Poetry Prompts and Inspiration Day 7 April PAD Challenge and NaPoWriMo

 

Image by Klaus Becker from Pixabay

Good afternoon, Poetry People. Or whatever it is wherever you are. 

Our poetry prompt from Day 7 of NaPoWriMo

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-seven-9/

Leads us to the List of Famous Hats, a prose poem by James Tate (1943 - 2015).

https://poets.org/poem/list-famous-hats

In conjunction with the poetry prompts from the April PAD Challenge

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2023-april-pad-challenge-day-6

write a poem that smells.

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2023-april-pad-challenge-day-7

write a small poem.

The title of the poem is The Smell of Death. Sounds cheery, right? It is, I promise.

One of my favorite songs is That Smell by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The title of the poem was inspired by the line "the smell of death surrounds you."

Here's the link for whoever needs it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hib4n9RmFrQ

I felt inspired to create another Haibun today. My subject for this Haibun is the ills of factory farming. I drive by several feedlots on my way to Fort Collins, and the horrible smell coming from them makes me ill.

I live in a rural area. We see plenty of cows grazing in fields. I do not know if the cows we see are beef cows or dairy cows. All I know is whatever their purpose, the cows in the field are much happier than those forced to live amid their own waste.

I can't share my Haibun here because I am intending to submit it for potential publication in an anthology and publishing it anywhere else will render it invalid for consideration. So I will instead direct you to The Meatrix, an entertaining and educational website about the damaging effects of factory farming.

https://themeatrix.com/

It is not the intention of the creators of The Meatrix to scold visitors about their carnivorous ways. They educate consumers on how to responsibly source their Cheeseburger in Paradise. 

I continue to differ with Jimmy Buffett on the best way to cook a Cheeseburger in Paradise. Jimmy likes his medium rare. I prefer mine medium well.

I purchase my meat from a butcher in Fort Collins who gets his supply from farmers committed to ethical care and treatment of their livestock.

https://www.fnbutcher.com/

The meat I buy here is much better quality than anything I could find in the grocery store. My son and I have also drastically reduced the amount of fast food we consume during the last five years. Almost everything we eat is made at home. 

Here's Jimmy Buffett to tell you all about that Cheeseburger in Paradise. Dang it, Jimmy, now I'm hungry! 

Here's the link for those of you who can't see the player.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBsPZV14I-k

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

"How do you want your burger, Hangry?"

Free use image from Pixabay

"I want it on my plate NOW, Ornery!"

LIfestyles of Tone Deaf Rich Twits

 

I can't stop wondering why vapid folk

always seem to be the ones with money

and why people that they wouldn't spit on

ooh and ahh about their selfish choices

why do awful people get to journey

down whatever path they choose on a whim

leaving a trail of abandoned notions

for the peons to clean up after them

why are people all too fascinated

with a Kardashian or anyone

who makes the most self-absorbed decision

everything is always about themselves

who knew milk on cereal could be good?

wait till you try butter on your toast, twerp

~cie~

http://www.octpowrimo.com/2020/10/octpowrimo-day-28.html

Poetry Style

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/lannet.html

Want more snarky proletariat poetry?

Get it here!

https://bit.ly/getmorepoetry

This poem was posted to these places:

http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com

https://lbry.tv/@poetryofthenetherworld:9

http://openmindedsearchfortruth.blogspot.com

LBRY is a decentralized content marketplace. I price the PDF versions of my work at approximately half of the Kindle price because I receive the entire amount rather than a royalty percentage.

You can get a free LBRY account through this link. You can earn LBC for viewing content on LBRY as well as from selling your content.

https://lbry.tv/$/invite/@naughtynetherworldpress:d

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)

Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This work is the intellectual property of Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. LBRY’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on LBRY. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Troiku Challenge 2019: Day 2: My Native Town

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

my native town

far, far away--

burgeoning trees.

my native town

i never fit anywhere

and now i must go

far, far away--

i make a new life happen

i will still see you

burgeoning trees

buffeted by prairie wind

my new home is here

Santoka Taneda & Cie

Notes:

The Sleigh portion of the Troiku was created by Santoka Taneda (3 December 1882 - 11 October 1940). The three "horses" were created by me.

