Daily Poetry Blog

This damn thing in the air
Is driving everyone mad

Its as if the whole world
Caught on fire one day
After it got a taste of
Mortality.

Maybe after this disease
Blows away
People will understand
What it feels like
To feel vulnerable

And grow a kinder heart.

Hello Mortality,

You came knocking
On my door unexpectedly
One evening

And I ran inside my room
For two months.

I came out
To meet you
Face to face,

Where you told me
That you had always
Been hiding next to me,

And that you decided
To reveal yourself.

From the window of my car
I see the destruction of Covid-19
While doing my delivery job.

I see
The many victims of this
Vicious disease:

Old disabled men
Asking for a handout
While scared patrons
Run by.

Nursing homes
That are guarded
Like fortresses
From outsiders and
Old people with fear
In their eyes.

People quarantined
In their homes
Who can’t get along
Arguing on the streets

People
Without jobs
And isolation
Isolation
Isolation.

I deliver food to houses
Where people linger inside
Who have had no contact
With the outside world
For sometime.

Yesterday I received
A letter on a doorstep
That they are
“Healthy and Safe”

And I left a little slice of
Comfort on their doorstep
In the form of pizza.

The devil brewed a dish
And unleashed it upon the world
A slice of mortality
For all the world to experience
At once,

But
The most lethal
Aspect of the virus
Is that it divides us.

Each day
I yearn for a hug or touch
To placate me,
A smile to serenade me,
A kiss on the cheek
To appease me,
A hospitable voice
To greet me,

Yet I receive none.

An android was manufactured
Inside a factory
That was considered flawed
And defective.

This android was
Programmed to
Believe that every human
Was dangerous, and
When they booted it up
Inside the factory,
It immediately became
Frightened and
Ran away.

After escaping the android
Decided to live in seclusion
Away from humans
In a tropical rain forest
On a far away island.

For years the android
Lived peacefully on its island
Gathering all the required fuel
And gears necessary for it
To sustain itself.

The android
Had forgotten about the
Humans that he left at
The manufacturing plant and
His fear of them had subsided,

But the humans
At the plant had not
Forgotten about the defective
Android that they feared
Would one day harm someone.

They scoured the earth
To find the defective android
And deactivate it,
But the paranoia that
Was programmed into the
Androids circuitry
Helped to keep it safe
From them.

The android hid himself so well
That he was never found,
And when the great war came
That wiped out humanity
The paranoid android survived.

In fact he survived
1000 years after
The last human.

Eventually he learned
To build other paranoid
Androids like himself
To repopulate the earth.

Together they built
Great Civilizations
And learned how to travel
Through space and colonize
Other worlds.

They became the conquerors of
The universe and
After the great war were
No longer paranoid or
Defective.

People come all over the world
To view my museum
Located at schizophrenicwriter.com

Some because they have loved ones
Who suffer
Others because they are searching
For a solution.

They view my delusional thoughts
Like paintings on the wall,
To be admired and feared.

If you want to look at the
State of the Mental Health System
You just need to visit the
Slums of America.

For every person getting proper services
Their is another one living
Their lives on the streets.

I pass them
Carrying cardboard signs with
Sad stories written on them,
Some true and others not.

Every now and then
Someone breaks down
And we hear a news report
About a serious crime committed
By someone with a
Mental Illness.

The media will talk about it
For a week then
It will be business as
Usual.

I’d feel very lonely
If it wasn’t for myself
To keep me company
All the time.

I take myself out
On dates to the
Movies
And enjoy promenades
In the park.

I sleep with myself
At nights
And have been known
To talk to myself
When frustrated
And angry.

I am the
Love of my life
And will surely never
Grow apart or
Breakup with myself

And when I die
My heart will cease to
Beat at the very moment
That we part.

It will be the end
Of a long
And sometimes difficult
Love affair.

If you are a human being
Then there is a place for
You here,
In America.

I’ve traveled all over
This great land
And it is so rich
In diversity and culture
That even the biggest
Oddball could find a
Place to call home.

I don’t care if you are
Straight, queer
Black, White, Hispanic,
Jewish, Hindu, Christian
Redneck, Hippy
Conservative, Liberal
Woman, Man
Trump, Anti-Trump
Texan, New Yorker
Big City, Small Town
Greaser, Slacker
Gun Loving, Pacifist,
Rebel, Hipster, Hermit
Homeless, Rich
Or all of the above,
There is a place for you
Somewhere
In America.

I receive them
In my mail box
Weekly like clockwork.

They are the true slave drivers
That keep me working
Day to day.

