"tourettes" poems
If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.
Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '
You are not deceived.
In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.
On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.
In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
Profanity profanity there's nothing like profanity
A cheeky T@@@ a silly cow we just can't stop them coming out
A quick F@@@ off, a ***** yourself
Improves the mood like nothing else
But wait!
It's really better still when alcohol helps the thrill
A sentence made of many c@@@ and f@@@s
That grammar simply can't construct !
But you my friend have drunk tourettes
You swear and curse amongst the best
The more you drink the more you cuss
You really are a social plus!
In front of kids and grannys too
You just cant stop your verbal puke
I've learnt words in groups I can't describe
Your mouth shouts out in awe and pride
You simply are an ignorant pig
Who needs carbolic in your grid!
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
The voices inside my head are taking over.
These u-u-uncontrollable quirks I have.
My eyes twitch as many times as a heart beats after doing a triathlon.
In my head of runs a marathon of thoughts that don't belong,
things I can't do because they're wrong.
Within my blood stream flows 1.26 grams of dopamine given to me by doctors who don't know how to fix my situation,
only mix prescriptions to intensify vexation. Pharmacists eyeball me fearingly because I appear to be nothing but someone with chemicals wandering around into the little bit of a brain I have left.
Serotonin to regulate my mood, appetite, and sleep but I still only wish for all of this to be nothing but a dream.
All of this making my intestines mutilate, slowly dying inside as if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Otherwise known as I.B.S. but I know for a fact that this is all just a bunch of B.S.
My enterochromaffin cells may just burst, I am often told.
If only I could tell what was real from what was fake.
For I also have A.D.H. - whoa! What's that?!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh. Tourettes Syndrome.
I guess I just twitch it off.
Maybe these are all figures of my imagination from the hallucinogens.
Who knows?
After all, I am a schizophrenic.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
the sky is blue
the grass is green
the birds fly
its a beautiful day
theres trees all around
a tiny squirrel sits on the shitcockassbitchmotherfuck
....
....
maybe ill stay home today
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
We drove bleached
Dumb and out of school
Heavily medicated
On high doses of lithium
And teenage spirit
Feeding and breeding
Our love buzz
On sticks of pennyroyal tea
We were negative creeps in bloom
Going to the muddy banks
Of the Wishkah River
You sat in the driver seat
Chewing on pen caps
Trying for an aneurysm
I sat in the passenger seat
Sifting through tourettes
And picking at paper cuts
That endless, nameless summer
We both reached for nirvana
To place in our heart shaped box
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
A letter to my Tourettes
Dear Tourettes Syndrome;
I was diagnosed with you as a child.
I would try to hide you, but it failed.
You bruised my wrists and shoulders,
You made my palms red.
You caused me pain.
Kids would point and laugh, because they didn't understand,
You were the cause of my bullying.
How could you do this to me?
I didn't choose nor want you,
But I learned to deal with you.
You expected to be loved.
But I don't know how I feel.
Maybe I love you,
Or maybe I HATE YOU.
You hurt me physically and emotionally,
How could I love you?
It's funny through all the pain,
You stayed.
It's not your fault,
I was made and you were just another part of me.
I was ashamed of you,
You were a disgrace.
But as I said you are a part of me.
And I have accepted you,
Although I don't always like you,
I'm proud of you.
Despite the pain,
I want you to stay forever.
- StefC
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Let the a.n.t.s sleep
Warm and dry blankets
Let the victories of the future brace you
Body molesting wind demons
false but True
Cloak yourself in my laughter
Grab reality and pull a book out of your spleen,
with a Dim mak to sentence your fears to death.
The first page is eternity,
Stay within the pleasure, bathe in it,
Body hyper aware, unclouded vision
Disrobe, and bathe in it
Open the door and begin
It is Unjust not to
Press Play.....
It will all rush forward, and you will breath freely.
Trumpeted like the arrival of an avatar of the love goddess.
Cool cheeks, unmarked by tear tracks..
Built back up with the love you feared had departed.
I'm pitiful alone.
It is emotions prerogative to make its opinion known.
These feelings cannot be ignored.
Doing so makes things worse.
Let confidence be always with you
For all time
Unending
Everyday
All day long
You can honestly talk to me.
Trivial questions.
Something burdening your breast.
I can make you feel better, if only for a handfull of minutes.
You'll float away, but later crash on heavy thought.
However....
