Cramps and Questions

I spent most of my day on my kitchen floor with my sister's pillow and my parents' blanket.
I spent my waking moments writhing in pain and screaming into my pillow.
"Why me, why me, why me?"
Of course, I got no response.

The pain was so physical I couldn't think of anything besides
STOP BREATHING AND DIE
But my body, traitor that it is, refused.
It decided that it preferred inexplicably excruciating pain to peace and silence.

I spent most of my day in my bra, on my stomach.
Wracked by spasms of pain so intense I can only describe them as akin to violation by a corkscrew.
Gathering my strength to roll around wailing
When I was too tired to move, I asked the man upstairs to give me oblivion already.
But alas. I'm still alive.

When I woke up that last time, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling
Asking myself, "Is it over?"
It was.
For the moment.

Fifteen minutes later all coherent thought was obliterated.
All I could do was yell to the heavens "Why me why me why me why fucking me"
Not just because of the pain.
Why me?

Today I chose to make myself a victim.
Tomorrow the term "victim" will choose to make itself me.
Six days of torture and asking a God I refuse to acknowledge to have mercy.


Why me why me why me
Why fucking me?

--

Note: This poem was originally written on 27 May 2014. I'm republishing it here because I'm revamping the blog it was originally published on.

for my sister

i had a panic attack the night you were born.
i'd never seen my mother pregnant before,
   and i was afraid.

you were such a tiny thing
face all covered in hair
i likened you to a little simian

"was this what was growing inside my mother for nine months and a week?"

but then i held you
and your little fists held on to my heart
they have not let go.

i had never loved someone unconditionally before
but then they put you in my fifteen year old arms
shaky though they were
   and you looked up at me
not even a day old
   and you looked up at me

almost as if you knew my heart was clearing a space for you
seven pounds, two ounces of tiny human

i had never loved unconditionally before
   and i was afraid
i thought i would have dropped you any number of times

you slept in my arms once
carefree
almost as if you knew no harm would befall you in my care
you knew what i didn't

i held you until my arms were numb
for nothing would disturb my baby's rest

you were my baby, mine
regardless of the fact that you did not come from me

i held you, and i marveled.

i held you while you took your first toddling steps
i held you while you were sick

i watched you as you learned to walk, and later run
i picked you up when you fell
i laughed and cheered as you stuttered out your first words

now, four years later
i marvel at how the time has flown by
you were born just last night

but we hold conversations on the phone
and i still hold you sometimes when you sleep
for what purpose is a big sister if not to be a life size teddy bear?

i had never loved unconditionally
but then i met you.

in time, my friend,
you too will have a story to tell
a story of a man who gazed into the abyss
gazed steadily even as it winked flirtatiously

a story of a man who embarked on a
  solo journey to find himself

a story of a
   boy no more

in time, my friend,
you too will claw your way back
   to the marvelous light
by way of sheer strength of will

but for now, my friend,
content yourself with your dreams
   of a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel
content yourself with memories of those who
   have gone on before
   and are waiting to welcome you
   with open arms
   and an open smile

remember, you do not walk alone.

angry god.

angry god
blotting out all light from the world

give us the sun, o deity

forgive us, father, for we know not what
   we have done.

angry god
ripping the fabric of the sky into so many tiny pieces
   that our finite minds cannot comprehend

give us the stars, o deity

be merciful unto us, o god,
   according to thy lovingkindness

angry god
churning the waves into a boiling frenzy

give us the sea, o deity

according to your great compassion,
   blot out our sin

angry god
breezing through our world yet beyond our mortal sight

give us the wind, o deity

remember, lord, your great mercy and love,
   for they are of old

angry god
do not treat us as we deserve

you are compassionate and gracious,
   slow to anger,
   abounding in love.

Big Girls Cry

What do you see when you look at me?
Do you see a
Tough girl in the fast lane
No time for love, no time for hate
No drama, no time for games?

You see my exterior
None of you would know that I'm a lonely girl in a lonely world
I may be a tough girl
But my soul aches

Day in, day out, the same meaningless routine
I come home on my own
Check my phone, nothing though
Act busy, order in, pay TV
It's agony...

I am "tough" and so I am battered like titanium
I am not tough, and so I am dented like rusted zinc sheets
Rusted zinc sheets which have been silver sprayed to a shine
But the rain is falling while you dent my armor and douse me in liquid salt
I may cry, ruining my makeup
Wash away all the things you've taken
Here you are, screaming bitter nothings in my ear
You remind me that I've appearances to maintain
That I purport to be a big girl so I must cut the crap
But I don't care if I don't look pretty
And big girls cry when their hearts are breaking...

I perch precariously atop the world
Delicate balancing act, I must not be overturned
Nothing up here but the unforgiving winds of cold isolation
It's lonely at the top....blackouts and airplanes
My pain goes to your head like a snifter of bubbles
But I've got appearances to keep up
So I still pour you a glass of champagne

I'm a tough girl....whose soul aches.

