By Jacq Applebee
So jealousy is a fungus; spores infecting all in sight.
It blooms and blows in grey dust places,
Grey and green and black and white.
Possessiveness is a living trap that shoves me up against a wall.
The silence of shame is like a shroud outlining my living form.
But love will make my heart beat strong
When all I want is to disappear.
I’ll take step after step in a world full of thorns
To a woman in the North with warm red hair.
Read warnings before ingestion
Do not operate machinery
Until two hours after writing poetry.
Do not wander lonely as a cloud;
Take your frustrations
And write something down.
Poetry won’t stop your delusions.
It won’t fix your disturbed brain.
If you need a hospital admission,
Poems won’t stop the mental pain.
But poetry is sometimes therapy to me;
It helps me get things out.
And sometimes anxiety is turned into words
That I write, instead of shout.
Still it often makes me wonder;
Writing under the influence of medication.
Are these words mine or the pills?
Or are my poems a collaboration?