'Sickness'

Nurture choked me,

With his cold, cold hands.

And now he offers me help?!

They call me sick,

Insisting I can be, in the most

Insulting way, cured!

Cured from the illness that nurture

Gave me himself.

The ignorant gather upon their platform,

and with the authority of fallibility

tell me I am sick.

I grow tired of these words.

However: I am grateful my apparent

Sickness can be cured.

For your sickly superiority will forever

Boil in your murky blood!

Beyond cure.

Nature called upon me, and

Told me I am perfectly healthy.

And I believe him.

I believe him,

More than I believe your stupid book. 

Paranoid Eyes

This is about people pretending they do not care, but really they care more than anything. A poem about being honest with yourself and reality. 

My apathy: unconvincing

At the best of times,

The realms of care, I delve beyond

And focus my eyes on elation

But:

I forget the most prized item;

Reality is easy to leave behind,

The clarity being repulsive, almost like

The truth is nauseating. So:

My spotlight is on the shadows;

Shadows of indifference,

And shadows of dispassion 

Such insensitivity nourishes the brain,

But leaves the heart deprived

This bold exterior just an imaginary

Projection

My soft interior, conspicuous

Within my  paranoid eyes.