Chandelier

Party girls don't get hurt
I guess I'm not a party girl then...
I try to drown it all out
Can't feel anything, when will I learn?
I push it down, I push it down...
Inside, I'm just a dark mess
But outside it's a totally different story
I'm the one "for a good time call"
I'm Miss Congeniality
I'm the one with tons of friends
Phone's blowing up, ringing my doorbell
I feel the love
I feel the "love"...

Shot after shot after shot
Anything they've got at the bar
Alcohol is poison, they said
But there are things inside me I need to kill
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
1,2,3,1,2,3, drink
Throw 'em back till I lose count...

I'm a smart girl
But sometimes I do dumb things
Sun is up, I'm a mess
Gotta get out now, gotta run from this
Here comes the shame, here comes the shame...

Shot after shot after shot
Whatever they've got at the bar
Alcohol is poison, they said
But there are things inside me I need to kill
Cuz I'm just holding on for tonight
Won't look down, won't open my eyes
Keep my glass full until morning light
Cuz I'm just holding on for tonight

Help me, I'm holding on for dear life....

Misdiagnosed Genius

You call me mad?
You call me mad?
You call me mad!
What is madness?
"You're mad. You can't think."
Au contraire. I do, in fact, think.
Cogito, ergo sum.
So what are you saying?
I don't think, therefore I must not exist?

I'm different from all you "normal" types, you know.
Like Mr Mathers:
I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head...

But so what if you misdiagnose me
Calling me troubled, insane, mad, psychopathic?
I have advantages you don't.
I know things.
My friends the monsters and voices answer my questions.
So...
I know why the caged bird sings.
I know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.
While you rack your poor underdeveloped brains for answers--
miserable creatures--
I look on and smile sympathetically.
For I am omniscient.
I'm not God
But I like to think I come pretty damn close.

You are all
subhuman.
You fear what you don't understand
so I terrify you
You attempt to rationalize
and explain the inexplicable
so I'm insane.

I'm different from you
because I choose to flaunt my genius in unconventional ways.
You brand me as "subhuman", beneath you. 
You should have your egos cut down to size.
I am of such that
you don't know what to make of me
what to do with me.
Ha!
Perfection-- true perfection-- would charbroil your little pea brains at first encounter!

But I lie... I am insane.
The way William Shakespeare
and Edgar Allan Poe and Vincent van Gogh
and Einstein and Stephen Hawking might be.
"But they weren't insane! They're geniuses!"
and when I personalize this statement
"You're deluded. You're different."
HOW?
Is it because they're (mostly) dead?
Or is it that, as the Bard penned,
Some are born great
Some achieve greatness
and some have greatness thrust upon 'em
And I, to your feeble minds, am none of the above?

I don't pen preternaturally timeless words
Or look into the heavens and recreate with brush and canvas or marble what I see
Or reveal secrets of the universe--
you wouldn't appreciate them anyway--
But the capability so to do is hidden away in the labyrinth of my mind.
It's the Minotaur, deep within my mind maze
and I am Ariadne.
I alone have the infallible means of navigation.
There is none bold enough
to take on the role of Theseus and explore.
Those who would dare...
Let us picture
ships sailing home
under the guidance of black cloth
and fathers jumping off palace roofs in despair.

You, in the starkest contrast...
Subhuman.
Lesser beings.
Imperfect and weak.
The very sight of you awakens my choler.
Or, as you idiots like to say,
You piss me off, man.

Because you are steeped in mediocrity!
Being o'er shoes in it, you decide that
no, that's not enough
and boldly plunge in the deep.
You flaunt your shortcomings because
"Nobody's perfect."

-Hello. I am Nobody
(As Odysseus with Polyphemus)
I perfectly epitomize perfection.
But, I digress.

You puny fools don't truly believe in upward mobility.
You preach yourselves dumb about it
The "American Dream"--
or whatever nationality it is--
but that's all you do: preach.
Never realizing that words-- yours, anyway-- are but empty air.
If your words were bricks, you could build a stairway to heaven.

You don't realize that we're men not yet gods.
But there's potential for deification.
It's funny how, of almost 8 billion minds on this earth
only one minds is elevated and enlightened enough to appreciate this
...mine.

Yes, I'm passionately misanthropic
But we "insane" ones have that reputation.
I despise you all.
So I go gently amidst your noise
experiencing what peace  there may be in silence
inhaling your foul exhalations, hastening on my exit to realms yet unknown.
Well.
Unknown by you blissfully ignorant dimwits anyway.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Maybe I need a straitjacket
Face facts
I am nuts for real but I'm ok with that
It's nothing...

I know I can never change what passes for your minds.
You are insufferably stubborn.

Neanderthals!