The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 6/23/08 (warning: graphic language)

[BlueIris]

"Epilepsy"

The man I'm leaving says I spasm, slur,
froth at the mouth like a dying kitten.
He'd pity any guy who woke up next to me
during one of my fits. Still I'm packing
the last of my things: my egg replacer,
cream rinse, a dildo the size of his
daughter's forearm.
My neurologist writes me a prescription,
tells me it can make me gain weight,
have trouble articulating language.
The pamphlet tells me I might have less sex
drive or birth a harelip.
I do not fill the pills.
I ride my bike without a helmet, drink vodka,
and spend free writes thinking of fucking
my beautiful student because he studies
linguistics, wears purple sneakers with a green
sweater. Because he knows what it is like
to leave his own body. He writes of epilepsy,
I don't like the word. I don't like seeing
it over and over and over and
over on a page. I don't like the sound.

—Rachel Mehl

[BlueIris]

1. Kick.

[BlueIris]

2. Kick.

[CaliforniaPeggy]

3. My dear BlueIris!

Graphic is right, but not so much sexually...

It's tough!

How to come to grips with a disease that you cannot stand!

Ouch!

A window into a completely different way of living...

Thank you...

:hug:

[BlueIris]

4. Huh. That's more than I got out of it. Nice catch! nt