The medicine stopped working
My body’s jerking
uncontrollably
I fall to my knees begging folks
To let me be
I’m full of toxins
My pores are cesspools
Veins pumping contaminated
Blood
One cut and people would die from
The flood
There’s no cure
I’m a twitching mess
Beyond sending calls of distress
my time is borrowed
i’m in panic mode
a total nervous breakdown
bodily functions shutting down
following my manic episode
i hear voices-
for once they’re not in my head
somehow I’m chained to a bed
condescending words float above
and bounce off walls like my body
was before
i see a woman carrying a tray walking
through the door
it can’t be more vials and needles
what would be the purpose
why can’t they let my body expire
i’m so tired-
no need to prolong others suffering…
my eyes connect with hers and I think she
understands my plea
by tomorrow I will no longer be
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Pussyfoot
i feel your resentment
here you are giving me your heart
while I slice select parts of mine to
offer in return
i told you i was no good-
not merely misunderstood
you wanted to prove me and the world
wrong-
it was a cruel lesson to learn
you fell so deep down the well
i stride through shallow waters making
sure i don’t get too wet
but before you can drown
i cast out a safety net
it’s in my best interest
as long as you set out your bowl of cream
i’ll slink around allowing you to get lost in
your dreams
grip me too tight and I bite
loosen your hold and off I go
then you’re left alone crying about having a lover
so mean
anyway you choose, you lose
having a warm bed sometimes is better than
never
however, affections aren’t meant to be toyed with
when you see me walk out the door
you always wonder if we’ve had our last kiss…
here you are giving me your heart
while I slice select parts of mine to
offer in return
i told you i was no good-
not merely misunderstood
you wanted to prove me and the world
wrong-
it was a cruel lesson to learn
you fell so deep down the well
i stride through shallow waters making
sure i don’t get too wet
but before you can drown
i cast out a safety net
it’s in my best interest
as long as you set out your bowl of cream
i’ll slink around allowing you to get lost in
your dreams
grip me too tight and I bite
loosen your hold and off I go
then you’re left alone crying about having a lover
so mean
anyway you choose, you lose
having a warm bed sometimes is better than
never
however, affections aren’t meant to be toyed with
when you see me walk out the door
you always wonder if we’ve had our last kiss…
Monday, October 1, 2007
That Place
That Place
i let it happen
his hands were like
silk across my untouched
skin
so much warmth through his
fingertips
a magic spark i felt when
he kissed my lips
the buttons became undone
i wanted myself to be set
free
into the grass, surrounded
by wildflowers
out in the field right next
to the oak tree
he entered me
i was confused by the strange
sensation
he turned from the sweetest man
into a stranger
i searched for compassion in his
eyes but all i could see was the
danger
i was in
suddenly i didn't want this to
continue
i cried out but received the
back of his hand
i was being pushed down into
the coldness of the land
closing my eyes i prayed for
this to end
i begged God for forgiveness
for participating in this
sin
i brought it upon myself
soon, he raised his sweaty
body off of mine
i laid into the dirt as if i
had no spine
the look he shot me was of
pure disgust
i shot a look of my own of
total distrust
no words were exchanged
he went on his way
as the sun started to set
at that place is where i
continued to stay
casting my eyes at the darkening
sky
i had to ask the stars "Why?"
why did i let him kiss me
why did i smile went he winked
at me
why did i skip school and get
into his car
why did i let things go so
far
momma won't understand my torn
dress
the grownup smells i had and my
insides being a mess
ashamed i am for what was done
ashamed i am for what i have
become
that place, where the wildflowers
serenaded the big oak tree
that place that used to comfort me
that place where the honeysuckles
enticed the bees
that place now simply haunts me
that place...