You know
For several reasons
The outcome is always the same
Mind games are involuntary muscle spasms,
it is an affliction of chaos tourettes, inherited from a goblin ancestor,
Straighten your shoulders, I am here to reassure you,
Every day it will get lighter
The stress will be less, the panic will simmer
The message is salvation, in acceptance of the depth of the love felt for you.
I am here to listem.
Stop being kicked around by your thoughts.
Feel instead, gliding into a gathering of like minds.
I dare not say the full extent of what I know, and what I feel is transparent.
It grants me sanity
The compulsion to sing
Satisfying smashed hearts
Feeding your lips
Sanctifying your suffering into submission
Fulfilling a proper apology for the perversions.
You have won the war.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
I am wading out knee deep into the evening's drinks.
I let my eyeballs take a dip as my wallet plays the breaker.
You'd think the woman had tourettes the way she tries to wink.
She flirts no better than the sisters who oft walk god's acre.
Maestro, another!
A black suit hammers ritzy tusks somewhere across the bar.
The waves upon the wires lap across my eardrum's shore.
My lonely, daydream doll is finally called off from afar.
I'm far too low and far too blitzed to enjoy another bore.
Maestro, another!
When I recall how we met, I transubstantiate my veins
with hopes to find a fertile mound to plough to rude degrees.
Too many furrows to recall, but still your name remains.
So, still I hunt for lonely moths who dance beneath marquees.
Maestro, another!
Why does every truth align with all the stars at night
only to scatter just as broken glass when morning breaks?
Every wholesome oath I swear to cherish all my life
melts with every dewdrop my lawn's unkept blades shake.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
we stroll the orchard
where grapes prune
and apples dutch
the burgeoning ****
of our memories...
we remain shimmering in true dusk. there
on the cusp of inscrutable lust and the chaste rabies
of a sliver of first bone
with tornado lips
and cotton
random.
we cajole our misfortune,
and rise at noon; without laughing -
we ****** our hags from the raven
that feathered our cap.
we elapse with the dead
in the basement of our rendering.
a little ahead of ourselves
or dead, no matter what.
the orchard glooms a demise
in the calm tourettes
of our syndrome...
both alone in the teeming all-spark
of our glorious sundering...
our Mondays say less than
our Present Day -
and a yarn of plight and sunstroke
gropes at the barb
of our bee stung
innocence
we chide the withering
for all the Withering -
and all the good
it does....
besides.
we wrath glide the plum
then have at Life.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
I knows youse ! Don't I?
These words uttered I and my compatriate, like lemings, pray to the same god.
Yet only for a split second, as neither of us worship nor believe!
But given the gravity of her demeanor and onslaught of intoxicated infection, sorry affection, as she seeks her next quarry, one simply hedges his bets.
Then like rats, we jump ship into the garden and hide like naughty children.
Soon engaged in conversation joined by others.
All in the dark art of avoidance, all looking skyward in hope her mothership is near and will beam her the **** out of our world!
Its like a form of emotional tourettes.
The most timid of female creatures transforms like sister Hyde!
Once the potion, ***** in this case, is ingested it's downhill.
It begins.
The potion destroys the victims speech, balance and morality often manifests in loud outbursts!
I LOVE YOU.
Oh please please make that be just the alcohol and not reality as I know my definition of love although a bit disjointed has no parallel to hers.
I see the fear in his eyes, akin to that of a rabbit in headlights and justify the need for immediate action.
So our team plan an escape!
As cunning as Colditz.
RUN!
But she's at the exit!
I've already checked the yard door and it's bolted. Seems all is lost.
Then with a magical piece of luck someone latches onto her. Oh Jehovah! He's had the same potion.
Were off !!!
Goodbye said at the speed of a racing snake to the host!
A huried run down the path
Into the car and baby were gone!!
It's like an adventure of Tin Tin.
Did we lose a dog?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
I wake up
head ****
shoulder roll
tongue click
I get ready for school
head ****
head ****
groan
I get on the bus
oi
whimper
I put on my headphones
arm ****
People stare
oi
I suppress
They build
The minutes drag on
Like an itch they can’t be ignored
The bus can’t go fast enough
They’re pushing up
We arrive at school
They’re going to escape
I run off the bus
They begin to explode
head ****
arm ****
I distance myself from the students
oi
arm ****
head ****
head ****
groan
tongue click
tongue click
whimper
They stare
shoulder roll
arm ****
shoulder roll
whimper
oi
oi
Everyday I tic and twitch
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
Are today's young people troubled?
