Voices - Ii Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

And he conspired with pen and paper
Which rested on a metal chart
Inside were medical terminologies –
And inside the chart were
Plans for me,
Plans for me, and plans for me
That undulated to and fro.
I was scared. I grabbed a blank sheet,
And serenaded it with a blank stare,
With a bleak mind, with a blighted heart.

What are you thinking of?
Nothing. Does this happen to you?
To think of nothing? What I meant,
Nothing – abyss, loss, grief
Nothing.
He nodded and wrote debonairly:
Borderline Personality Disorder

I cringed. I understood what it was – though not in a
Medical sense or something.

What are you thinking?
That I am very much withdrawn from the world,
From the lovely people.
How does that make you feel?
Splendidly crooked.
At times, there’s a certain beauty in this –
I ripple from episodes of
Believing
To incredulity.
What’s the beauty in this?
Is beauty just a state of mind?
Or is it a tangible circumstance?
Pray tell, doctor
I do not have much time,
And I feel like going any minute.
There’s beauty in this. And beauty is a tangible circumstance.
You can feel it anywhere, everywhere. You just have to open your eyes.
My eyes were wide open for 19 years.
You have shunned the world.
They have shunned the world.
For making me believe that there’s beauty,
That there’s consistency, that there’s something
That can be found even in the nothingness.
And people like you, make life miserable for me
And all the other people like me.
I hope you are contented with yourself,
And with what you do.
You are very angry. Tell me more about it.
I will never tell you about it,
Because when I do, you’d probe further
And tell me fancy things
That I will believe because I am frail
In my dispositions.
So I will not tell you about it.
And I will never tell anyone about it
As long as he or she confesses
That he or she understands
How it feels to be hunted and haunted
By the tigers that kneel in the somber fires
Of abandonment – of desolation.
And there was silence.