My Reason for Birthday Wishes

I love
how you crush every one
of my toes
until my bones squeal
for release.

You are my reason
for birthday wishes. I see you
(always you) when I blow
candles that sing
“High-heeled shoes are magic!”

But time is birthing rust
inside my joints. There are creaks
in my knees, dreaming of wild
nights brightened
by high-heeled-shoe-
arson
and maniacal laughter.

.
a wee note:
– No high-heeled shoe was set on fire during the crafting of this poem. But there might have been a choked maniacal cackle or three.

linked to:
– The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Bits of Inspiration ~ Shoes).
– Sanaa’s Prompt Nights (Round hour of dawning blush, come blow me a Wish)

red-boots

via

Secondary Character Schizophrenia

What do the voices say?
Have they asked you to kill
cuties, to walk the storm
in your nightie, perhaps
to torture or just maim?

I don’t like the oily glint
twinkling in the doctor’s eye.
My characters aren’t violent
perverts, but this psychothe-
rapist, well he just—

Have they shown themselves
to you naked? Maybe preaching
of salvation, doing yoga poses
while writing Klingon?

No, I say to him. They want me
to write them, but not in Klingon.
They breathe ideas down my spine,
never ever, ever… stopping,
demanding their doings
on my page.

Do you ever bathe with them,
or let them slip under your sheets?
Have you danced the Macarena
while one of them spanks your—

No, I say. They always want
the same thing: story, story, story…
There is neither hanky nor spanky,
and haven’t you been listening?
They never sleep!

I could see the psycho-
therapist not believing my act.
It was one of those horrid days
when nothing but a story
would make him leave.
So I grabbed paper and pen
and storied his rambling
on this sheet.

.
Process Note: Schizophrenia isn’t funny at all. This disorder affects how a person feels, thinks, and acts. So why would anyone (as usual, by “anyone” I mean “me”) take symptoms as serious as hallucinations, paranoia, strange body positioning, nonsensical speaking and/or writing, extreme preoccupation with religion (just to name a few) and make fun of them? Well, I will offer the same answer I give to people who ask me why I make fun of my own chronic illnesses: if you can’t defeat them or kill them, you might as well laugh at them. It works for me.

written for Fictitious Afflictions Symptoms – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 8)

Edgar Allan Poe, by Pablo Bernasconi
“Edgar Allan Poe”, by Pablo Bernasconi
via