Deceiver-By Susan Thomas

People know my name
Devil
Lucifer
Satan
and they think I am fantasy
a silly guy in red
with a pointed tail
and a stupid pitchfork
they laugh
because they don't me
they don't know my work
or see how I work my magic
in their pathetic lives
I am the whisper
that tells you to sleep in today
I am the voice
that tells you to lie
I am the jealousy you feel
I am the coldness in your heart
I am the part that judges and condemns
I am the shame you feel
I am the gossiping voice
I am what makes you boastful of your sin
My name is a joke to so many
nothing but a scary story
This is my great deception
you won't fight me
I am just a fantasy

Pleasant Smiles- By Susan Thomas

Their words cut deep
deep deep into my soul
burned like a fire
trying to devour my independence
my self esteem
any good feeling
that struggled to survive the raging fire
the raging fire of ignornace
and hate they put there
before they came
such words would have rolled off like water
leaving me unaffected
still proud of myself
but these tricksters
were diffrent
they wormed their way in
they had friendly smiles
at the first glance
they called me friend
we talked
became close
then their true face began to show
friendly conversations
turned into cruel whispers
that I could always hear
the glances
the cruel laughter ringing in my ears
they took my words
words to find out why
and twisted them
twisted them into something dark and childish
soon all believed their lie
soon even I believed their lie
I believed I was worthless
ugly
stupid
a waste of space
I begin to think
why stay
their cruelty infected my soul
gave me a disease
took away my smile
and everything good
Soon death
seemed a pleasant option
but God held my hand
kept me from taking that last step
now that I've walked from the darkness
back into the light
he asks me to forgive
and I struggle with this demand
how to forgive those people
who gave that terrible disease
that still lurks deep inside
I know I must forgive
but I don't now how
so I try each day
and each day get one step closer
almost there now
but still not quite there
I look forward to the day
I can finally let go
of all the hurt they gave
and finally extinguish that flame
that still desires to devour

Sunday Mask - By Susan Thomas

They do not see me
on the sabbath day
They see the mask I wear
A mask that cannot be removed
I am not allowed to be me
to be me
is an inappropriate action
I am
what they want me to be
This fate was thrust upon me
when my heart I gave
to a man of faith
to a man with a calling
If my mask cracks or slips
me
the real me
may be set fee
for but a moment
on the holy day
where judging eyes will see
My person held to a standard
a higher standard than most
if I do wrong
in their eyes
sure it is me to blame
but more so
my husband to blame
To be me
would bring harsh judgement
upon the man
I gave my heart
Even if the real me
is just like you
or anyone there
I have to be better
I have to be an example
The real me
just won't do
So every week
I shoulder a burden
wear a mask
to be what they want me to be
hoping and praying
each time the mask will not slip
because it is not me they want
I am the me
they want me to be
I count the minutes
each sabbath day
to the moment
where I can be free
away from judging eyes
free to be me
free to be the me
that my man of faith
loves

so much
to be the me
that our family needs

Sixteen Year Old Me-By Susan Thomas

Dear Sixteen Year Old Me-

You've got that phony smile down. They can't see your despair. You wait in dreaded anticipation for another seizure. Your friends have gotten their license. You try to be happy for them, but you're just angry. You were supposed to be first.  Your meds are so messed up right now. It takes  most of your effort to just walk and talk. That's not mentioning that your hair is falling out. It doesn't bother you though you because your hair is so thick.  You go to church  and stare at those around you. Wondering why you don't feel that moved. Envying that passion  and love of God. Wondering if that gap between you and God will ever disappear.

You don't have much of a social life. A good friend or two, but mostly you feel alone. You sometimes wonder if people would even care if you were gone. Most  kids at school think you're a freak and won't bother to talk to you. You find pleasure in killing and torturing them in horrible ways in that poem or story your working on.

Your only escape from this life you hate is your writing, a good book, or even music. Your classes aren't going so well. You can't remember whole parts  of lectures. Your hands shake so badly that any craft is nearly impossible. Sometimes the room spins so bad you can't read the test paper right in front of you.

Life seems hopeless. Like a soul sucking black hole that you want to escape from. No matter how hard you run you never seem to go anywhere. Suicide seems like a plausible option. You don't see a future. Just a monotonous existence. Your dreams died along time ago.