i let it happen
his hands were like
silk across my untouched
skin
so much warmth through his
fingertips
a magic spark i felt when
he kissed my lips
the buttons became undone
i wanted myself to be set
free
into the grass, surrounded
by wildflowers
out in the field right next
to the oak tree
he entered me
i was confused by the strange
sensation
he turned from the sweetest man
into a stranger
i searched for compassion in his
eyes but all i could see was the
danger
i was in
suddenly i didn't want this to
continue
i cried out but received the
back of his hand
i was being pushed down into
the coldness of the land
closing my eyes i prayed for
this to end
i begged God for forgiveness
for participating in this
sin
i brought it upon myself
soon, he raised his sweaty
body off of mine
i laid into the dirt as if i
had no spine
the look he shot me was of
pure disgust
i shot a look of my own of
total distrust
no words were exchanged
he went on his way
as the sun started to set
at that place is where i
continued to stay
casting my eyes at the darkening
sky
i had to ask the stars "Why?"
why did i let him kiss me
why did i smile went he winked
at me
why did i skip school and get
into his car
why did i let things go so
far
momma won't understand my torn
dress
the grownup smells i had and my
insides being a mess
ashamed i am for what was done
ashamed i am for what i have
become
that place, where the wildflowers
serenaded the big oak tree
that place that used to comfort me
that place where the honeysuckles
enticed the bees
that place now simply haunts me
that place...
Shaken, Not Stirred
I spend my days wandering
around an empty house
Closing window shades
keeping the sun from peeking inside
I’m so fidgety-
Straightening up tables and such
I don’t know what I’m waiting for
but someone is coming over
I’m a mess
I can’t get clean
My arms are a map of misery
Cuts, scratches and stabs
Burn marks and peeling scabs
I haven’t eaten in days
I have other things to think about
The doorbell rings;
it jars my senses
I’m half excited-half afraid
A little girl in search of her Teddy bear
The click of the lock makes me
jumpy
Everyone knows I leave a key under the mat
When the door opens
I bow my head in silence
Tears flow down and I kind of know why
a hand lands on my shoulder
I feel the cold steel against my cheek
My time has come to pay
“Mike hasn’t come through with the money?”
I ask already knowing the answer
Making the job easier I lay face down on the
Floor
I could have ran, tried to escape
But having been abandoned
I’d rather just go ahead and
die
around an empty house
Closing window shades
keeping the sun from peeking inside
I’m so fidgety-
Straightening up tables and such
I don’t know what I’m waiting for
but someone is coming over
I’m a mess
I can’t get clean
My arms are a map of misery
Cuts, scratches and stabs
Burn marks and peeling scabs
I haven’t eaten in days
I have other things to think about
The doorbell rings;
it jars my senses
I’m half excited-half afraid
A little girl in search of her Teddy bear
The click of the lock makes me
jumpy
Everyone knows I leave a key under the mat
When the door opens
I bow my head in silence
Tears flow down and I kind of know why
a hand lands on my shoulder
I feel the cold steel against my cheek
My time has come to pay
“Mike hasn’t come through with the money?”
I ask already knowing the answer
Making the job easier I lay face down on the
Floor
I could have ran, tried to escape
But having been abandoned
I’d rather just go ahead and
die
The Valium for the Doll AKA “I want the same doctor my mother had! Or do I?”
After my mother divorced the lying, cheating, abusive, yet loving and charming man that was my dad (RIP) and uprooting my brothers and I, it seemed that we were always in so much fucking trouble. I don’t remember half the shit I did at four years of age to garner the screaming I got, but it happened whenever mom would come home from work. She was a stressed out, still young woman raising four leeches, 3 of which were either a teen or soon becoming one. One paycheck to buy the shit we ate, the clothes for our backs, the medicine for our colds and the toys we cried and moaned about. That’s four birthdays and a bitter bitch of a Christmas every goddamned year. Now, I’m not saying that she was this Super Mom or better than Ms. Partridge as other women did/does the same thing. However, how she kept her sanity, not run out in the middle of the night leaving a box of cereal and big salad bowl on the kitchen table or slit our throats while we were sleeping is nothing short of a miracle.
About a year after settling in, my mother seemed to be able to get things under control as best she could. Oh, she’d threaten to beat us if we didn’t shut the fuck up while she was resting. She’d swear that the TV would be off limits if we didn’t quit turning the channel knob (oh these kids today don’t have the joy of having a coat hanger hanging out the TV where the antenna was. Do they even know what an antenna is?!) like we didn’t have any sense. And if we didn’t stop running in and out her damned door letting the flies in, well…let’s just say we had a cap on how many times that front door could open. Made you truly rethink whether you needed that glass of water or not. One more door slam and it was automatic house arrest. Good thing we had friends so we could alternate between houses for piss breaks.
