
In a wheelchair, gesturing by it:
*I love your
Every single
Circle.*
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Perhaps the most positively uninteresting tragedy
Is the story of flawed, impeded love.
For whenever I venture, strive, endeavor—
To exit my haven of solitary isolation
I’m devoid of any bravery.
Though I wish I could say
“People scare me! I don’t want to be judged
For things I cannot control,
For transgressions and loves
Methods, impairment, systems and failures
Despicable lies and harrowing truths
Cringeworthy trances and malicious propositions—
That’s the reason I tragically fear you!"
But such would be blatant lies.
For I am not a reticent sheep,
Not afraid of human, futile words
It’s not any judgement or hate I despise
It’s just that I can’t ever compromise
I’m so terrified of judging
Even in my mind
The people of the world
Precious brethren of my kind—
I don’t wish to hurt a weakling
Or a disgraceful abomination
Thus, I’ll isolate from anyone
For fear of impeding my love
Of all alive, of everyone.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
My wall are covered with
Beautiful things
Dream catchers
Suns and planets
Loki and Zeus
The mark of Cain...
I love my
Statues of Buddha
Figures of Christ
Paintings of ships at sea
Guitars and amps
Keyboards and drums
More than I could ever need...
Outside my windows
Lives the Trees
Sweet sounds
Of birds and bees
My aesthetic impairment
Has set me free
...........
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 7:27 AM UTC
a relationship is for two but when another gets involved,
that's not what causes the impairment and pain.
what hurts is knowing you weren't enough to sustain.
what hurts is seeing them smile even in the face of their ***** deeds.
what hurts is realizing how naive you were,
succumbing to tears conveying false remorse.
what hurts is not knowing whether or not it was even real.
what hurts is realizing that what you cherished and loved is no longer yours
...for their lips,
are now stained with sins
and their heart,
now unsecured and ready for another.
what doesn't hurt,
is knowing that even though
not with you,
they've found happiness.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Rising to the waking hour
Nothing left now to devour
Eyes blurred from belief deprivation
Needlessly I suffered in unification
Impairment of superstition overcome
Now I am free to be one...
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
The exact representation of deception is likened to a delusional cognition which tunnels its way through craggy mountain ecosystems of the prefrontal cortex.
The impairment of your executive functioning is evident, oh grandiose master of self-aggrandisement.
It is now 04.20hrs in the Britannic pastures where desert storms are a figment of extravagant wishes to be recognised.
Although it is charmingly magical to harken to your lunacy, it is mercenary of the battalions to fathom the pathology of your blatant insignificance within the universe of vain imaginations.
Hereford is the base of winning, if you are brazen enough to engage with the feat.
Selah, my psychotic expression of wishful psychopathy.
One more thing: please check your spelling.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
I dream about her and see
a metamorphosis beneath
the ****** woad
I dream about her after falling
into a bed that has held the shape
of my irregular body
I dreamed about her
She is the only morning star and too
the black caterpillar in dye
below the leaves
Does her repose animate me?
I think and think I do
the thought extending to my limbs
somatic skin and the receptors in
my eyes appraising the world
In every moment of sleep and dream
where I could be awoken
from the impairment of unconsciousness
there were moments of sleep
where I did not dream and
the butterfly was not me
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 2:22 AM UTC
Sketching surveys of desolate dreams,
purveyors of private property plots,
their impatient greed,
ignoring purple spray paint warnings.
Six feet under, resting next to Grandpa's coffin,
live valuable minerals, their rights forgotten,
a farmer of soy beans, wheat and corn,
oil & gas law to Grandpa was foreign,
but he knew why our creek's current flowed north,
upwards, defying gravity or reason, why these men had come.
One time executive cowboy hats descended on the farm,
in pickup trucks, just purchased from an oil lot in Odessa,
Grandpa took aim and raised his Beretta,
their unfit hats lost to the blast, the only harm.
I was only five, when I saw his lengths of protection,
he took me on hunts for deer, boar, quail, dove,
would always aim his rifle, fire and miss,
blamed it on his eye sight, yet hit bullseyes on paper targets.
It took me 20 years to understand why, with swallowed pride,
he purposely missed killing these animals,
cursing his eyesight instead, winning an Oscar for his humble acts,
was he blinding me from death?
There was no vision impairment, I found out in hindsight,
probably the trauma witnessed, as he died with 20/20 eyesight.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 1:59 AM UTC
You went on your fishing trip
Caught a big one this time,
You said.
*This one's a bit heavy,
Weighed down.*
With a sharp tug on the pole,
You finally retrieved your catch.
Well, what is it?,
You asked.
You held something in your hand
Pulsing and black.
*Whatever it is,
It's not worth it.*
You threw it back into the water,
Back into the dark depths.
*Let's keep on fishing.
I wanna catch a big bass.*
They say there's plenty of fish in the sea
But you didn't even notice,
When you caught my heart.
Sure,
It was beaten
Almost unrecognizable.
But it only took you a second,
To judge my darkness
As impairment,
And toss me back to a personal hell
You reeled in my heart,
And you didn't even know.
