Pen in Motion

There are poems inside
my head –
didn’t know they were there
before.
Maybe they weren’t,
or maybe they were just hidden
under the fog.
But now they can see,
and it’s a mad rush to be first in line,
first to break out,
be something more
than just thoughts.
It’s a jumble of words and feelings
and no one wants to be polite –
like wild mustangs
who just discovered the fence
has a gate.
The horses didn’t know
they were trapped
until they saw that boundary.
But there’s a gate
and that means freedom.
It’s a whole new world
out there.
I want them to take turns,
be nice.
But the horde is not listening,
not lining up in order.
Is it chaos in my head?
Maybe a little.
But still,
all that trampling
is a symphony
to a once barren space.
Don’t worry –
you’ll all get out soon.

I say I can handle it
from here.
But, from where?
Where does it all stop and
when do I get to not be this anymore?
It’s not real madness,
fake anxiety and all that jazz
because the messenger
is mixed up.
But it’s still here,
and I’m still stuck in this place
of never knowing
when my brain will get
the wrong signal.
Can’t trust my own body anymore –
isn’t that what they say
about thieves?
No trust.
No one knows the reason for all this.
Hooray for modern medicine
that can’t even help
because I don’t have a diagnosis code
of your liking.
I feel like a broken record.
And also,
just broken. And silent.
Who wants to listen to the problem
when it’s not yours.
Or it’s not in your lane.
Screw your lane.
I’m just the that bad penny patient
who won’t shut up.
I’m tired.
My body is tired. My brain is tired.
I’m just over it.
And over all of you
who don’t want to understand.
Adios.
Sayonara.
Ciao.
Have a good life.