this filth,
this dark
that resides in me?
That pushes me
deeper
down
into the ground,
that buries my soul,
my smile,
my velvet limbs
as if they were mere afterthoughts?
I am here,
alone
in the dark,
alone with my blindness now
unable to see
the street that stretches out before me,
the row of books,
the aisles of food.
How can it be that who I was
could be taken so easily,
with a snap,
a crack,
a second too long,
a wet mistake?
It is easy for you,
the others,
the untouched,
to sit and judge
to go back to your little lives,
your perfect little sighted lives,
while I stumble through mine now
like some freak.
A trip to the library is too much.
A war zone of the worst kind,
shuffling through ‘p’s and ‘q's
too embarrassed to ask for help.
It is all fun house mirrors now
playing games with my brain
while I try to hold on,
hoping to make sense of the un-senseable.
A nonsense without laughter.
My head a warble on a stick,
bobbing along,
inconsolable.
like some dying balloon.
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