I'm sorry I can't be
The catch of the day.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
Doll eyes, he says
You have doll eyes
Of course.
Glassy, blind doll eyes
waiting for any random child to squeeze me to life
Bring me reaction.
My pupils hold tiny negatives of him.
He checks them for impairment.
Sitting side-by-side on a damp porch step
he tells me the story of the spiders
plunging mouth fangs into live, bound captives
melting and digesting their insides
leaving an empty shell
Brittle, used and dead.
Intact from the outside
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
Impatience is the impairment of patience
Where it is imperative, should be noted
That the implication of impatience
Is the lack of it thereof,
That is, patience
And not having the time to
Improve upon waiting
It's not necessarily a bad thing
Sometimes it's best to rip the bandaid quickly
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
Permeating - Begins with a simple dispute, argument, disagreement, and conflict with the individual. Second, temperate levels arise, violence emerges, resulting in uncontrollable actions, creating a brutal response. Third, very difficult to describe, but I will do my best, here it goes, limits have exceeded beyond recognition, logic is no longer liable, quickly disappearing, reasoning malfunctions, love is no longer there, hate has taken full control, picture this experience, the demonic manifestation.
Torturing - The body increases heavily in strenght, meanwhile pain flows throughout the blood stream, invincibility neurotransmitters take over, eyes dialect largely covering the entire layer, screams become very unfamiliar, roughly deep raging voices infuse, bloods exposed, numbness arose, receptors react, nothings inevitable its too late, shark bate, regenerate don't anticipate or hesitate, meditate composure and control the setting, pain is in motion.
Suffocating - Powerless embodiments, crucial destruction, ineffective signals, petrified terrified horrified symptoms, death is near if the hody turns weak, vulnerable absorption, manipulating cells propelled, evil casting spell, damaged speech impairment, strange feelings corrupt breathe intakes, prone to cardiovascular shutdown, heart attack, seizures, lose conscious, maybe faint, watching this occurrence is far much more traumatic, I'd say an experience unforgettable, marking scars forever, taken to my grave, remember Jesus saves...
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
and why do you think
they shot the serial killer
in the back of the head?
you know, having experienced
a brain haemorrhage aged
21 i'd know... there's nothing
kafkaesque about it...
the slow bleeding out via a hole
in the cranium, you really
are a decapitated cockroach by
this point (living two weeks more
dying from starvation), but in
the serial killer's case also a little
bit fidgety...
oddly enough impairment of the brain
doesn't mean your heart stops
ticking... poor kurt cobain
with that shotgun wound of his...
i mean a stab to the heart is wildly anticipated,
but why would you shoot your brains
out, given that the ***** per se
is not an automaton pump, or a decipherer
of toxins (the liver)?
the brain is a puppeteer of bones.
it's the flow of the haemoglobin
that's kind, kind enough for you to be
conscious and decide your last thoughts
on the matter, auto-suggestive atheism
is what i call it... shoot the thing that's
functioning automatically - your
brain is a paradoxical dual carriage way,
it allows both science and mysticism
to reach the ultimate, reasonable parallel;
basically... don't mess with
the sponge soaking up the porridge;
asked politely, seneca slit his wrists
in a hot bath.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
You are walking on the lake,
Of Ghastly cold stream flowing down,
And it chills to your bone..
The beast then invades you,
To interpose fire in all the nerves,
Which fights with the chill for the throne.
Protuding Sweet sarcasm,
All the querries undone,
But solutions having no room.
And you are dying to live,
The way u wanted to,
Holding back the melted hopes invading the gloom.
Dont panic, just call yourself back,
Light will defeat the shadows of dark,
Take a deep breath, And close your eyes,
This fear of yours will end up to be stark.
Fallen asleep on your bed,
You wake up at midnight,
And there the horror fills in you..
Sweat pouring out of you,
Frightening images hurling up your mind,
Heart pounces with raised up confused hues.
Then the windows shatter,
The winds roaring are clear,
And you are alone in the dungeon,
There your fear holds the sword,
Impairment filled fiery red eyes,
Wid your confidence is its vengeance.
Dont panic, just call yourself back,
Light will defeat the shadows of dark,
Take a deep breath, And close your eyes,
This fear of yours will end up to be stark.
Mahesh Hegde
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
I need a win
Any small victory
Amidst these losses
Continual letdowns
Consecutive defeats
Constant calamities
When will it end?
I dress in armor,
But it does no good
For every time I attempt
To repair one impairment
A gust of misfortune
Knocks yet another
Piece out of place
Is it too much to ask
To find myself among laurels
Just for a moment?
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
For many years, you were our family's breadwinner.
Your money paid for our breakfasts, lunches and dinners.
Because of my mental impairment, you continued to support me after I turned eighteen.
You could've outworked two twenty year olds, you were the hardest worker I've ever seen.
After twenty months of chemotherapy, you lost your fight.
Your battle with Leukemia ended six years ago tonight.
For the last two days of your life, you couldn't even reply to what people said.
When I received a call from my sister-in-law, she informed me that you were dead.
Your existence on Earth ended at around 10:20 PM.
One day I'll go to Heaven and I will see you again.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC