TO THE WOMAN WHO SAID MY SEIZURES MADE HER “FEEL TRAPPED”, Wil Gibson

TO THE WOMAN WHO SAID MY SEIZURES MADE HER “FEEL TRAPPED”
by Wil Gibson

At times, my world is gone. 
I do not exist. I become a 
large twitching dust bunny, 
unaware of the contents of 
brain and bladder. I am 
movement without purpose 
or explanation or reason. I am 
gone. I am always almost gone, 
or I do not exist. You never don’t 
exist. I could never explain my 
time to you. There is no understanding 
this senseless twitch. You have too few 
years for this medicine, this medication 
is too young for you. This roar too loud 
for your precious ears. These sandpaper 
hands too rough for your porcelain skin. 
You will never know this uncomfort at the 
sight of stairs, this nervous bathing and 
swimming, this piss-soaked fear of my 
every day. I am aware your thought scares 
you more than my mind could ever allow 
itself to absorb. If I lived in that fear, I 
would never leave the house again, trap 
myself in soft foam, and become the stain 
on the kitchen floor. You have never been 
just a stain. I have marked myself a beast 
as bad as any label or hatred you could 
force at my melted feet. All those I love yous 
met with cold shoulders and I’m fucking sleepings 
will drown and float like the dead weight 
that it is. You wanted a reason to listen as much 
as I wanted a reason to be treated like an unwanted 
houseguest. Your bitterness a waisted window in this 
unsmogged grey town. I am not a torn boxing glove 
for your broken hand. You cannot hold 
anything until you heal. You have 
not been good at holding 
onto things. I used to 
have the confidence 
to leave. I don’t have 
the confidence 
to get left. 
I
have     (nothing)
left      (to give)
myself.
Somewhere.

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