Detach The Damned Thing, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

Oh you can tell me to slow down, or call me a clown
You can give me advice, on making it nice
I can’t spot the red line, I have spots that are blind
I can read many times, mistakes still slip by
I
I am the spotter on the Titanic, the iceberg towers
Over the Atlantic, but the flaws are stubborn and stealthy
They don’t want my poems to be vibrant and healthy
I know I’m not dumb, it’s sore eyes for some

They are the Trojan, malware and virus
My programmer defective, gives no directive
That scull on my shoulder, is ineffective
I know I’m not dumb, it’s sore eyes for some

The juggler bombarded, my poems not guarded
I’m scramble to catch all the hurricane rain
I quadruple my spellcheck, again and again
That mass upstairs attempts it in vein

Sharks circle around me, blood in the water
Chum draws them closer, my poem their meal
The circuits upstairs, won’t speak to my hands
I want the right word, my brain commands

My brain and fingers have never been friends
Miscommunication, the wrong word ends
In the spotlight, under a microscope
Detach my brain, it has no hope.
(end)

I seriously hate my maladies. I know I have to live with them, but I hate feeling dumb because I know I am not dumb. I don’t care about structure
I do care about spelling mistakes, or transposing words. I hate that my brain won’t send the signal to fetch the proper word or proper spelling , I hate that no matter how hard I try, and no matter what software I use, my spelling errors get by. And the worst part is that I read and reread and and still miss something.