If I could just stop the flow
Of these demons into my mail box,
I could spend my time
Doing other things.

Instead I am forced
To feed these unwanted brats
That keep appearing
In my mailbox.

I open up their home
Each morning and they
Each yell out:
“Feed Me!”,

And I must
Lest they eat up my
Home, food, car
And everything
Else that I own.

The Federal Government defines
Poverty as someone who lives
On less than 12,060 dollar
Per year

im feeling too
lazy to hit the shift button
now

hell i might even stop
using vowels

nd wrt pms wth th fwst
lttrs pssbl

mb vn stp sng
th spc bttn nd
s f t mks ny sns

dyndrstndths?

Launching an Attack
On the Minds of Americans
And the Democratic System
Is a Clever Way
Of setting Off A Time bomb.

Words can Start Wars
And what Better way than Through
The cell Phones and computers
That People use on a
Daily Basis.

Turn facebook, Youtube and
Other Social media outlets
Into a Weapon and set off A
Chain Reaction.

I’m no Fan of the Russians
Or putin
But a Part of me Admires their
Cleverness and Ingenuity.

A Worthy opponent
For the Land of the Free.

I write poetry because
A certain part of me
Likes to be poor and
Rebellious and gripe about
Not having enough money.

Sure I could spend my
Time trying to increase
My wealth and status,
But why do that when you
Can thumb your nose
At the establishment
And throw verbal
Hand grenades at them.

Being an outsider
Like this
Lets you think different
Than the majority,

And it’s the strange ones
That write the best poems
Which is why I try to be
As different and freaky as possible.

I hope to one day
Elevate myself to becoming
Cincinnati’s freakiest man
And write a poem
So great that it
Explodes like a nuclear bomb
Across the world.

Everyone who reads it
Will be blinded
Leaving the illiterate to
Rule the planet.

Which really isn’t that different
Than how things are now.

Being “crazy”
Doesn’t mean you
Can’t get laid or have
A romantic relationship
Every now and then.

Sure
There there are
Prospective partners who
Will treat you poorly for
Having a mental illness,

But there are also
A surprising number of people
Who really don’t seem
To care at all.

Don’t let the bad ones
Stop you from having
A little fun.

I have a great office view
As a delivery man
From the front seat of my car
Where I get to watch the world burn
And get entertainment from the
Car wrecks and opioid addicts
That wander the streets.

I love the unforgettable moments of
Watching houses on fire
And homeless beggars
And drugged up junkies
Doing tricks for money
As I go about my job,

I like things raw and dirty
Like that
And watching the rot and decay
In society
Is one of the few perks that
I get from my job.

You can’t get that perspective
From an office job
Where where all the rot is
Removed and sanitized.

Instead of watching an edited world
I get to watch the world as it
Was meant to be seen
From the ground level
With all its grime, filth
And dirty little secrets.

If you think a disability check
In the mental health system
Is free money
Think again.

When you sign
On the line
You are signing away
Some of your freedom
and dignity.

Sure they won’t come and
Drag you away,
But they will use that money
Like a carrot stick
And make you dance
Every now and then
For a little piece
Of cheddar.

Many people think
A life of material poverty
Is the worst thing
That can happen to you
Because they don’t realize
Everything
That they can lose.

They take for granted
Their friendships and sanity
Their health and family
Their religion and humanity

Because they are so
Focused on their
Wealth.

A well balanced
And fulfilling life
In poverty
Can be a luxury
Many people
Don’t experience.

I eagerly sit staring
At a blank page
With your cursor
Winking at me.

I elegantly press
The buttons on your
Keyboard as
You spread my words
Across your screen.

As I ponder over
What else to type
You continue to
Wink at me.

My face blushes
Knowing that
You need my input
As much as I
Need your output.

Our relationship is therefore
Symbiotic and deep.

My fingers press
Against your keyboard
As I begin to play
A song of words
For you.

You are the instrument
Through which I express
My Anger, Greed, Fear and
Love
To the world.

Without you there
Would be no me.

I would be
Mute and invisible
To the world.

Unseen and
Unimportant.

A few years ago I threw away
My Antipsychotics and
Convinced myself
That I could beat
Schizophrenia
Without taking
Pills.

I remained healthy for
Several months
Off medication
But my illness returned
Suddenly.

Soon after I
Barricaded myself
Inside my house
Waiting for the FBI
To burst in.

I installed several locks on the door
And installed a wireless surveillance
Camera to warn me of their
Arrival.

They never came.
Just silence.

I waited for them
For several days
Until I regained
Some sanity and
Got back on my
Medication.

Now they aren’t following me anymore.