I wrote this while observing my son who has Tourette Syndrome.
Tics
They crawl through my neck,
Up my spine
Down my back.
They itch underneath,
My skin
And I scratch.
They pound at my head,
A headache
I endure.
They make my eyes POP,
Blurring my vision
Balance obscurred.
They come in spurts,
or, all at once.
At night,
They attack
No withdrawal, in sight.
I scream and I shout,
others mock
or, block out.
The sounds that they make,
Sometimes I feel
I can't take.
The constancy
Of...
How I want to let go,
This demon inside,
That gets harder to hide,
They will never let go,
So perhaps,
I should
Give in and accept.
My regret...
or, God's gift?
Tics
They crawl through my neck,
Up my spine
Down my back.
They itch underneath,
My skin
And I scratch.
They pound at my head,
A headache
I endure.
They make my eyes POP,
Blurring my vision
Balance obscurred.
They come in spurts,
or, all at once.
At night,
They attack
No withdrawal, in sight.
I scream and I shout,
others mock
or, block out.
The sounds that they make,
Sometimes I feel
I can't take.
The constancy
Of...
How I want to let go,
This demon inside,
That gets harder to hide,
They will never let go,
So perhaps,
I should
Give in and accept.
My regret...
or, God's gift?