Search This Blog

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Strange the World

Strange is the world inside my head,
I wonder if one is called Fred.
Whirling boys versus swirling girls,
Pitter patter, like scurrying squirrels,
Run around my brain, up my halls,
Down my stairs, and around my walls.

This one feels guilt for liking dick.
Oh my god, that’s so sick!
Some make others feel even worse,
Come to save? Or just an evil curse?
Others try to fix every tiny thing,
Quick with a kiss for any sting.
No two eat the same, have similar likes,
All enjoy scaring me with memory spikes.

I have to listen, I hate asking inside,
Who owns this feeling, who just cried?
Talking to them makes me feel nuts,
Facing this tribe takes a ton of guts.
Some days I haven’t got any of those;
Too bad this is a door I can’t close.

Not just any old swinging door,
Oh no, it’s a trap, in the floor.

Don’t climb my tree, enter the house,
Once inside, Snap! Trapped like a mouse.
Memory bombs fly at my head,
Still wondering if one is called Fred.
This is the stuff I packed away,
Never thought it would return this way.
Many voices calling me at once,
They know about me; I’m the dunce.

How many live here in the zoo,
I’ve no idea at all, do you?
Revelations of names, dates, places,
Times, and in the mirror, new faces,
All come at me daily, twisting thoughts,
Like I’m the target and they take shots.

It is strange to live in the world, and in my head.
I wonder where they go when I am dead.
If I have one soul, in one body, alive,
Explain the existence of the alter hive.
I can’t explain them though I understand,
Bitch trying to describe, ain’t DID grand?

What is the point of this twisted bunch?
Saving my mind maybe? Just a hunch.

If I could lead a tour around the halls,
I would point out the crumbling walls
That once separated me from them,
And show the twisted flower stem
Of memories, violations, acts of pain,
That brought the group, to my disdain,
That helped survive that which destroys,
Leaving me to have the girls and boys
Living in, standing in, taking abuse
For the me who couldn’t. What’s the use?
The tour could never show the glory,
The wonderful invention, the real story
Of how they saved my tiny soul,
And in pieces they kept me whole.

Strange the world inside my head
Still wondering if there’s a Fred.

1 comment:

  1. Ahhhh...Maureen, you have done well with this piece. Well, with others, too. But this one draws me in so much! It reflects the pain of DID poignantly alongside the lifesaving aspects of it. Thank you for sharing this with us. I hope you are finding peace. It is well deserved.