I was born in Denver, Colorado on 15 February 1965. My parents were actually living in Laramie, Wyoming at the time. I was born in the middle of a blizzard at 6 A.M. and have caused nothing but trouble ever since.

After my brother was born on 17 March 1969, my parents moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico so my father could finish his doctorate. We lived in a rundown house in a bad part of town. There were fire ants, black widow spiders, and cockroaches the size of school buses. However, we had a half acre of land and were allowed to have chickens. We planted corn and beans. There were horned toads and skinks. The neighbor had pheasants and bees. He was an okay guy who pretty much kept to himself. His wife was a fire-and-brimstone Fundamentalist who called me a filthy slut for taking my shirt off on a hot day. I was four years old at the time.

A New Mexico accent is similar to a Texas accent, and when we moved back to Colorado when I was ten years old, all the other kids ridiculed the way I talked. I was already shy, and this led to me becoming even more withdrawn. I always hated school. I was never well-liked or anything even in the same zip code as popular. To this day, I still hate the sound of my own voice and I hate when people ask the innocent question of "where are you from?" My knee-jerk reaction is to answer "Mars," because I've never felt like I belonged on this planet.

Many, many years later, I live in the suburbs of Denver, but it costs too much to keep living there. Denver is one of those cities whose working classes can't afford to live there. A condo or small townhouse in Denver costs around $250,000, and then the owner still has to pay HOA fees which average $600 per month in the Denver area. The average salary for someone in the working classes in the Denver area is $12 per hour. See how that doesn't add up?

For someone who is disabled, things are even worse. There is a waiting list to even be considered for subsidized housing. The homeless population is growing by leaps and bounds. Even a modest apartment is out of reach for people in the working class.

Thus, people in the working class are moving out of cities like Denver to rural areas. If they continue working in Denver, they have a long commute. If they are unable to continue working, they end up on the dole. 

My son and I are moving to Grover, which is approximately 110 miles northeast of Denver. He has a modest amount of money being given to him by his father following the sale of farmland. This money allows for the purchase of a six-bedroom historic hotel and renovations on said structure. Property taxes in this area are low. The average person living in this area falls below the median income for the state and many fall below the poverty line. My son and I are among the people who fall below the poverty line. We are both disabled and neither of us can work conventional jobs.

Moving to this place is a risk but also an opportunity. 

It is also our last hope.

Here's to Grover, my last stop on the journey, and possibly the first place I'll truly feel I can call home.

Join us for updates and other curiosities at the Good Stuff From Grover site!

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #86 + Weekend Mini Challenge: A Portrait of Dystopia

Dystopian Portrait

Photoshop Manipulation by The Real Cie

Utopia was

Only ever a sad lie

Flawless fallacy

Pretty cars, pretty people

Not a place for those like me

~Cie~

Notes:

Today I found a couple of great prompts and flipped them upside down. 

The Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation prompt asks us to examine the concept of utopia in a Haiku or Tanka. Mine is more a Senryu than a Haiku. I do not question the existence of Utopia, but I postulate that it is more like Metropolis. It exists for a very small percentage of people. Most people are on the outside looking in, and some are completely crushed beneath the boots of the beautiful and careless dwellers of Utopia.

So, what portrait did I paint?

That of one of the people crushed beneath unrealistic expectations of beauty and brilliance and casually cast aside, not worthy of any sort of rescue because they do not adhere to society's standards of prettiness.

The person in the portrait is me. I chose it because I was sitting at a rather dismal-looking bus stop on the day of the 2017 Women's March. I would learn that day that not only had my health deteriorated more than I previously realized, but people are utterly self-absorbed, even the ones who claim to be "progressive" in their approach.

I managed to get through the entire march, which is a miracle in itself considering that I almost stopped several times along the way because I was becoming weak, but I had also become confused enough that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way back to the bus stop. 

When the bus stopped, everyone else shoved on board and the bus driver told me he wouldn't be able to take me. I said I understood, and I understood his position, but I kind of thought all those other people were assholes. I started feeling that wouldn't have happened to me if I was young and pretty.

