The Roach Inside of Me

The roach inside of me does not FIT.  

Stripping my nerves, this

wretched, fuming intruder

objects to every move I make,

encroaching upon my daily pleasures,

dragging me back to its crypt of

spider scum and dusted death. This

insidious insect got in the wrong tree!

Scratching, screeching, stabbing,   

away at the knarred bones that don’t belong to him

he is stuck in a living thing - me!

His habitat is rot.

The bug is on a nasty mission I think,

for he wars with my limbs reaching

for rosebuds climbing toward the sun,

or for a simmering pot, or

cradling dozing babies,

and holding comforting hands.


This vermin is stomping mad, I can feel him – all hot and foaming,

searing his vile temper through my twisting vertebrae,

mashing crackled crusted scale against ligaments

clinging to crushed joints in crooked fingers that

fold fresh linens, scoop chocolate ice cream into sugar cones,

or pull combs through flyaway curls.

The chomping cur feeds on my will, drains my resolve.


Enough of my crustaceous war,

I try to win the battle in my sleep,

But, these cucaracha scurry nocturnally!

The raving roach rants at my torpor

and is a crazed savage by morning.

I beg him, “Please let me be! Find another tree,

a garbage heap, or some ancient dank cave!”

I fear I will soon look in the mirror and see

his probing wet antennae protruding through my ears,

and those bulging bug eyes glaring back at me.

I, with the roach, would then seek endless night.


What will kill off this evil creature?

What pesticide can I swallow, what gun to fire, what cliff to leap?

Or perhaps…

to be free – I could pierce this cockatrice with a laser white light

by a sorrow I share, a grace I give, or a prayer I pray ~.

Oh! That I would let the miserable bug be, to release

the pain that rules me, to then

embrace the love that rescues me.

Maybe I could believe

that pitiful pariah

has disappeared to dust,

leaving space for my soul

to flourish again.

Perhaps gilded butterflies

could then take wing to whirl

with my weary spirit at dawn,

and a glistening ray of hope

will carry me softly, gently

to a new day.