The Feel Me Poem


City lights neon clatter

Fucking type what I said

We both speak as we listen

On the other side of the partition

These conversations are always best undressed, free of arbitrary thoughts

Who’s to say what is and what’s naught 

Who’s to guess and who’s to dream

If you leave again, I’ll scream

Into the wind,

Apart the flame. Into the kite 

A run from it’s string. 

A cry into the night is all I’ll bring

What makes you think you’ll cry?

Stringing me along, can you even try? I want to die. 

I’ll resuscitate you

And I’ll kick you til I’m blue…can’t say it isn’t true

Fuck it all, undo

Like the cries in the night? Her eyes filled with fright

She’s confused, it’s the light

As she burns in the bright rays, her skin tight

Taught, wrist bound but soul not

She pulls and tugs, but her blood does not clot

But touch can repair all that is not

Touch repairs her wounds, but not what’s in her heart
By Rev. Brenna Carnevale & Richard Huggins, RN

Oranges response


This is a poem I wrote in response to another poem. Enjoy 🙂

Your first time was cold
and you weren’t old
Your double meaning
was a bit misleading.
I thought this was innocent,
once I knew what it meant
I was intrigued and amazed
at how well you played.
The words painted two pictures
I didn’t see the hitches
until we dug deeper
and found the peeper.
I never realized
just how wise
it would be to discern
what you wanted us to learn
until we found out
what it was all about.
Now I see the art
and I cannot part
with the wonder
as I sit and ponder
have I deceived myself
by putting it back on the shelf
because I was too lazy
when the meaning was hazy
to pick up a book
and look
for the meaning
I didn’t glean
as I read
the words you bled.

5 Seconds


5 seconds

5 seconds
that’s all it takes
to say I love you
to turn around
to look left
then look right

CRASH

5 seconds
that’s all it takes
for your life to flash before your eyes
for you to jump out
make sure they’re okay
to realize
it was almost you

5 seconds
that’s all it takes
for your life to fade away
or to appreciate what you have

5 seconds
that’s all it takes

What I Saw


Being the mother of an Autistic child, and possibly on the spectrum myself, I completely understood every single thing this girl was saying.  I read this from four different perspectives at the same time.  I read this from the child’s perspective, the adult’s perspective, the onlooker’s perspective, and the poet’s perspective.  This is one of those poems that grabbed my heart strings and yanked on them until I bled.  She doesn’t hold back, and she doesn’t sugarcoat it either.  This is definitely one of the most profound, and real poems I’ve read in a long time.  I do not know the girl’s name, but the link to her blog is included at the end of the poem.  Read, enjoy, and pass on.  Thank you.

“What I saw”

I left the gym, I had to, because the music made me uncomfortable. I stood by the door.

I left the gym, I had to, because the music made me uncomfortable. I stood by the door. 
I waited. I turned toward the door to the gym, and I saw a classmate burst through the door, an aide inches behind him. The aide grabbed a strap on his vest and stopped him cold. The student struggled. Aides thronged at the little windows.
I know what they saw.
They didn’t see someone asking to be taken for a walk. They didn’t see him begging to have some space.
They saw an escape attempt. A noncompliant escape attempt. A student trying to outsmart the teachers, to get his way.
They saw someone who didn’t understand the point of P.E.
They saw a runner.
He pulled away, and the aide pushed him back  through the gym door, shouting “In we go! In we go! In we go,” his hands pulling and pushing as the student dug his heels in. Everyone else “encouraged” from the sidelines. I saw too much happening.
I saw an apraxic struggle. I saw a nonverbal student being pushed through a door in a frenzy of movement, everyone shouting at the same time, bent over with hands thrusting at his back, pushing against the doorframe and struggling to stay upright. I saw too much, too much.
I saw a blur of movement and sounds coming at me from every direction, I saw the ceiling the doorframe the floor somebody’s hands everyone shouting. I saw the final thrust through the door, met with bright lights and cheering, everyone applauding the nice save!
I saw dizzy and disoriented.
I saw what he saw.
I saw a classmate who couldn’t respond to prompts because they were coming too fast, and who couldn’t comply because everything was being thrown at him at once.
He slumped against the gym wall and slammed his head back. The act was met with a sharp reprimand from a by standing aide. And I know what they saw.
They saw defiance. Headbanging behavior. A tantrum.
I saw a student trying to block out external input. I saw. Everyone else gawked and chattered as the other kids did the warm-ups. I stood by helplessly.
I saw a humiliated man sitting against a wall in a corner, helpless and outnumbered, with no way to communicate.