 I was ravenously hungry. I had a Snickers bar, but I was trying to conserve it for "the right moment." With a lifetime living with ED (stands for Eating Disorder), I had learned to deny myself food up until things became critical. They were critical, but not critical enough.

I got on the next bus about a half hour later and had to stand. I was wobbling all over and my eyes were rolling back in my head. Exactly nobody gave any fucks. In fact, one spectacular dudebro about my age chortled and said: "I had to stand all the way there, now it's your turn."

Despite the fact that my eyes were glazed over, I managed a withering glare and said in a steely if somewhat shaky voice: "Buddy, I had to stand the whole way there too. Don't even try to pull that crap on me!"

He turned away and noticed a confused-looking young woman holding a bus schedule. He grinned and invited her to sit down in his seat. She didn't speak much English. He leaned in close to her in order to better "help" her, I suppose, because he was just a helpful kind of guy, at least if the person in need of help was a pretty young woman.

When a seat finally opened up, I scooted my ass into it as quickly as I could and scarfed the Snickers bar as if I hadn't eaten in a year. By the time I got off the bus, my feet were swollen and aching so badly I could hardly walk. This time, however, an angel appeared in the form of a very sweet Latina lady in her late 30's or early 40's who offered me a ride. I thanked her profusely. After the callousness I'd just experienced, her generosity brought tears to my eyes.

I knew at that point that I could no longer take part in events such as marches because I was no longer strong enough to do so physically.

I lost my job a couple months later because I became extremely ill and was pushed to keep working by my supervisor in spite of having a serious respiratory infection. I had a small stroke while working one night and ended up getting fired. Once my savings were gone, which happened reasonably quickly, I ended up living in poverty and have been there ever since. If it weren't for my son allowing me to couch-surf, I'd be sleeping in my car.

Utopia exists for a very small percentage of people. I used to dream of being something wonderful, of being a star, but over the years I've come to see that often those dreams end as nightmares.

So, you have a portrait of the kind of person that society doesn't want to acknowledge even though there are a lot more of us than most people care to think, and my skepticism that Utopia exists for anyone but the well-heeled in anyplace but dreams.

The Cheese Grates It + OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 15: Filthy Rich

A collage of images from the video "20 most annoying spoiled rich kids on Snapchat." https://youtu.be/-IqNMU6VOPg

Filthy Rich

Sometimes when I make a delivery

To someone who lives in the kind of home

That I can't even afford to look at

And will surely never live in

I feel a little sick

Some say it's the fault of the working class

That we aren't able to live in homes like that

They believe they are actually superior

They say things like

You don't expect me to live like people

Who make $25,000 a year

Do you?

As I bring their snacks to the door

Sometimes up a long flight of steps

My knees and ankles ache

The party music pounding

I wait for the rich little shit

Who inevitably ordered the grub

He smiles smugly as he looks down his nose

Says "How ARE you" with a smirk

Either knowing full well that I know he doesn't give a fuck

Or thinking I'm too stupid to realize

He thinks of me as dog shit on his shoe

I smile as if I didn't hate his kind

With the virulent passion of explosive diarrhea

The best that I can hope

Is that he's not a total waste of oxygen

That there's a soul somewhere behind the veneer

He takes his snacks inside and slams the door

No tip forthcoming for the contract worker

Who can't afford health insurance

Whose Medicaid got pulled when she found this job

Because she now makes the queenly sum

Of $2000 a month

I limp back to the car on legs well abused

By working many years of physical jobs

Legs which don't work quite right because of repeated back injuries

And arthritis forming in the joints

The snob thinks that those like me deserve our fate

After all, we've chosen to be down and out

I feel sick to my stomach

Not just because I'll never be able

To afford a place like his

But also because, even with as much as I'm struggling

There are those worse off than me

Still, I'd like to vomit on his lawn

As much as I may envy

The things that those like him are able to have

The thought of not having to worry about money

I don't envy their kind at all

I don't want to be like them

I'd never want to be the sort

Who thinks that I'm so much better

Then the person who's made my life a little easier

By bringing me the things I can afford to buy

And have delivered on a whim

Yet having so little class

That I couldn't even be bothered

To give them a few dollars

To buy a little lunch

I often feel quite nauseous

When forced to be in the presence

Of the classless, filthy rich

~The Cheese Hath Grated It Poetically~

Note:

I deliver groceries for a living, not only to rich neighborhoods. Some of the neighborhoods I deliver to make me hope that I get out of there without being mugged. I don't look down on the people living there. I might have ended up in one of these places easily enough. As it happens, I ended up in a run-down mobile home without a working furnace or shower in a reasonably quiet suburban area with a seedy underbelly. None of my direct neighbors are cooking meth, but several meth labs have been broken up in places close by.

I am a 1099-R contractor. This means that I don't get any benefits from my employer. I also do my own accounting. If you're self-employed and don't already have an accountant or use Quickbooks Self-Employed, you may thank me for the link I'm about to give you which will save you some money when you sign up for Quickbooks Self-Employed. http://fbuy.me/fFN2W 

My first three months cost me $10 each. I now pay $18 per month, and it's well worth it. Life would be an even bigger mess without it.

I honestly did not write this poem as an advertisement for Quickbooks Self-Employed. It is a very real reflection of my life.

My legs hurt all the time. There are days when I get severe calf cramps that literally leave me writhing and screaming. I am not sure how long I'll be able to continue doing this kind of work.

I literally can't afford health insurance.

I am still catching up on back bills from the four months when I was underemployed. I don't know if I'll ever catch up.

I am diabetic, and there are days when I can't afford to eat. Not that anyone should ever have to go a day without eating, but being diabetic makes it extra special. I make "too much money" to qualify for food benefits. A great deal of what I make goes into car maintenance and fuel. Yes, I can "write it off," but that isn't as big of a deal as it sounds like.

My job does have certain advantages which are a big deal. I make my own schedule every week. I don't have to work the typical five days a week nine to five schedule, which is a schedule that causes me to fall into a literal depression. I don't do well with five-day weeks, I don't do well with early shifts, and I don't do well with jobs where there's a boss standing over me for the whole shift.

I can't do health care work anymore because of my diabetes. I got fired from the homecare job I was doing earlier this year because I fell asleep during the shift. I literally thought I'd had a TIA because that was how deep the sleep I'd fallen into was. I still don't remember it happening, I only remember the outcome. It devastated my life, and I still haven't recovered financially or emotionally. I often feel like a failure because of this incident.

I live with not only debilitating physical illness but catastrophic mental illness: type 2 bipolar disorder, plus obsessive-compulsive disorder with hoarding features (believe me, that one's a struggle to fight with. The hoarding involves items, not animals.) and borderline personality disorder. To my credit, I have learned to cope fairly well with this trifecta of shit. There are certain things that my fucked-up circadian rhythms still won't let me do, like working the early shifts that people get pats on the back for. When people find out that I work late shifts preferentially, they always look at me like I'm going to give them some sort of disease if I touch them. Yet our 24-7 society would collapse if no-one were willing to work those Weirdo Shifts.

I'm not expecting a medal for any of my struggles. However, being treated with a modicum of common decency would be nice.

If you're one of those people who thinks that the company your delivery driver is working for pays them such a fine sum that you don't have to give them a tip, think twice. Fedex and UPS pay actual salaries with benefits and their drivers don't take tips. 

The person who delivers items such as food and groceries is making a base wage of around $5 per hour. In the case of my company, I then make $1 for every delivery within a five-mile radius and $3 for every delivery outside the five-mile radius. As I mentioned previously, I make no benefits. The work is physically demanding, and we are often working short of help. 

Even a modest ten percent tip really helps.

I try not to feel bitter when people don't tip, but I can't help it when they could obviously afford to but think they're too good to do so.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Great State

The following poem inspired by the article linked below, which is also the source of this image

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2017/03/16/how-trumpcare-will-crush-millennials-and-their-boomer-parents.html?via=desktop&source=facebook

On a splendid day

In the nation that was great again

The homeless and jobless milled about hopelessly

As the sun shone sickly through the pollution

The ill and infirm 

Curled up in a cozy alley to die

While skinny stray dogs and cats

Chewed on the remains

Of those whose struggling families

Could not afford to bury them

~Cie~

Exposing the Lies

Image Source

Exposing the Lies

He was always there to mock me, to remind me that no man could ever think a woman like me was pretty. He was always there to convince me to go on another diet that wouldn’t work, all in the name of catching a man like him; a perfect specimen, ice cold and sadistic, but beautiful. His face was tantalizing but his assertions were foul.

