Some very old poetry I just found.....2002 maybe

Consequences
My paint is piling up in a drawer
I feel nothing inside
Nothing to paint for

But sometimes
I'd see a picture
And my insides would ache

Something would pulse
An organ with no name
No place where it belongs

It;s in between the heart and soul
Above the mind
Below the belt

An urge to move color with my fingers
To make something
That would never exist without me being here

Something to make all my pain
Worthwhile
Something that builds up
If not used

EXPLODES






The First Poem
I used to write poetry
Then they put me on medicine
And I stopped...

I used to paint pictures
And they put me on medicine
And I stopped...

I used to hurt mostly all the time
Then they put me on medicine
And I still hurt....
Mostly all the time

Sot everything stopped
Everything that once was me
Everything stopped
Except the hurt
And I hurt
Mostly all the time

They told me not to
But I did it anyway
They told me to take more medicine
But I started to stop

Little by little
I took the medicine away
And I still hurt...
Mostly all the time

But I wrote this poem.

ie.....am back on meds.....