Is their hearing all impaired?
Do they think that thier loud music?
Will make some people scared?
I don't want to hear it
And I think that you'll agree
That their music sounds real ******
And I know it's not just me
They sit inside their cars alone
Playing sound bites at full bore
If it gives me **** headache
Then they must be quite sore
The bass just shakes my bladder
The treble hurts my teeth
It peels the skin back on my skull
So you can see what's underneath
If I wanted to hear their music
I'd ask them for a ride
But intstead of going with them
I think I'd rather hide
Today, while waiting at the lights
A car pulled even with my front
His music shook my windows
The kid looked like a runt
I couldn't hear my wife at all
She was just two feet away
But, I wouldn't let this twerp fiends noise
Destroy my perfect day
I yelled at him profusely
I had tourettes of my left hand
I flipped him off eleven times
While he listened to his band
He smiled and turned it louder
Just to show he didn't care
Then he smugly, turned away from me
Just like I wasn't there
I thought about how vengeance
Is something best served cold
And I thought I'll teach this *******
I'm not that ****** old
So, as he increased his volume
His hip hop shook my glass
I fired back with Mel Torme'
That sure put him on his ***
He cranked it up again some
And this song hurt my liver
But, I left him sittling stone faced
When I hit him with Moon River
I don't wan't to hear their music
And they do not want mine
And if they blow their ear drums
To me...that would be fine.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
Who cares who's dating who, or the ring that's on a star's hand.
This country's egocentric,
Who cares about a far land?
Puppet master is a harsh man,
We're stuck like cats in tar traps,
They are the elite,
We are primitives like Tarzan.
Tell me, what is the cause and,
What is the effect?
This situation makes me wanna scream out **** it!, like tourettes,let your thoughts be heard for they'll live long after you're dead,
Speak like you are deaf, ignore oppressive tongues.
The second we refuse to fight,
They've already won.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Oh ****
I have Tourettes.
Everybody just forgets.
I twitch,
I'm having tics.
I stutter a bit,
I stammer.
Very loud,
Always proud.
I write poetry.
Like none before have ever heard.
Beautiful poetry.
Reads spoken word on You Tube.
Give this guy a view.
(C) LIVVI
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
every canary has a star in its' mouth
that can stop a .50 caliber bullet. and little black eyes.
the south face of a north wind
has always been polite
before shattering your bones,
it is peculiar, but the very thing that makes you breathe
makes you need too.
the fix is in.
II
cruelty is the soft grit of pitch dark.
III
every canary has another word for suffocation.
it rhymes with kerosene and licks its' teeth.
it sleeps in the barn. Feasting on horses -
and dung.
it sounds like falling and glowing, but feels like
extinction. it obliterates the need for another word
for Hope.
Or something else as trivial... to abandon.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
Do I disgust you because I want ***
The hypothetical argument already slides as
graceful as tourettes, and I can
feel imaginary bile and panic creeping up my throat
and into my
mouth as I attempt to talk 'south'
Talk 'dirty' to you
Talk 'dirty' to me, 'baby'
I'm silently wishing you'd save me from the
awkwardness of this talk, wish you'd take me by the breast
and walk me through the rest of your likes
and dislikes
Because, I want to make you feel higher than a kite
or ****** or crack, or smack,
I want to stop endlessly repeating all the things
that I might lack
Because, you don't seem to want me anymore
No matter how much you adore who I am
Can you fill me in on the gaps please, I want
to know if you feel that you can have same aching need that I do
My sexuality is like an un-erasable tattoo
I don't take strives to hide it
I don't feel that I need to
But am I deranged in thinking
that you think I should be ashamed to?
Darling, I want to **** you.
I wish I didn't think that this
might be an issue.
Correct me,
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
Spinning circles in my head
I never have been on the meds
I hear they're great and fix some stuff
but I just want to be enough
I don't want to be zombified
that just makes me mortified
so I will argue for our right
to just be different, that's our fight
so we have too much energy
and are lacking synchronicity
people can't keep up with us
some with Tourettes often cuss
wild ideas spinning out
enthusiastic scream and shout
and they just want to structure me
to fit me in their society
this is how it's supposed to be
well sorry dude, that just ain't me
I just want creativity
and redefining normalcy
that box just will not fit us all
sorry but it's just too small
we were made so limitless
it's time for us to be fearless
breaking out to be our own
we discover the unknown
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
Ode to bill
What a thrill
He makes me laugh till my voice is shrill
I don't need a happy pill
When his face is forcing mine to smile against my will.