He delighted in gutting me whenever I started feeling better about myself. One day, to his surprise, self-respect surged through my battered soul.

Image Source

I snatched the mask from his face.

“You! It was you all along!”

It was then that I saw his true ugliness, and learned another truth as well.

Having an external appearance that most people find pleasing does not make a person beautiful. Some very ugly people have pretty outsides, and some people who look quite plain are actually beautiful within.

Anyone who gleans pleasure from making another person feel badly about themselves is not a person to look up to. Anyone who ridicules another for their size, their age, or the color of their skin is the epitome of ugliness.

At no time again

Will I allow shallowness

To define my worth

~Tempest Nightingale LeTrope~

Prompts Used:

Haibun Thinking

Jeremy's Daily Challenge

The Reverie

Tempest's Thoughts:

The writers for Team Netherworld tend to be drawn to people and characters who aren't conventionally attractive. They either do not align with societal standards of beauty, or they have other traits which make them "unattractive" under conventional scrutiny, i.e. being mentally ill or not heterosexual.

I want to share pictures of a few of the people we've featured on this blog and the reasons why they would not be considered attractive by conventional standards of beauty.

Amy Winehouse

Tattoos

Brash clothing choices

Not conventionally delicate/feminine

Ville Valo

Tattoos

Sometimes wears makeup 

Sinewy physique

Copyright: vschlichting / 123RF Stock Photo

Middle-aged

Heavy build

Modest attire

Malcolm Young

Middle-aged

Short (5' 4")

Extremely slender physique (~110 pounds)

Freddie Mercury

Non-Caucasian (Parsi)

Flamboyant

Bisexual

Here's a twofer!

Stan Laurel:

Middle-aged

Extremely slender

Prominent nose

Oliver Hardy:

Heavy build

Middle-aged

Plump face

If any of these people showed up for a photo shoot at a fashion magazine, they'd be sent away with derisive commentary. They would likely be mocked by gossip rags for lacking a certain type of highly improbable beauty.

In fact, I find all of them aesthetically pleasing. I like imperfect people. I would rather look at people like these all day long than any number of so-called perfect people.

The truth is, the perfect people really aren't that perfect either.

I've always appreciated Britney Spears' willingness to have people see the unretouched photos from her Candies shoes ad. She wanted girls to see what her body really looks like without her torso and legs being elongated and slenderized. She has sturdy, muscular dancers' legs. There is nothing whatsoever wrong with her real build.

Britney, the real you is beautiful!

And all of you are beautiful too.

Love, 

Tempest

The Gap

Filipino street children

 

The Gap

 

What for you amounts to a few miserable moments

Driving past forgotten and neglected children on the streets

Amounts to their everyday life

 

While you attend the recital and watch your healthy daughter turn pirouettes

Another parent struggles to remain resolute

To somehow put food on the table

 

Spills and stains are quickly washed from your clothing

Or you make the decision to replace the item

When the stain has set in too deeply

 

The poor person continues wearing the stained item

You laugh at them

Calling them a disgusting slob

 

On a cloudy day, you drive your beautiful, warm car through the rain

The tires splash the forgotten and neglected children

Who flutter past your window as you roll home

 

~Cie~

 

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 11

Copyright: anatols / 123RF Stock Photo

Bullied

 Every child deserves equality

Every child deserves an education

It shouldn't be an act of unquestionable bravery

To set foot in school

It's a positive thing to be tenacious

To be determined to do one's best

 It's good to be courageous when trying something new

But vulnerable children are sometimes singled out

One shouldn't have to be courageous

Just to set foot in school

Having to bolster oneself in such a way each day

Becomes detrimental to the education process

Kids who once loved school will come to hate it

If every day is a fight to survive

Constant attacks on one's appearance and personality

Will one day wear down the bravest soul

It's easier for adults to combat bullying when it first starts

Than for the victims thereof to attempt to undo its negative effects later

~Ursula~

 

Ursula's note:

In case you were wondering, yes, I was bullied. I hated school and did everything I could to avoid it.

