Defection to Happy (Sestina)

I am visiting this new land called Happy
I don’t know how to act.
All my life I have lived in Despair.
I never liked living there, because it is very glum.
However, my feeling of this new land of Happy is fright.
But, I will travel on despite.

I never felt the joy that forms a smile I attempt one despite.
What makes all the people feel cheery in Happy?
Do they know what it feels like to feel fright?
Could all this bliss be an act?
Does the monotony of content make the natives glum?
I can’t help it I feel home sick for Despair.

Is it my emotional predisposition for misery, which destined me for Despair?
Could I learn to be a Happizite despite
my life long teachings of how to be glum?
I admit I have a fascination with this land of Happy.
Perhaps things would be alright if pleased I could act
and keep hidden, from those all around, my fright.

How does a person mask fright?
When they lived their whole life in Despair?
Is delighted still a wonderful feeling if it is an act?
Can the act ever become fact despite
being a foreigner to Happy?
Or am I forever doomed, no matter the effort, to be glum?

I don’t want to be glum.
I don’t want to feel fright.
I want to live forever in Happy.
I want to defect from Despair.
No matter I was born a Despairian, I want to be a Happizite despite.
I want to feel glee for real and not have it be only an act.

I have decided, I will drop my act and no longer feel glum.
I will do this despite my feelings of horrible fright.
I herby revoke my citizenship to Despair, and pledge my allegiance to Happy!

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Torment To Content

I don’t know how to feel content.

Why does this ability escape me?

What if content, I was never meant?

 

I feel at ease with torment.

I fed on its teat as a baby.

I don’t know how to feel content.

 

Out of duty, I pay torment’s rent

I know holding on to feeling bad is crazy.

What if content, I was never meant?

 

To torment, I want to revoke my consent.

If I had something to feel instead I could act bravely.

I don’t know how to feel content.

 

I hate the bond between torment and me is cement!

With shame I admit, to something so vile, I am still clingy.

What if content, I was never meant?

 

Escape from torment I am hell-bent!

The risk of feeling nothing instead…I still agree.

I don’t know how to feel content.

What if content I was never meant?

Defection to Happy (Sestina)

I am visiting this new land called Happy

I don’t know how to act.

All my life I have lived in Despair.

I never liked living there, because it is very glum.

However, my feeling of this new land of Happy is fright.

But, I will travel on despite.

I never felt the joy that forms a smile I attempt one despite.

What makes all the people feel cheery in Happy?

Do they know what it feels like to feel fright?

Could all this bliss be an act?

Does the monotony of content make the natives glum?

I can’t help it I feel home sick for Despair.

Is it my emotional predisposition for misery, which destined me for Despair?

Could I learn to be a Happizite despite

my life long teachings of how to be glum?

I admit I have a fascination with this land of Happy.

Perhaps things would be alright if pleased I could act

and keep hidden, from those all around, my fright.

How does a person mask fright?

When they lived their whole life in Despair?

Is delighted still a wonderful feeling if it is an act?

Can the act ever become fact despite

being a foreigner to Happy?

Or am I forever doomed, no matter the effort, to be glum?

I don’t want to be glum.

I don’t want to feel fright.

I want to live forever in Happy.

I want to defect from Despair.

No matter I was born a Despairian, I want to be a Happizite despite.

I want to feel glee for real and not have it be only an act.

I have decided, I will drop my act and no longer feel glum.

I will do this despite my feelings of horrible fright.

I herby revoke my citizenship to Despair, and pledge my allegiance to Happy!

Please Don’t Look Me In The Eye

As the volume of voices in my head swell

I pace, back and forth, with fist hitting thigh,

trying to get the voices to quell.

         Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Hoping to find a way to dispel,

on others around, I am a spy.

I’m doomed to stay on life’s stairwell

           Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Forgive me for being unwell.

It hurts to live life classified as a “standby”

and your home is an ugly shell.

         Please, don’t look me in the eye.

When my pain is great and I have to tell

The cruelest thing a person can say is, “Try.”

Don’t they think I would try and get out of hell?

        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

The horrors of my past my mind constantly dwells.

Are you sure the pain I’m in won’t make me die?

These evil things from my mind, I want to expel.

        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

The world we live in will not allow me to yell.

I have no choice, I must lie

The only time truth is permitted is when I use my inkwell.

        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Before I act a fool and society norms I rebel,

I lift my hand and wave goodbye.

I feel tears about to swell.

        Please, don’t look me in the eye.

Combat

Combat

Brutal indeed

Goal is to wound or kill

Win or lose, feel unsatisfied

Crusade

Alone, I Fight Against Not Nice Grand Voices (Sestina)

Here I am, all alone.

Yet, all around, there are still voices.

They always put me down.

I wish one was nice,

and would lend a voice to my constant fight.

That would be grand.

A moment of mere seconds of peace I would pay a grand.

In believing the value, I’m sure I’m not alone.

I’m sure I am not the only one fighting this kind of fight

against disembodied voices.

With others, I try to play nice.

However, it’s harder to do when they want to bring me down.

Into the abyss of darkness I’m thrown down.