Groundhogs day
What a play
On how I feel everyday
Repeating time until it strays
To be the same thing in every way.
What about bob?
Can't you see?
He's making me smirk at MY mental instability.
Baby steps
Fake Tourettes
Getting under someone's skin
And yet
Being loved by all the rest.
Who am I going to call
For the busting of ghosts?
I know a number to dispose
Bill has this **** on lock
As he sarcastically lifts his stock
Of zapping tools and his beige frock.
Zombieland
Of course he stands
Among the living and the ******
Smoking up with strangers is grand
And replaying his films best moments.
In real life
He appears in random sight
Stealing fries and giving love advice.
Too careless to live up to the lime light
Using his fame to live an extraordinary life.
Oh bill Murray
You're a champ.
I hope to adopt your perspective rants
Make my mind go full blast
Of being the best at being lax.
Monotone and so relaxed
I'd buy him a shot if I had the chance
Tequila despite everyone else's request
Your bar tending skills are still the best.
Feeling laughter rise in my chest
Just keep doing what you do
No one else can contest.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Shut up.
Shut up.
Shut up.
SHUT UP.
Can't you just be quiet?
Keep your ignorant trap shut?
Demanding you stupid little fantasies
Which no one can afford?
Can you just stop yelling? shut up
I just need some quiet. shut up
I just need to finish this. shut up
I just need to talk to you. SHUT UP
Can I please have a civil conversation with you?
Without you talking over me?
I feel like I have Tourettes
Repeating myself in bursts and splurges that don't make sense.
Please just shut up.
Please just listen to me.
Christ no wonder I hate you.
No wonder I feel I'm not free.
shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
it's been a year.
It's been a year and I think about the torn-up pieces of paper I used to hide in your room with notes scribbled in purple pen. I wonder about the last letter I ever wrote you. I asked you to remember all the little things that made us—the simplicities of our routine, the days that were for us to know. I asked you to remember me, but it's been a year and I don't remember who she was. It makes me sad to miss the girl that was yours, the girl you used to love.
I wake up early now. I prefer French press coffee but still love the hazelnut creamer. Coffee mate is better than delight. I make my bed almost every morning and I'm a big fan of house slippers. I drink lots of water but I need lemon flavoring in it. I haven't bought milk in months. I study at the kitchen table and never use my desk, I have a house plant that I've kept alive. I still have those singing tourettes you always mocked me for, and no I haven't finished the books I said I would. I listen to podcasts, I'm learning more about myself daily. I have new friends that you've never met. My favorite song is from an artist I didn't get the chance to show you. My mom got married, and we're not as close anymore. My sister has a new boyfriend and he's moving in with us. I don't drink at home very often, but when I do it's always wine. I have lived alone for the past few months, and I've become well acquainted with myself. I love my space, I love my solitude. I still play that one song by the Manchester orchestra, and it still makes me think of you. I don't check your profile as much anymore, but I see you're happy and my heart smiles for you. I miss your dog and your backyard and your sister, but I've mastered the art of grieving. There's still love for you in this heart of mine. I still look for your face in the front window of every gray Honda Civic, your license plate is still memorized. I'm not the girl you met in 2018, I'm not the girl you lost last spring. There are parts of me that with you I couldn't show. There are parts of me you'll never get to know.
Thank God.
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 8:22 PM UTC
sleep is a ****** it recoils when the moon and the night conspire.
it shuns slumber like a timebomb on a porch.
sleep ticks like a phantom with Tourettes...
we are not familiar.
in the wee hours, I am disconnected
from trivia. attached to the hull of a great force
surging through the aqueous chasms
of my insomnia.
like a butterfly the size of a classical harp
clapping in the dark
Almighty,
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 12:44 AM UTC
What did I ever do to you?
What was so wrong of me?
Why do you do this to me?
What gives you the right?
Tell me please,
Do you think I asked for this?
Is this some kind of sick joke?
I don't find it very funny,
Tell me please,
Tell me please,
Oh, please tell me,
So what if I have,
PTSD,
Depression,
Autism,
Tourettes,
ADHD,
Dyslexia,
Anxiety,
Aspergers,
Addiction?
What’s it to you?
Am I hurting you?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC