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Literature Text
"It feels like madness," I tried. "Like falling down the stairs, only you're falling up them, further into your own head.
"This madness, it is like a way of seeing, a type of vision - a pair of sunglasses that makes everything buzz, and it feels like you're gasping and yelling to go down at the same time something is stretching you up. Your flesh hums and raises itself like the static before a lightning strike - and you could hit eject, but you don't know where you'd go: oblivion is nonexistence. And sometimes I wonder - sometimes silent, sometimes aloud: it really depends who's around - is this what it's like to die?
"Because the world is bottled up in my head, see? And someone keeps shaking it like a snow globe (and I'm afraid one day it will explode and my brain will float around like the synthetic confetti and all I'll ever think, a scratched vinyl chorus: is this what it's like to die?)"
The walls swallow my words and stiffen like the Tuesday psychiatrists.
"This madness, it is like a way of seeing, a type of vision - a pair of sunglasses that makes everything buzz, and it feels like you're gasping and yelling to go down at the same time something is stretching you up. Your flesh hums and raises itself like the static before a lightning strike - and you could hit eject, but you don't know where you'd go: oblivion is nonexistence. And sometimes I wonder - sometimes silent, sometimes aloud: it really depends who's around - is this what it's like to die?
"Because the world is bottled up in my head, see? And someone keeps shaking it like a snow globe (and I'm afraid one day it will explode and my brain will float around like the synthetic confetti and all I'll ever think, a scratched vinyl chorus: is this what it's like to die?)"
The walls swallow my words and stiffen like the Tuesday psychiatrists.
Literature
Not By Sight
Living blind
can turn a simple grocery run
into an altar call.
Enter good Samaritan:
no introduction,
just a hand on my arm
and a prayer
for my sight,
my wholeness,
to be restored.
Am I not whole?
My eyes took early retirement,
but that doesn’t make me
tragic,
less than;
I am
a collage of scars
and stories,
of train rides and tea leaves.
I’ve had a good life,
a hard life,
a full life.
Today, I can’t
find it in me
to gently correct her;
in society’s eyes, I am
made invisible one moment
and spotlighted the next,
ready either to stand back
or stand out.
The pressures imposed
by ableism,
by
Literature
scattered
We leave pieces of ourselves in the corners
Of bookshelves, stuck between the pages
And in the hand painted wooden bowl
Collecting dust and spare change.
My fingers grazed a fragment
When I saw a photograph of you today
And my lungs caught on the memory
Of the first words you said to me
Lingering like a ghost breath
In the soft curve of my earlobe.
(“Hi, mind if I ask you
Some questions?”)
I hid inside the rain to drown out
The sound. The wet grass stuck to my toes
And the droplets rolled down
Over the shirt that my mom told me
Makes me look like I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.
(She thought her rebel was a princess
Bu
Literature
Rabbiting
Note: there is a link to a spoken version of this poem in the description. I recommend listening to it as you read.
They talk about fight, and flight,
and freeze, but what's to be done
when nothing can be done, when the wolf
is there, stronger and faster, and you
firmly in his sights, I'll tell you—
the body shakes and shakes.
You were not a wolf,
I didn't see you and think
animal. You were human,
then later, inhumane.
I never learned your human name,
what others call you
when they believe your skin. The right word
may be alien. After all, I was
abducted.
They say I should find comfort
where I can. The constancy of ocean.
Sunrise
Suggested Collections
I'm light and airy (it feels like the world outside my head is a snow globe) and every so often there're black spots like someone's stirring up the madness in me. Also known as: stay on the ground for a while, your blood pressure is low and you're trying to faint.
I just thought I'd experiment with a bit of fictionalization of some truths and a tiny journal entry. Don't know if it fell short by a mile or by a football field. But I wanted to try and explain what the first stage of a panic attack was like, or just the high-strung anxiety, where everything feels like it's collecting and buzzing in your skin - or the air. Like how if you go limp and let your mind go with the buzzing, your vision wavers and flickers slightly like the heat of a mirage. So, I thought "snow globe" and that if someone popped my head off, they might be able to stick it on a souvenir shelf.
The buzzing kept interrupting my reading. And as usual, I had no idea what category to put this in.
I just thought I'd experiment with a bit of fictionalization of some truths and a tiny journal entry. Don't know if it fell short by a mile or by a football field. But I wanted to try and explain what the first stage of a panic attack was like, or just the high-strung anxiety, where everything feels like it's collecting and buzzing in your skin - or the air. Like how if you go limp and let your mind go with the buzzing, your vision wavers and flickers slightly like the heat of a mirage. So, I thought "snow globe" and that if someone popped my head off, they might be able to stick it on a souvenir shelf.
The buzzing kept interrupting my reading. And as usual, I had no idea what category to put this in.
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Comments19
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An interesting pairing you've got for a title here; it's well made to draw the reader in, for sure.