The Demons all around me mirth is grand,

and believe it’s nice,

to finally have me all alone.

It is their joyful bombardment of voices

I constantly bravely fight.

With fist, I have never learned to fight.

When I have tried, I have always been knocked down.

Contrary to my skills with brawn, I am skilled at fighting voices.

Even though my skill with my shield of reflection is grand,

I grow weary quickly when fighting alone.

Which is why having another to join in on my side would be nice.

Though it would be nice,

not to be alone in my fight,

it is a fight I’m destined to do alone.

The abyss I was thrown down

depth is grand

and dug with ease by my life’s evil voices.

I wish the voices would be nice.

That way my life would be grand and I would not have to fight.

Not to be alone, for once would be nice.

My Soul

Sly Satan summoned the serpent Sorrow

seeking to slither and scourge my simple soul

I became a solo shallow shadow

Sly Satan summoned the serpent Sorrow

sought salvation from wings of a sparrow

lifting me in secret from Shoal’s slimy sinkhole

Sly Satan summoned the serpent Sorrow

seeking to slither and scourge my simple soul

Awareness

Mania

Productive Adventure

Racing Aggravating Speeding

Desirable Destructive Draining Disease

Crying Sleeping Wondering

Dangerous Deceptive

Depression

What I Live For

I live for

Four in the morning fresh air

air that fills my lungs every time I breathe

breathe in and out so I can stop my sobs that show my despair

despair over the past

past that they said could not last but I swear

swear at the pain I have inside that goes on and on

on untill  I rest and shows its ugly face again in a nightmare

nightmare is living in limbo of being given a second chance

chance  to find a way to tell myself and the past me to beware

beware of those that lie and say you are not good

good was a grading that you, in fact, exceeded but your lot in life was unfair

unfair to endure the pain and have to wait and hurt while you pray for the gain

gain of understanding and being surrounded by those who comfort you when you despair

despair that you did not earn but given

given means you can throw it away I swear

swear you will as soon as you can, trust yourself of the future

future will be better and you will still live for

Four in the morning fresh air.

– – Today I’m taking part in ‘What I Live For’, an online event organised by author Satya Robyn. People like me all over the world will be sharing what gives their lives meaning. In Satya Robyn’s novel ‘Thaw’, Ruth gives herself three months to decide whether she can find a reason to carry on living. There’s 75% off the kindle version today (99p / $1.49) – read more here:http://www.satyarobyn.com/?page_id=56 – –

I Am Bipolar

I was chosen to be a warrior

Answered the call knowing
My survival is my only reward

Bruised battered but never beaten by the Beast
In need for retreat from time to time because
Pleasure and Pain is often felt in excess
Only time I fear my demise is when both meet
Laughing at the havoc the bring to the one battling.
Amount of agony felt requires a call for reinforcements
Relief is great when they carry me off the battlefield…and I get my only reward for being a chosen warrior.

 

Children are often chosen to be warriors as well. Here is a link to another Blog with a poem about this and further informationhttp://writingsofamrs.wordpress.com/2013/05/07/butterfly-box/

Loud Laughter

My loud laughter shakes the confidence of the masses in its presence.

Makes men and woman wonder what humorous tidbit they have missed.

Stands to reason…laughter is often heard in places haunted by the insane.

 

 

The people, going about his/her business, don’t know the secret to my glee.

People are too busy being who they believe the world believes they should be.

My loud laughter shakes the confidence of the masses in its presence.

 

 

Silly fools, tehehehe, they miss the point of mirth they hear coming from me.

I see the dark mass of self-doubt settle upon their shoulders like a cloak in incandesce  conditions.

Makes men and women wonder what humorous tidbit they have missed.

 

 

Shhh….I’ll let you, just you, in on the secret for the cause of my revelry.

My hysterics are because no matter the amount of pain I feel…I’m still here to endure it.

Stands to reason…laughter is often heard in places haunted by the insane.

 

Forever A Clown

I was a joke, when I was young.

Laughter, so loud, at my expense stung.

The sound bending me over in agony.

Hunkered down, took a journey.

Mind went afar hoping laughter done when awoke.

Older now, sadly naught changed since I was a joke.

Think I would learn, to deal with pain.

Joy, with role as clown, I could feign.

This one ability, could save me my face.

Instead, tears engage in a race.

No matter what I do, I follow the same pattern.

I am a clown to all around…think I would learn.

Decay Someday (Kyrielle)

At times I fool myself into believing I’m the boss.

Then I remember, I’m not. So I finish putting on my face with lip gloss.

I look at the finished creation of my Revlon face to see if it is right for the role I play.

I can’t fight the truth. Every day I live is a day closer to decay.

I do what I must to get what I need so I smile and nod as people pass.

Knowing all the while, the sand I have left is slipping away from my life’s hourglass.

Even though I know my time is short, I continue on. I was taught to obey.

I can’t fight the truth. Every day I live is a day closer to decay.

Doing the same thing as yesterday and the day before that…I start to feel stuck.

Life is so banal. Start to think it would be a nice change of pace to be hit by a truck.