Word Prompts:

Children
Education
Equality
Bravery

Feeling Words:

Tenacious
Determined
Vulnerable
Courageous

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 8

Copyright: audiohead / 123RF Stock Photo

The True Madness:

A Set of Acrostics Addressing Extremist Attitudes

Full Moon 

Freedom is one of those words that people like to bandy about

Until they are confronted with thoughts different from their own

Love between two people of the same sex, for instance, or

Liberal political agendas

Madness sets in when those who close their minds to

Opinions other than their own

Opt to try and destroy the one they've deemed their enemy

Negotiation is the furthest thing from their mind

Moon Madness

Madness prevails in today's troubled world

Obstinate fixation on a set of twisted values

Oppressive values that leave no room for variation

Not values designed to protect people from harm

Moral depravity is decried

Atheism is said to be the worst of immoralities

Deism speaks to me more than atheism

Nonetheless, I believe in freedom to believe or not

Extremists would take away the freedoms of others

Satan may be something whose existence could be argued

Sadism, however, certainly exists

Creativity

Certain factions would like to limit creativity

Reactionaries want to ban certain literary works

Evil has its roots in ignorance

Absolutist ideas never served any population

Terrorism exists on many levels

Ignorance and intolerance are twins

Vain hopes of controlling even the very thoughts of others

Ignite a passion for power in the souls of those with small minds

Terrorism is not only guns and bombs, it is also

Young people whose minds have been filled up with hate for others

Water

Wish upon a star

Ask the heavens to bring peace; however

Take it upon yourself

Ending hate must be your primary priority

Reactionary agendas never served any population

Nostalgic

Nostalgic wishes for bygone eras

Only soothe those who fail to realize

Some things look better when they are behind us

Tragedy has existed throughout history

All times have had certain aspects needing improvement

Love has always been the answer

Greed has always been the deceiver

Ignorance has always been the match

Catching the tinder of hateful ideas afire

Impulsive

If you think it might be empowering

Meeting with terrorist organizations

Plotting to destroy those who do not follow your agenda

Undoing anything that does not suit your narrow view

Laying waste to those that you would subjugate

Strewing dead bodies wherever you set foot

Incinerating the homes of those you call enemy

Vandalizing, terrorizing

Evil is the only word that can describe what you are

Dynamic

Death comes to every being

Yet why be in such a hurry to dispatch another living soul?

Nothing gives you that right

Atrocities are being committed every day

Murderous individuals

Ignorant ideals

Cruelty reigns supreme

Bold

Be the change you want to see

Only sow kindness

Let others be who they are

Dream of and create better days

~Wanda Psycho~

Wanda's note:

I am not trying to target any religion as bad or wrong. I am targeting extremist attitudes. 

In my time in this world, I have met kind people who are Christian in the truest sense; they want to behave in the pacifist and loving manner modeled by Christ. I have also met people calling themselves Christian who are anything but; their souls are rotten with intolerance and hate.

 I have also met kind and tolerant Muslims. Following the 9-11 attacks, I listened to a talk by a man who stated that the Greater Jihad is the war fought against one's own lower impulses; the lesser Jihad is acts of war within the world. Such acts of war, he stated, were to be in defense of one's homeland; not attacks against other nations. 

The actions of ISIS are horrific, and I was certainly dismayed to learn that people from the U.S. have seen fit to join in aiding this terrorist organization. I feel that these misguided souls are seeking some sort of glory in a world where it is difficult to feel that one's actions have any meaning. However, I most assuredly do not feel that the members of ISIS represent the beliefs of the majority of Muslims. I would say, in fact, that the opposite is true.

I have come to identify as a Buddhist; however, I by no means claim to be an expert or adept of any kind. I haven't yet been able to achieve full vegetarianism, for instance. However, I have become more conscious when I do eat meat about choosing meat fro a source where the animals are treated humanely.

