More than my usual reservations about this. It's an attempt to tackle a 'serious' subject with very limited tools. And I'm still slightly worried that, for once, I might offend people I don't want to offend. But after taking council from someone brighter than me, I'm posting it anyway. All I can say is that the second stanza is an attempt to describe what epilepsy appears to be doing to my mind when I'm having a seizure. It's a personal account and nothing else.
Sticks and Stones
No: that isn’t it.
That’s not the worst thing at all.
The taunting or the fear
Or the names: epi, spasmo.
Jokes about frothy lips.
I’m supposed to care?
Those who matter won’t make them
And anyone who does
A great excuse to loath them
As they should all be loathed.
So bring it on, archaic stigma
For I have studied you
And I will hit you right back
And I hit below the belt.
But something hits me harder
With its sticks and all its stones
They penetrate my thickest skin
Strike deep inside my being.
No words left to deflect them
No words left at all.
Just primeval rituals, ancient hopes
Expressed in gibbering prayers
That next second or next minute
The blows will start to fade
And mankind will creep back slowly
To this dumb, misfiring ape.
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