 I saw what he saw, the flash of students flying all around me and I saw people surrounding me, cheering, cheering for the aide as though it was some big victory to drag a student back into a classroom. I saw the world whirling around my head and it hitting the wall just to drown out the noise.I saw that nobody was asking themselves how he might feel. I didn’t just see the defeat, though, the lack of dignity or respect; I saw humiliation. Oh, yes, I saw. Pain.

I watched in horror. I felt for him. I felt with him. An aide, concerned that I had left, asked me if I was ok. Then she smiled at me knowingly. Chuckled, “He’s having a little fit.”
No. That’s not what I saw.
I saw an overwhelmed student trying to escape a hostile environment. An attempt to find a safe place, or a bathroom, or some water.
I saw a hasty and disjointed “rescue” that fried his emotions and ability to think. I saw visual, auditory, vestibular and tactile input slam him like a truck. I saw vestibular upheaval, and I saw desperation and fear and frustration because nobody understood, not one of them. 
They saw a fit.
They didn’t see what I saw.
*****
I know, I mouthed across the aisle. It’s ok. I know. He smiled back at me.
I know.
The bus engine rumbled, and we began to pull out of the lot. They were still talking about him, imputing motives based on their own experience. I knew that he could hear them. That they didn’t really care. That it wasn’t my place to correct them. To try and educate them. Not the student’s place.
 I saw the look on his face, and I knew that nobody understood.
He sat alone, leaning against the vinyl of his seat, his expression fraught with distress, his eyebrows knit. I knew that they were fine, and they could sit there and casually theorize about it, but that he was still coming down. I saw the look in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say.
I saw his hand, resting on the seat. Hesitating, I leaned into the aisle and placed mine next to it. I didn’t know how else to say I support you.
His thumb wrapped itself around two of my fingers, and for a moment it was like that. Then he lifted his hand and took mine in it.
I squeezed. I know.
We stayed that way for about a minute. The bus rumbled down the street, curving around the corners, my hand in his.
They said I helped calm him down. Sometimes people underestimate what it means to acknowledge someone’s humanity. To see it. I don’t know what they thought my gesture was, but we knew what it was. A show of solidarity. A quiet one, not a trumpeting fanfare, but a whisper. I know.
This is what I saw. Very different from what the teachers saw.
I don’t know exactly what he saw. I believe that it was terrifying.
But I hope . . . I hope . . . that after the terror . . . I hope that he saw a friend.
 Kitt

“Now Winter Nights Enlarge”


I don’t know what it is about this poem that strikes me. Perhaps it’s the subtle use of old words that give it a Shakespearian feel. Perhaps it’s the way the poem makes you feel something without even knowing what you’re feeling. The mystery, or the vagueness of poetry always calls to me. I like reading poetry that doesn’t spell everything out for you. When a poem can make you feel a certain way, even if it’s different than what the author intended, that’s good poetry.

“Now Winter Nights Enlarge”
by: Thomas Campion

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o’erflow with wine,
Let well-turned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers’ long discourse;
Much speech hath some defense,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys,
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.

“No Hemlock Rock (Don’t Kill Yourself)”


This is probably one of the best poems I have read lately. Unfortuantely, I haven’t been reading as much as I’d like to have been, but this holiday season has worn me out. First I had my final exams, then immediately after, we had Christmas. I am just now getting reacquainted with life. I hope you enjoy this poem. It spoke to me on a deep level, and pulled on my heart.

Happy New Year 🙂

No Hemlock Rock (don’t kill yourself)
by Jennifer Michael Hecht

Don’t kill yourself. Don’t kill yourself.
Don’t. Eat a donut, be a blown nut.
That is, if you’re going to kill yourself,
stand on a street corner rhyming
seizure with Indonesia, and wreck it with
racket. Allow medical terms.
Rave and fail. Be an absurd living ghost,
if necessary, but don’t kill yourself.

Let your friends know that something has
passed, or be glad they’ve guessed.
But don’t kill yourself. If you stay, but are
bat crazy you will batter their hearts
in blooming scores of anguish; but kill
yourself, and hundreds of other people die.

Poison yourself, it poisons the well;
shoot yourself, it cracks the bio-dome.
I will give badges to everyone who’s figured
this out about suicide, and hence
refused it. I am grateful. Stay. Thank
you for staying. Please stay. You
are my hero for staying. I know
about it, and am grateful you stay.

Eat a donut. Rhyme opus with lotus.
Rope is bogus, psychosis. Stay.
Hocus Pocus. Hocus Pocus.
Dare not to kill yourself. I won’t either.