I am of the Upper, Lower Class.
Having the coveted
Federal Disability Money.
Living in the dreamed of
section 8 funded
single room occupancy.
I have serious
Physical
and Mental
Disabilities.
Yet not so "serious" as say,
Cancer,
or AIDS.
So though I am,
Mortally Ill,
I do not get the excuse
of something "fatal."
The Power of
"Real Sickness."
Yes, I'm viewed as disabled,
but "not as disabled as..."
Stuck in the Middle.
I am of the Upper, Lowest Class.
Poor,
but not the poorest.
Disabled,
but not the most so.
Downtrodden yes,
but one who can
"do _something_ for themselves,
if they really wanted to."
A pretend sickness?
Fuck You.
I do my best.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Poem: Love-Pusher
Wanting it your way,
always just your way;
You and the future
and the plans
and lastly, though,
lastly, Me.
I try so hard
not to get too connected;
for both our sakes,
though I don't think you see that.
Playing games like a kitten,
just the edge of ferocity,
the glimmer of death,
in it's eyes.
Nature, the Hunter.
Your hunting does not stop,
once you have me.
Still you must force me through grates,
channels, analysis, obedience-training,
learning to come when you call,
to do whatever you want...
Unfair?
Perhaps.
It is as it is.
I want you truly and directly.
All pomp and circumstance be damned!
I want you directly.
Body to body,
Mind to Mind,
Soul to Soul.
Throw away these "tests" of my office,
the "games" of my affection for you.
Trust in me Lover,
come to me, Lover,
Make me as worthy,
as your Drug Pusher.
always just your way;
You and the future
and the plans
and lastly, though,
lastly, Me.
I try so hard
not to get too connected;
for both our sakes,
though I don't think you see that.
Playing games like a kitten,
just the edge of ferocity,
the glimmer of death,
in it's eyes.
Nature, the Hunter.
Your hunting does not stop,
once you have me.
Still you must force me through grates,
channels, analysis, obedience-training,
learning to come when you call,
to do whatever you want...
Unfair?
Perhaps.
It is as it is.
I want you truly and directly.
All pomp and circumstance be damned!
I want you directly.
Body to body,
Mind to Mind,
Soul to Soul.
Throw away these "tests" of my office,
the "games" of my affection for you.
Trust in me Lover,
come to me, Lover,
Make me as worthy,
as your Drug Pusher.
Poem: Youth (#2?)
Out of nowhere I remember being young and doing drugs. Driving our brains like test computers or NASA take-offs; Uppers, downers, trancers, trippers, dancers, and more. Pulling our brains in any and every direction, testing our physical Life's boundaries and sanities.
We didn't all get out unharmed. I know I didn't. Though the "knowledge" we gained, the exclusivity I've attained, the smaller circles I'm a member of...
Leave me searching far away.
But forever close to home.
In the days that I was free.
We didn't all get out unharmed. I know I didn't. Though the "knowledge" we gained, the exclusivity I've attained, the smaller circles I'm a member of...
Leave me searching far away.
But forever close to home.
In the days that I was free.
Poem: Pants Crapper
Tired of feeling sorry for you,
tired of watching you
feel sorry for yourself.
Self-Pity is a disgusting Thing.
I know.
I've wallowed in it for years.
Watching you crapping your pants,
refusing to clean it up,
not letting me clean it...
What should I do?
The disrespect you show yourself
shines into my eyes,
making me angry.
Wanting to yell at you:
"Clean your ass!
Change your underwear!
For Christs sake,
get some toilet paper!"
But you don't.
You just keep looking at me
and crying,
shitty pants around your ankles.
tired of watching you
feel sorry for yourself.
Self-Pity is a disgusting Thing.
I know.
I've wallowed in it for years.
Watching you crapping your pants,
refusing to clean it up,
not letting me clean it...
What should I do?
The disrespect you show yourself
shines into my eyes,
making me angry.
Wanting to yell at you:
"Clean your ass!
Change your underwear!
For Christs sake,
get some toilet paper!"
But you don't.
You just keep looking at me
and crying,
shitty pants around your ankles.