A Helping Hand

Early morning in my bed
I grab at the colored prisms
I see in front of my face.
My sheets are soaked
As I try to get up
My legs collapse
I don't know what's going on.

Back in bed
I think I'm in the hospital.
Between sopping sheets.
Spiders and ants
Crawling under my skin.

Suddenly, a warm hand
Touches my icy fingers.
A strong, firm yet
Gentle hand,
A comforting hand
Holding on to mine..

I'm going to be OK.

From Inside

In my hole,
People stop by to check on me.
Feeding me with kind words,
A few at a time.
I wait anxiously anticipating
their next visit.

Using Technology

Needing someone to talk to,
I go to my computer.
I tell it about my personal
struggles, desires and my dreams.
My computer doesn't answer me and
Facebook can be devastating.

Wasted

My used body
lies tossed and ragged
along side the road.
My soul is limp.
I lay crumbled and weeping
seemingly forever.

Room of Torture

Room of darkness
Being smothered
By an entity
Sopping wet and
Hating me.
Squeeze me
And I will ooze
Sharing my insides.
Creating relief. 

Conspicuously Invisible

I've lived my life
In the background
Always on the back row
Trying to listen,
But distracted and
Drifting away

I feel invisible
And yet
I am tortured
By my shyness
Being on display
My oddness
Amusing people
Making light
Of my discomfort.

Singing in the Bathroom

I have always loved singing,
from the waltz in Tennessee
to the reindeer I can see
by it's nose shining bright on
Christmas Eve.

I tried to sing like Elvis
in the bathroom at school.
From within my soul
I belted,
"Don't be Cruel"

Then came an interruption
a messenger at the school
My songs distracted students
Very much against the rules.

Writing Pictures

Sunset over the Ocean
Writers paint 
the orange clouds
strung across the
edge of the earth.
A scene written
over and over again,
with many different words
and combinations of words.
Trying to create feelings.
like peace.
Seemingly impossible
to create something
unique.

Funerals

At my grandmother's funeral
being a toddler 
I didn't understand death
or why we had funerals.
I didn't understand
why everyone was sad.
Some were crying.
I thought it was about 
the beautiful flowers.
Mom held me in her arms
while she wept.
My sisters Jan and Yvonne
were carrying flowers.
"I want to carry flowers."
I demanded.
"You're too little."
I was always too little.
I started screaming.
Mom responded,
"Quit your crying!"
"Everybody's crying.
Why can't I cry?"
I sobbed.
Funerals aren't fair. 

Magic Pills

Devastated with
Pain, agony
sorrow, depression
and anxiety
Suffering for decades
My mind as worn
as my body that loses balance.
The discovery of a pill and it's gone
and I am here
enjoying the ordinary. 

Injured Souls

Hate is an emotion
that everyone feels,
even children.
Hatred makes blisters
that swell and ooze,
creating a scab
red and painful.
covering our soul,
Making our insides ugly.