Suddenly a transformation of sorts came about almost on a daily basis for my mom. She could come home on the brink of a nervous breakdown after busting her ass at work only to be met with selfish kids begging for money, go into her room and maybe 15 minutes later emerge from said room a Stepford Mom. The music was too loud? “That’s ok.” Jumping on top of the furniture? “Don’t bust your skull sweetie.” Could my friends Yvonne, Margaret, Angelica, (you get the picture) spend the night? “Whatever honey…” Wow, it was great! She’d just step over the chaos and head into the kitchen and fix herself a cup of coffee, humming. As kids, we didn’t know how the angry monster was tamed whenever she went into her room and we couldn’t give a shit. What ever worked was fine by us. Then we started growing up and having kids of our own. Oh karma, fuck you! I often praised her for raising the four of us and she’d just smile and maybe let out a small chuckle. After what had been the billionth time I mentioned her strength in raising my brothers and I, she finally gave up the Ancient Chinese Secret: Valium. My jaw dropped, she shrugged and went on about her day. Those days were long ago, so she could care less what I thought. Only thing was I wasn’t judging my mother, I was jealous!
In the heyday of the 50’s through the 80’s, doctors would prescribe pills at the drop of a hat, and from what I understood they gave out the real good shit. Placidyls, Qualudes, Percocets, Percodans…just about anything beginning with “Per” or ending with “Dan.” The beleaguered housewife/mother favorites were Valiums. These little babies would guarantee that mommy’s little rugrat could live another day after pouring milk all over the place. This magic pill kept a mother’s hands from choking her dumbass kid for the skateboard flying through the window after telling him not to skateboard in the house for the 10th time that day. Also, these pills act very quickly making every mom taking them happy little drowsy compliant robots. Mommy gets kids ready for school. Mommy goes to work. Mommy comes home to messy house and bad report cards. Mommy has some alone time with Valium. Mommy cooks dinner and goes to bed without committing homicide/suicide. Everybody’s a winner, right?
My general practitioner (in other words “I’m not a psychologist!”) won’t remotely play ball. “But I’m stressed, depressed, have a lot on my mind, blah, blah, blah…” doesn’t move him an inch. I complain about stress, he mentions jogging. I whine too much about depression, he starts looking through referrals for local therapists. When I asked him why he wouldn’t prescribe Valium for me instead of the bullshit garden-variety libido killing depression meds, he told me that doctors nowadays rarely if ever prescribe them anymore-they do their job too well. After giving him the Scooby-Doo look of confusion, he firmly told me that are highly addictive, and it’s damned hard kicking the habit. When I asked him if they were “I’ll suck your dick for $5.” addictive, he started riffling through his shrink referrals again. Dejected, I leave his office only to play the game with him every month. To be honest, I don’t really want to be hooked on them or any drug. Besides, last time I checked Raisenettes were still legal.
I don’t look at my mother any differently. I still praise her and admire her for what she’s sacrificed for us. She, like other people of the time were prescribed medicine that today’s doctors wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole. Sure, you have the movie stars; singers and other celebrities that somehow have an arsenal of medicine that would make Keith Richards sentimentally weep. These same people wind up on any number of “Weren’t you…” type of TV shows and also a slave to the pills. Ok, I’ll say it: junkies. Luckily my mother wasn’t using Valium for long, as she didn’t like her growing dependence on them. So how did she manage to raise us without killing us then? I have one precocious daughter and I want to cry “Uncle” sometimes and that just makes my mother laugh her ass off. Maybe knowing that one day the pain in the ass kids you have will have similar, if not more kids than you have brings enough tranquility. Or maybe it was pot. Whatever it was, Karma, you’re still a bitch.
