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Sabila Siddiqui Nov 2018
An autoimmune of a nation,
why are you letting your wrath
stemmed from crisis
burst open like lysosomes?
Why do you digest
yourself and one of your own?
Don't you take pride
when the one who has the same
nation weaved on his skin
uplifts the wavering flag of your land?

Why would you mute
and suppress them
rather than water them,
like the beautiful nature that
blooms from your own ground?
Why would you steal
and harm your brothers and sisters,
letting your mentality succumb
to toxic-narrow confinements?
Lux Capacitor Mar 2015
Half in dark, hiding out,
back against a wall,
any one, will do for me,
all I seek in dreams.
Here before, here again,
remnants strewn about,
between the door and me,
shine under the moon.
I'm to blame, prophecies
rolling in with rain,
hold me tightly in sleep
Loneliness, a poem that,
written by my own hand,
paints bridges with glitter mixed
up with broken glass.
Andrew Rueter  Aug 2017
Medicine
Andrew Rueter Aug 2017
We're in hell
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy

Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields

That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.

A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
      fights) and a ****, sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
      community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****.
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
      side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.

Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
      of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
      Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.

This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
                                                  ­     Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
      overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
      British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
    restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
    allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
    was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
    emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
    valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).

What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
      community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
      common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
      otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
      forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
      violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
RJP Aug 2018
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off

I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time

I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease

Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like

Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own

“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night ****-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
This is one's for any of the Welsh here.
chachi  Sep 2010
Relapse
chachi Sep 2010
for my friend with autoimmune disease*

Finally you are healthy,
for the time being. Won't you
pick up your guitar again
and play me a song. Sing
the world a lullaby.

So full of optimism, you,
make me believe, that you,
can conquer anything.
Except, relapse comes
and I'm crying. This world
can not afford to lose you.

This time turns out okay.
But I live in fear,
of unpredictable relapse.
While you, take advantage
of the health temporarily
granted to you. Each moment,
you deserve every moment.
Love you Cass, so glad things have been going better.
Josie Heggaton Apr 2020
Looking so young and healthy
The hardest thing i do
Feeling so weak and broken
All the pain I hide from you
My body attacks itself
Noone understands the hand i was delt

I was raised to never be weak
It was a sign of defeat
Silence the hurt locking it away
Just try to make it through each day

Walking makes me ache
Lifting makes me shake
Feet touching the floor
I have to make myself move to the door

Living in fear of flare
Relapse is part of the deal
Don't have a disease you can see
The battle is inside of me
Laurel Leaves May 2018
Pluck.
The string get’s pulled away, the tension feels tighter, the pressure builds and it stays. The release of the note never fills my ears, the vibrating motion of the string being released from my fingers and hitting the band of the instrument never touches my finder tips. It stays, tense, hard wired, pulling, cutting off circulation.
I take a deep inhale.
I take another pill.
I let his hand slide down my back. I don’t tell him that every touch stings, shocks, slowly slices through my skin as the blades dig deeper and deeper.
I don’t want him to think that he his causing the pain.
I hold.
I wait.
I roll.
I wail.
I wait.
The fluorescent lights sting sharper than his hands did
The monotone typing of the keyboard while they input symptoms.
‘i’m sorry. there isn’t anything we can do for you.'
to going back to rolling
wailing
waiting.
the string grows tighter
the band slices through me
as the fog rolls in the
the perpetual motions
where I plateau
and he is here
sharply pressing his weight
until I can hold my breath long enough to stand up
to slip my clothes on
to walk out the door
pretend the sting doesn’t bother me anymore.
Getting diagnosed has been hell - ER's don't have WiFi

— The End —