The Unreliable Mind Returns

I can’t remember a time
I was not hated:
Both hated for who I was, and
Hated for what I was not.

I’ve been weighed in the balances,
And found wanting;
I’ve been auctioned at a discount,
But relics just aren’t selling anymore.

(I’ll have to say,
As an organization,
The patriarchy does
A piss-poor job
Keeping its constituents alive.)

I bought a Hi-C, but got
A Hawaiian Punch. Then came
The Spam, and lots of it.
Some of it from Irkutsk.

Come see my mind, I’m having
An open house. No cookies, though.
Your browser wouldn’t accept them.
“Just browsing” used to be
So harmless, like TV fathers —-
And they weren’t all harmless, were they?

I joined the brigands at fourteen:
A bunch of mountain trolls was what
They were. And the dues were
Highway robbery.

Meanwhile, something scurrilous.

She told me not to come back, since
There was nothing wrong with me that
Thirty years worth of anti seizure medication
Couldn’t mask.

My brain is melting

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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