Just my life’s luck, in my daily  travels, no diversion from boredom can be found on the highway.

I can’t fight the truth. Every day I live is a day closer to decay.

Home for the night and settled in. As usual, my activity is channel surfing for a life to live for the night.

Never finding the life I want…seems I am not alone in this crappy life plight.

I know I should consider each day I am giving a blessing…but I don’t.  Forgivness  is asked when I pray.

I can’t fight the truth. Every day I live is a day closer to decay.

Lost Mind (Triolet)

My wonderful mind always roaming forever lost

Search parties stay at home…don’t wanna be found

My mind will avoid being caged at any cost

My wonderful mind always roaming forever lost

More than anything my mind hates being bossed

Proud of my mind’s refusal to be bound

My wonderful mind always roaming forever lost

Search parties stay at home…don’t wanna be found

Don’t Know If I Wanna Go (Rondel)

Will I be given a place in Heaven?

What is a ticket worth?

Was I issued one at birth?

Is that my long awaited mental haven?

If I do go, I hope my legs are freshly shaved

and I’m wearing a girdle to reduce my girth.

Will I be given a place in Heaven?

What is a ticket worth?

If I do go, I hope all are seen as even

not unequal like here on earth.

I don’t want to be looked at with mirth

or, worse yet, others who were told of my sins faces being graven.

Will I be given a place in Heaven?

Senryu

People all around

Yet I’m all alone

Sad state to be in

Begging

Born a beggar with hand held out.

“Pardon me sir, can you spare a hug?”

“Excuse me lady, do you have an extra kiss?”

Food, shelter and clothing
Were panhandling earnings. However, yearnings were for so much more.

Desire was great to be that one gift in a person’s life

that made them think THEY were not worthy

to be in possession

of someone

full of light fresh from HEAVEN.

This is the birthright this beggar was denied.

So here I am….a beggar with hand held out.

Peace Found

I saw the lake

I sat on the rock

I listened to the sounds

I shut off my mind

PEACE is what I found

I was beauty as far as the eye could see

I was comfort for those who sought rest

I had all the right words at the right time

I LOVED me at that moment

Peace is what I found

You find that place

You take a seat

You listen to all the sounds around

You shut off your mind

PEACE is what you will find

Putting on a Show

My JOY is a dancing elephant

Bigger than life standing on two feet

Putting on a show for all those watching

Smiles are on all who can’t help to find the positive vibes

from this Majestic Beast infectious

People’s minds are so focused on what they are seeing

somehow

someway

they forget

This oddity that fills them with so much elation

is in reality just a

plain ol grey pachyderm

and something that would be easy to ignore

and forgotten

The illusion is kept

as long as can be

However, like all good things, the dancing ends

The beast is tired and can’t continue to entertain

Two feet that were once in the air; come down

without a sound

A proud trunk which once delighted the crowd with a trumpeting sounds

Now went limp with exhaustion

and the now hidden mouth is panting

The once exalted animal exits the arena

Those who once were enthralled

divert their attention

to the new attraction put in place

diverting attention from the lumbering animal’s slow retreat

After departure of the now forgotten spectical

People continued to have a grand time

untill they were told it was time to head home…

When the time has come for the tent to come down

People heading out never associated the big animals doing manual labor

who they feel no sympathy

with the fascinating beasts

who defied gravity  and made grand sounds

bringing them such delight.

That is why

my joy is a dancing elephant.

Scruffy Angel With A Message

I want to share a story to show my gratitude for one of the best gifts I have ever been given.

The gift I hold so dear, was presented to be by a fellow junkie.

We had nothing in common besides our shared addiction and the building we were housed in.

We would kill time between therapy, smokes, snacks, and meals talking about this, that, and nothing.

However, during one of our one on one stress relieving sessions, I told a story that was always so painful and filled me with shame…

Even though I was only a child and the victim.

As soon as I started…

I wanted to stop…

but couldn’t.

Instead I told my sad tale like it was a joke.

I laughed at my pain so as not to burden this recent stranger with feeling obligated to pretend he cared and give me some token pity.

I wanted to end it with a final laugh and give him a Newport as payment for his time…

But to my surprise no pity was given. In its place I was given the permission to allow my feelings be first.

He told me my story was not funny and I did not need to laugh.

He knew what happened must have hurt…

The weight of my pain was less as he showed me compassion.

He said when somebody hurts me it should not be funny.

He gently put his hand on mine and said he thought it would be better if I cried.

At that moment that wonderful junkie served as a wittiness to my tears I always kept hidden…

When I already felt he gave me so much…he gave me one more.

I saw tears fall from his eyes.

How could a victim ask for anything more!

Soon after, we went our separate ways…

But I swear this on a stack of Bibles…his gift will always remain close to my heart.

And in my heart, I know this grand gift could never be given by a nice junkie unless God used him to teach me this life changing lesson.

I don’t ask why God allowed such a bad thing to happen.

Asking why does not take pain away. It did, and that’s that.

However, the pain I lived with for so long did feel less the day God used a kind junkie to give me the permission and compassion needed to make it easier to deal with.