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Make Me Well

We must start at some point.
You ask,
“Why is it always worse
and worse, not better?”

My cup is gray illusions
torturing my brain
above the eyes.

Wacky blurs
telling me I cannot
begin to get better.

The floor shifts.
You might not notice.
But my legs are working
as if on a skateboard.

“Make me well.”
I whisper, “Make me well.”
“Make me human.”

Hither, get there.
Hither, get there.
Hither, get there.
Get there.
Now.
Get there now, now.

You see what my problem is:
I think god
should’ve allowed me to be human.

 

*********************************

Although subject matter is completely different, this song, which always seems to make me feel that there might be hope, again, despite the subject matter, is what seemed to spark the beginning of this poem. Check it out and see if you become slightly wistful:

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  1. #1 by liv2write2day on March 1, 2011 - 5:09 pm

    Thank you for your honest sharing, Carl. I have a cousin who was in Nam and sometimes I feel like I’m listening to him when I read your poetry. May peace and blessings come your way.

    • #2 by Carl on March 1, 2011 - 10:46 pm

      Thank you for your good wishes, Victoria. Thank you for your comment. I like to be honest, but I certainly could practice being more grateful.

  2. #3 by Evelyn on March 1, 2011 - 7:10 pm

    “Wacky blurs
    telling me I cannot
    begin to get better”
    this is upsetting. good writing…
    its the getting started. Amy Winehouse in Rehab
    “Have everyone think Im on the mend.”
    repeatedly f*cking up is so much more embarrassing.

    • #4 by Carl on March 1, 2011 - 10:46 pm

      Thank you, Evelyn. You are so kind.

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