About a year after settling in, my mother seemed to be able to get things under control as best she could. Oh, she’d threaten to beat us if we didn’t shut the fuck up while she was resting. She’d swear that the TV would be off limits if we didn’t quit turning the channel knob (oh these kids today don’t have the joy of having a coat hanger hanging out the TV where the antenna was. Do they even know what an antenna is?!) like we didn’t have any sense. And if we didn’t stop running in and out her damned door letting the flies in, well…let’s just say we had a cap on how many times that front door could open. Made you truly rethink whether you needed that glass of water or not. One more door slam and it was automatic house arrest. Good thing we had friends so we could alternate between houses for piss breaks.
Suddenly a transformation of sorts came about almost on a daily basis for my mom. She could come home on the brink of a nervous breakdown after busting her ass at work only to be met with selfish kids begging for money, go into her room and maybe 15 minutes later emerge from said room a Stepford Mom. The music was too loud? “That’s ok.” Jumping on top of the furniture? “Don’t bust your skull sweetie.” Could my friends Yvonne, Margaret, Angelica, (you get the picture) spend the night? “Whatever honey…” Wow, it was great! She’d just step over the chaos and head into the kitchen and fix herself a cup of coffee, humming. As kids, we didn’t know how the angry monster was tamed whenever she went into her room and we couldn’t give a shit. What ever worked was fine by us. Then we started growing up and having kids of our own. Oh karma, fuck you! I often praised her for raising the four of us and she’d just smile and maybe let out a small chuckle. After what had been the billionth time I mentioned her strength in raising my brothers and I, she finally gave up the Ancient Chinese Secret: Valium. My jaw dropped, she shrugged and went on about her day. Those days were long ago, so she could care less what I thought. Only thing was I wasn’t judging my mother, I was jealous!
In the heyday of the 50’s through the 80’s, doctors would prescribe pills at the drop of a hat, and from what I understood they gave out the real good shit. Placidyls, Qualudes, Percocets, Percodans…just about anything beginning with “Per” or ending with “Dan.” The beleaguered housewife/mother favorites were Valiums. These little babies would guarantee that mommy’s little rugrat could live another day after pouring milk all over the place. This magic pill kept a mother’s hands from choking her dumbass kid for the skateboard flying through the window after telling him not to skateboard in the house for the 10th time that day. Also, these pills act very quickly making every mom taking them happy little drowsy compliant robots. Mommy gets kids ready for school. Mommy goes to work. Mommy comes home to messy house and bad report cards. Mommy has some alone time with Valium. Mommy cooks dinner and goes to bed without committing homicide/suicide. Everybody’s a winner, right?
My general practitioner (in other words “I’m not a psychologist!”) won’t remotely play ball. “But I’m stressed, depressed, have a lot on my mind, blah, blah, blah…” doesn’t move him an inch. I complain about stress, he mentions jogging. I whine too much about depression, he starts looking through referrals for local therapists. When I asked him why he wouldn’t prescribe Valium for me instead of the bullshit garden-variety libido killing depression meds, he told me that doctors nowadays rarely if ever prescribe them anymore-they do their job too well. After giving him the Scooby-Doo look of confusion, he firmly told me that are highly addictive, and it’s damned hard kicking the habit. When I asked him if they were “I’ll suck your dick for $5.” addictive, he started riffling through his shrink referrals again. Dejected, I leave his office only to play the game with him every month. To be honest, I don’t really want to be hooked on them or any drug. Besides, last time I checked Raisenettes were still legal.
I don’t look at my mother any differently. I still praise her and admire her for what she’s sacrificed for us. She, like other people of the time were prescribed medicine that today’s doctors wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole. Sure, you have the movie stars; singers and other celebrities that somehow have an arsenal of medicine that would make Keith Richards sentimentally weep. These same people wind up on any number of “Weren’t you…” type of TV shows and also a slave to the pills. Ok, I’ll say it: junkies. Luckily my mother wasn’t using Valium for long, as she didn’t like her growing dependence on them. So how did she manage to raise us without killing us then? I have one precocious daughter and I want to cry “Uncle” sometimes and that just makes my mother laugh her ass off. Maybe knowing that one day the pain in the ass kids you have will have similar, if not more kids than you have brings enough tranquility. Or maybe it was pot. Whatever it was, Karma, you’re still a bitch.
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