Nobody is perfect; however, if we all try, even a little to take more right action, the world can become a better place.

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 4

Copyright: redbaron / 123RF Stock Photo

The Mask

Every day I try to put on the mask 
And try to pass for normal
Sometimes it makes me sad
Sometimes it makes me angry
It always makes me tired

Pretending is tiring
Trying to pretend
I'm like those who call themselves normal
When I'm not and never will be
But it's easier than always, always always

Trying to explain, explain, explain

Sometimes I just want to be
I just want to express what's inside of me
It isn't as scary as most of you might think
I generally don't harbor homicidal fantasies
I certainly don't plan to kill anybody

However, when people hear the term "mentally ill"
They immediately think "dangerous"
Although statistics confirm the fact
That most persons with mental illness are not dangerous
We are in fact
More likely to be the victim of than the perpetrator

Of violence

We suffer in silence

I'm loud on the page
I'm not loud in person
I'm not very outspoken in every day life
I do my job
I come home alone
My children are grown, and I'm nobody's wife

It's not that I'm ashamed
of the term bipolar
I'll say it all day long
BIPOLAR, BIPOLAR, BIPOLAR
There, you read it
Are you afraid you'll catch my cooties now?

You'll be happy to know that yes, I've "taken my meds"
How people love to bandy about that term
Isn't it fucking hilarious?
Helena takes lithium
Isn't that a hoot?
Next, let's laugh at the diabetic taking insulin
Or the cancer patient using chemo
Now that's really a great joke!

I'm not out of touch with everyday reality
I do not have hallucinations, although some folks do
Here's the shocking truth
That does not make them lesser people
There are even people with perception disorders
Who recognize their hallucinations
Who make peace with them

Other folks aren't able to discern between illusion and reality
They need someplace safe where they can have caring guidance
Most of these folks aren't violent either

Most violent criminals aren't "schizophrenic"
Most aren't "bipolar" 
Many are sociopathic or antisocial
Not all socipaths kill either
Though I really can't get along with them, as they overall lack empathy
(This is a clinical truism, not my assertion)
And I'm nothing if not compassionate
Being angry doesn't preclude that

I don't harm small animals
I keep them as companions
I have a few, I don't hoard them
Although I do have a bit of trouble getting rid of objects that others would probably discard freely
Let me tell you something about people who hoard
They aren't lazy
They also aren't there to be a spectacle for the modern freak show
Stop gawping at Hoarders
Stop thinking you're so superior to them
You just have a cleaner house

People with mental illness
Sometimes have trouble holding jobs
Often don't have access to proper medical care
Or dental care
Let alone psychiatric care

I've worked all my life
I can
That doesn't make me superior
It doesn't make those who can't work lazy

You wonder why I'm angry
You'd be angry too if all your life people made assumptions about you
Treated you like you were stupid
Treated you as if your problems were the butt of a joke
Used the name of your condition as a slur

Treated you
as if you
were
less than
human

Minimized your thoughts
Your feelings
Your soul

Stop.
Just stop.

I may overthink things

I'm asking the rest of you
To think about something
Besides yourself
For once in your life

To imagine how you would feel if you were always condescended to 
For being you
And being told that
You shouldn't be
You

Stop
Just stop
And think

~Helena~

Copyright: ijacky / 123RF Stock Photo

Notes:

Rulebreaker Helena did not end up using any of the suggested words, although she intended to. She just forgot about them. She has the memory of a leaky sieve.

Helena free-versed for fifteen minutes, because she is nothing if not an over-achiever...when it suits her to be one.

Helena lives with type 2 bipolar disorder. She's actually more okay with this than one might think, and navigates life pretty well. However, she is indeed angry, and she reserves the right to remain angry until people with mental illness are treated like people and not pariahs.

Helena also does not think that every last single neuro-normative person is a selfish prat, as may have been implied in the final lines of her poem. It is simply that she encounters the unthinking, uncaring attitude all too often: the attitude of "if it's not me, it's okay to treat it poorly and make it the butt of my jokes." Actually, that is not okay, and any person who does such things is, to put it mildly, an ass.