Black Eyed Peas, the latest to portray:
“Let's get retarded, bob your head like epilepsy.”
Only changed lyrics for money and airplay:
“Let's get it started, bob your head like me.”
I am a genetic miracle, a curse.
One that can put me in a hearse.
A mutation which will coerce,
Or I will suffer a blank verse.
I am a stereotype for authors.
Shakespeare's morally depraved horrors.
Dickens' innately criminal paupers.
Unwelcome in your quiet waters.
TV and movies have discretion,
Lying, divine, demonic possession,
Emily Rose's exorcism, such regression.
Neville Longbottom's false impression.
I am the mundane likelihood,
Hidden scars in the pulpwood,
Emotional baggage; misunderstood.
Damaged from my childhood.
Epilepsy; the bride to my suicide.
A second chance; brain fried.
I avoided the landslide,
But freedom was denied.
Medications - my special gateau;
Side-effects the status quo,
Everyone has crosses I know,
I have learned to let go.
Holding tight to yesterday,
Was my future an ashtray?
Old dreams lost in the affray.
New dreams, a new screenplay.
I have trusted and lost,
My pain has become embossed,
Strength was found in the frost,
There is beauty, held aloft.
My head feels funny,
My legs feel runny,
I melt like honey,
A falling bunny.
My brain begins to frown,
My body will break down,
I will wear the blood crown,
A flailing playground clown.
I see swirling,
Twirling in my mind.
Eyes tell lies to me.
Losing the fight.
I am tainted flesh,
Falling to the ground.
Kicking and jerking,
Grinding and biting,
Moaning and crying,
Hoping and losing.
I am outside of me,
Floating above me.
Help me down.
Watch me while I fall.
I am not a word.
I am me.
Misunderstood and learning to avoid,
Interference from those who are devoid,
Instead of understanding I am destroyed.
Children and adults, I'm lost in their void.
Seizures start, hands shaking, I shock,
All I am is bloody livestock to mock,
Robert Frost's wandering road, a deadlock,
My head hurts, others laugh at the hemlock.
Categories: Books, Naked Violet