NaBloPoMo Day 2 of an Entire Month of Meh


Today’s entry is recycled poetry. I was angry yesterday, and while I’m not as angry today, I am still processing how to continue. It occurs to me that I may have actually stumbled upon something (thematically) to write about — what it is like living with mental illness. Be raw and honest and tell it like it really is — not for sympathy — but for illumination, for instructional purposes. No exaggeration, no sugar coating it. Dealing not only with the strange mental processes and thought patterns, but with behaviour that I can recognize is not the norm.

In the meantime, here’s a poem, entitled: karma is by no means instant

  i know how it feels to be the cruel
              little boy
                trapping a fly
                   in a water glass

             creating my own little bell jar

                      me on the outside
                             looking in
                       curious at first
                        then fascinated by the fly’s
                       desperately random
                              escape attempts
     as if banging its head against the glass walls
                  will do anything but
            give it a headache
  as it looks out in terror at the million images of
               the cruel god that
                holds its freedom in his
              sweaty little hands

  i know how it feels to rejoice in that terror
          the power
               in reaching into the glass
          and pinning
               the fly against the side
        the sick exhilaration
               of feeling it struggle
                             against my finger
               and the moment of
                   sadistic glee
              as one of its wings
                   tears free
       its glass prison discarded
       rendered unnecessary
             by the fly’s
                       broken state

   i know how it feels to stand over a broken body
           with pin in hand
              threatening to deliver
                     the final blow
                and end the pathetic
            only to pin down the other wing
                     and laugh
            as a creature whose only real joy
              comes when flying
             tears off its last remaining wing

      in a sad attempt

  i know how it feels to be the cruel
        little boy
           pulling the wings off a fly

         but right now i’m the fly

11 responses to “NaBloPoMo Day 2 of an Entire Month of Meh

    • If I’m going to write, and write from a place of pain and frustration, I can only hope that other people can benefit from it — or if not, then I benefit.

  1. No wonder you are so good at writing dark fiction, your insight into human suffering is significant. The imagery this poem invoked is en lighting. Great stuff here.

    As for writing about mental health – go for it. I wish more people had a concept of understanding. Not to sympathize but to break the stigma. You may well end up realizing the message in much of your writing though.

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