The stare that I give you is not me being rude.
It is me being paralyzed by my brain and its grasp.
You try telling me to stop staring at you and I am trying but, there is nothing I can truly do.
Finally the grasp let's go of me, my mind is foggy and my body is limp from it all.
You become concerned for me and ask me constantly if I want food.
I try to think of the answer for that simple question but, the words are ones I cannot grasp.
You lightly tap me to assure I'm listening to you and then that is when I fall.
The shock and impact from it all sets off inner tormoil for us all.
You are horrified and all that you let out is not a scream but, a gasp.
I see everything you do, hear every word you yell and perceive it all as rude.
At the end of it all the only thing I remember is you telling me it is rude to stare at you.
To this moment of time there is you can truly do so that I can forgive what you put me through.
YOU ARE READING
The Stare
PoetryThis is a poem about Petit Mal Seizures (also known as Absence Seizures). These are a type of seizure that involves brief, sudden lapses in attention. Battling Epilepsy this is one type I go through. Along with Tonic Clonic Seizures and Atonic Seiz...
