Prose Poem: Look Me In the Eyes Judge Me & A Part Of You Not Me Dies

I said I don’t know how it is happening, this rolling through hidden, painful diseases, migraines unfolding over the years suddenly, calmly, admiring the sun casting shadows over the horizon edge into the elms, oak, maple and yellow pine, thinking this is beautiful, this is sparkling and bending into a kaleidoscope with Isaiah steaming and proclaims He shall not be broken…

Darkness. I don’t know. I was sipping orange blossom tipped water and then I awoke in a bundle, water all over me, time what time? There was no marker beginning and ending.

I looked at my right leg, my leg, knee down and around my arch and ankle back up again in splotches of gorgeous purple and saffron bruises.

I stare. I cannot stand. My entire body was stretched and beaten, reformed and disassociated. It was a seizure. I was terrified. Five more in a few weeks. So I told my neurologist. I was afraid to speak. But I did. Thus began two years of barbaric tests and medicines. Time to time they still return, shadows pulling me to a cavern Of night. A cavern Of bright souls singing from Psalms and sometimes chants, songs of Milarepa as I swim through the Bardo and again awaken. My lip swollen, tongue bleeding, I know where I had give and reflection makes it a whirring set of waves of fear. Few things are stranger than never knowing when they will emerge. Seizures. Meds no meds many meds new meds murderous meds then meds work ok looks good let’s cut back What? Ok so I do and click Jello legs and hello floor. Scratches. Bruises. Gazing into the wooden floor and hoping here nothing was broken. Deal with it. Give warnings when Lyme’s takes new forms old forms beware stay back it strikes do not touch me the muscles more powerful than the steroids they were injecting. Life. Deal with it. I said Doctor, the only thing that really worked without burnt bay leaves and thyme in my mouth without side effects killing me or making me wish it would was medical marijuana. Thank you, Georgia. Lack of legislation for medical for Lyme’s and all the disorder leaves me tsk tsk tell me no drama so fuck off it hurts keep personal effects out of my definition. Through cancer through the many legged Lyme’s nerve damage disc disorder white blood cells contour and dominate into another gate of hell and idiots try to place blame on divorce and I cease speaking into that void. I lived. St Padre Pio St Raphael St Patrick and the 8 fold path. And so as Lyme’s rises as it does now stay on track understand that all this pain is not a choice.

So I laugh find a way Rise. This is Lyme’s. A strangers sneeze could kill me. So benefits are cut and SNAP goes down to $15 a month I ask do I starve or face the hydra headed threats of death in my veins and dna. It does not matter between Medicare and the state I wonder who will pay for my ashes. Look me in the eyes and say you understand That is all I want Just understand.

2 Replies to “Prose Poem: Look Me In the Eyes Judge Me & A Part Of You Not Me Dies”

    1. Yeah, I would assume by now it is slowly moving down to being you and a few close friends and any relatives with whom to talk with about your condition. I am always here for you, and you can call me any time day or night as friendship in need or any state of mind and life is much more important than waking up talking and sharing love then going back into a sleep gilded with filigree gold and silver Art Deco walls and mirrors. Marching through cancer in isolation is like hiking a hundred miles through mud only to find I have moved ten paces and not ten hundred. Peached, brother. The Bardo will always be there but life is for the living and you want to live, you want to create and fulfill the mission of being Art as Artist rather than slowly slipping away. I thought about it a lot, and still do when the dangers reemerge and I see it on my arms, in how I cannot focus because double vision moves page lines up and down and I have to shut one eye, and then the paisley patterns and shimmer of lights arise just as I am pulled into the darkness of the Bardo not knowing if I am alive or dead or just waiting, but it is a state of Nothing, complete nothingness until I am pulled out by force of nature and look around wondering what am I doing on the floor, why do I hurt, who hit me in the lip and cut my tongue, who bruised my legs and arms, and it was me, in a force great enough to lift cars if so placed, but the Hulk strength of Titans is the power of a seizure and I fear them so much because being alone when it hits is a fright. I warn people that if I go down do not touch me do not go for the myth of the pencil in the mouth because I might hit you or bite, I do not know because I am in a state of No mind of No reality of NO, a hard charging state of NO. And the awakening is as if washed upon a shore looking like any other shore except I have the same exhaustion and same confusion of where am I what did I do? Then to look at my body, to feel my puffy lip and sore tongue knowing that yes, one night two weeks ago a seizure fell up within me as I slept. Try telling that to someone else and pray, hope, beg God that maybe someone will show empathy and conversation, but it is always the same, they slip away with “I gotta go”, “that’s wild. What did you do to make it happen?”, “you have some bad karma man”, “God hates you’, “We hate you because we fear you” “you must have done something terrible in a past life” “God is testing you”. But no one just says or asks about the scientific, the biology, the harm to me. No one investigates how I am affected and responds with any amount of empathy or sympathy or compassion and It is something I desperately need. Everyone who suffers a giant mishap to their body just wants someone, anyone to understand. Our government punished me by increasing my insurance deductible and moving my food allowance from $88 a month to $15 a month. I asked if sending out suicide pills was going to be the next action by Social Security and Medicare since we are now targets of the insane wing of our government. They really do want to kill the poor and targeted by disease and illness It hurts to be hated.


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