What I'm going to say may seem like bullshit. Some made up crap that anyone could say, but seeing as I'm the future you. Shut up and listen up!

That despair you feel will disappear. Happiness is on the horizon. Your future is seizure free. It won't be easy getting there though.

You'll realize yes you are loved and you would have been missed. To your great surprise you'll get married. I know you have visions of being that old lonely lady who bought a hundred cats to die slowly of horrible allergies.

You'll be a mom to. I know the thought scares you and intrigues you. Don't worry you'll do fine. You have a wonderful husband who won't let you insult yourself.

That faith thing your so worried about. Don't worry you'll find it. He'll answer your cry. In fact your faith was strong enough for you to marry a pastor who feeds your faith everyday.

Your life will be filled with joy. You'll dream again. All the crap  you suffer will only make you care for others even more.

Sincerely,
Your Future Self. 

Unseen Storm-by Susan Thomas

There is a calm, before the storm.

You can’t see it coming.

When it takes you,

in a whirlwind of terror,

it robs you of your breath,

your consciousness,

your freedom,

sometimes your life.

When it lets go,

assuming your limp body,

still has life,

your left with confusion.

Why are you on the ground?

Why are people staring?

Why are you crying?

Your head throbs,

eyes heavy,

body weak.

This reoccurring storm,

you keep secret.

Hoping against hope,

that it doesn’t take you,

in public view.

It’s a shameful thing.

A thing misunderstood.

A thing that is feared.

A thing that becomes,

one giant YOU CAN’T.

A thing that keeps you alone.

Alone in a sea of millions,

all just like you.

A sea with a monster that lurks beneath,

victims screaming SUDEP.

The sea a terrifying ride,

where discrimination and hate,

are the norm.

The unaffected turn a blind eye,

and try to ignore the screams,

of those drowning in fear,

and isolation.

This sea called epilepsy,

where many are prisoner,

receives no lifeboat.

Those screaming victims,

just don’t matter.

It Lurks- By Susan Thomas

It's not supposed to happen,
not to you anyway.
We all think it
as we watch that movie
with a over sized bowl of popcorn.
Stories of possession and demonic hauntings
just don't happen in the real world
but the thought is fearful.
It seems ridiculous and absurd.
When that evil creeps into your home
you can't accept it.
Things like that don't happen.
You make excuses
for what can't be explained.
It was the TV.
It was the wind.
It was only a dream.
Ignore the chill creeping up your spine.
Ignore the terror in your gut.
Never mind you avoid going home.
Those arguments that come from nowhere
that make no sense
that have no winner
are just part of human nature.
Your babe's spine tingling scream of terror,
is just a cry.
He must be hungry.
The evil intensifies.
Growling, cursing, yelling
all with that rancid voice.
Surely it was your imagination.
Nothing to worry about.
Still you begin to pray more.
Prayer once a chore
now a small comfort.
You still run from acceptance,
but ask the pastor to bless the house.
Perhaps it will ease your stomach.
In the back of your mind
you know the truth
as the crosses on the walls begin to multiply.
Still in denial
the evil angry
it wants you gone
it will do anything to make you leave.
It attacks your precious babe.
The sound of your boy
unable to breathe
terrifies you to your very soul.
Rush in horror to his crib
he can breathe now
he screams in terror
The claw like hand print
on his chest
jars you from your slumber of denial.
It dared attack your baby.
You curse the thing.
Let it know that God dwells with your family.
You know you haven't the strength for this battle.
You know it's time to leave.
You pack
praying it doesn't follow
praying that god will protect your family
You leave
and never return
to that house where evil lives.

Honor of a Name- By Susan Thomas

Why should the name offend?
Isn't it an honor to hear the name?
Redskin, Indian.
Affecntionate terms our ancestors,
called yours.
Don't they bring back fond memories?
Redskin is an honor of a name,
don't you think?
Much like nigger.
I'm sure the memories of how they came here,
are nothing but pleasent.
Or even chink,
surely there is no negative in such a name.
Just as redskin,
is harmless.
Does it really matter,
that our ancestors shouted that name,
as they raped and murdered your people?
It couldn't bother you,
that it was probably used
as your people were beaten
on that godforsaken march.
A march that killed so many.
Don't you find in honor in it?
Surely the name is a proud one,
just like savage,
nigger,
chink,
or even cracker.
Why complain?
How could a name,
with such rich history,
possibly offend?