Life Inside My Head

A poem about depression…

fake news     no news
and
rubber boots with holes
in
a place where the sky
is always grey
and
most days it rains 
with
people mulling 
over
their quiet despair
in bars that 
look like       somebody's unfinished
basement where
formica tables and folding chairs
got dusted off 
and tossed
about the dirt     floor
and this 
is a place where 
buildings don't
have basements and most
people living
here   have
                                never seen one
much less
been in one
and
the only certainties
are that
someone is     hungry
or thirsty
or crying
or drinking
too             much
and
everyone here
is
dying
of
something
and everyone has     too
much time on their hands
and tomorrow it will
of
course be grey
probably rain    and
probably
   every other day
will
look like the day     before
and the day
after is
going
to be like
its yesterday
and
       there
to
the sky will be grey
and probably
 it will rain     with
a chance of
fake news
or
no news
and
as to that
I
must say nobody     living
                            here
really gives a shit! 

I never knew I was different

 

An About Me Post

No one ever pointed out how different my appearance was; however, when I was old enough to understand English, my mother began to taunt me by saying I “was the milkman’s son.” She also had several Italian words she constantly used except when my father was home. Early on I knew the meaning of two of the names, stupido and cretino, stupid or dumb and idiot or mentally subnormal. The third name, “bruto”, means a beast or ugly idiot. It took many decades before I pieced everything together, but the damage was done.