where the writers are

September 17









I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence and it’s all down hill from there.  I am better than I was; I am happier and more well adjusted, yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings, I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture, I spent too much time on the rack to resemble anything from off the rack.  It’s not that I am so special; it is just that I am Special Ed. Performance anxiety and paranoia  regularly take me out of round though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut.  I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out, just don’t try to take me home.






Remind yourself of your friends








In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail

the tiny pest whining in my ear

the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.


A few more hours are required of me tonight

I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.

Long slow nights carry me to far corners of my mind.


I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.

The commonness of four AM brings base to disclosure

the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.


The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real

Vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.

The sun will rise, ending this night.

My sentry over I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.