This is a very, uh, personal kind of poem. Completely true, and yes, another Tourette's poem. FYI: Th involuntary spasm-like actions called tics.
Hope you enjoy, but I'm really just writing this because I need to.
Tic. toc.
Tic. Toc.
Just as the clock
Upon the wall
Goes--Tic, Toc.
I too tic.
And nod.
But that doesn't take away the prick
Of pain in my temple,
For the tic of nodding
Is a tedious one to bear.
It is a mechanical sort of rhythm,
Like a robot is in my soul.
I dwell within my mind,
A decent place in the whole.
But when the tics come to call,
It feels like time has stalled.
It is no sin,
Nor any folly
For you to hear:
I don't fear it.
But please don't leer.
I can't help it
Any more than you can help
the urge to yawn.
And then do so.
So yawn.
A tic is like a yawn,
So tingly, so demanding,
Involuntary, no?
Yes.
Try not yawning.
You eventually will.
Even when I try to be still,
Silent and normal,
I don't succeed,
Because, eventually,
The urges I must heed.
Tis no folly, nor a sin,
To try to hide them within.
Yet it does not work too well,
For then I become an empty shell.
Controlled by tics,
Like the clock that tocs,
And, moving sporadically,
It never stops.
........
that was probably the best poem I could write to describe the tedious nature of life with Tourette's. Not every minute is it so wretched, but don't get me wrong, some people with TS experience the depicted scenario almost every waking second. I, fortunately, am not among those severe. I hope this helps you understand.
Cheers!
--Voxina
PS: I'm glad you read it, but even happier to have written it. Writing is my best form of therapy.
PPS: Feedback is welcomed.
