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ScaryGary Mar 18
Dr Khan: I need to do lab tests on you before I can prescribe your meds
Me: But they are not narcotic, they are blood pressure and blood thinners etc
Dr Khan: it don't matter, I need to check your levels
Me: I feel fine though
Dr Khan: you have to, or I will get in trouble,and I'm not going to lose my license
Me: you can get into trouble?
Me: **** it, I don't need them
Dr Khan: but you will die if you stop taking the meds
Me: Then prescribe the meds
Dr Khan: I can't
Me: Killer!


Over a year later, my health seems better than ever. I went from things getting worse, to things getting better without the drugs and doctor
This is true
Gracie Anne Jan 23
The urgent care is the nursery
Where I choose my seeds with thought.
The doctor is the gardener
Who knows how to fix what I’ve wrought.

She sows the seeds inside my skin,
Yet not with a trowel or ***.
She uses a needle and surgical thread,
With budding knots lined up in a row.

Then she leaves me with my tidy ground
And some knowledge on how I should care
For the lined up plot she’s left to me,
Whose potential I’m required to bear.

The deep rivet I slashed into my skin
Is where the seedlings take root.
The blood from my veins keeps them moist
As the new blossoms stand resolute.

But when the weather grows dark and dreary,
My sprouts need cover from the cold.
So I bundle them up with jeans and sweats
To protect them and let them take hold.

But despite the layers I pile atop,
The small spiny blooms poke through.
I run my fingers back and forth,
And marvel at how fast they grew.

Then after they’ve grown for fourteen days,
I return to the nursery at last.
The gardener plucks and prunes and picks
‘Til the wounds and the blooms come to pass.

So now the perennials have passed us by,
And the sprouts have been taken to bin.
The wound that watered my seedlings’ through,
Has left but a scar on my skin.
This poem was inspired through the stitches I received on my thigh due to self harm. When I wore leggings or sweats, the knotted string would poke through the material, reminding me of a garden.
Alienpoet Dec 2021
The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive  X-rays know
Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery

Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?
Rosen Blanche Nov 2021
There’s no need for any shame,
if I hold your hand, but forget your name.
A mouth and ear, against your shine I’m plain,
your own listener, with an eye for disdain.

Lie yourself down here again,
show and tell me the pain,
where your clouds gather rain.
Let’s face the demons who plague your brain;
catch and release, hop the plane.

Let me be your doctor strange..
the one to cut your chains,
and adore your mundane.
You’re not crazy, the world is insane -
one giant symptom of the ego’s campaign.
Gerard M Jul 2021
Now there was a girl who's known as The Impossible Girl
Now the Doctor saw her though out all of time and space
When we first met her job was to be a governess
Now the mystery about her is why was  she there though all of time
When the doctor goes to Trenzalore
We find out why she's known as The Impossible Girl
The mystery about her is that she was born to save the Doctor
We find out when she saids 'I'm Clara Oswald. I'm The Impossible Girl. I Was Born To Save The Doctor."
What's in quotation marks are what characters said/say on the show
Brett May 2021
We are all immortal in our own time. Today I feel the warm caressing touch of life across my beleaguered face. Death does not escape me, but in this moment I am alive. One is immortal, if one has yet to understand what it means to die.
Bobby Dodds Apr 2021
Another day, another hour spent looking at cadavers,
Surprisingly fun, and suspiciously fresh bodies-
"Hey Mrs. Johnson, what do you think John did with his life?"
She gave me a look that didn't seem too pleased at my inquisition.
Or the fact that I named our body John.
Morbidly, I thought she looked at me like a zombie would look at our friend John like a cold cut subway sandwich,
Although I figured if I were a zombie,
I'd prefer my meat fresh, and not embalmed
with formaldehydes and ethanol.
"That thought seems inappropriate and not respectful of the medical sacrifice 'john' made " she said dripping with in my opinion too much sarcasm for me to NOT respond too.
"Well, John is dead, I don't think he's getting offended anytime soon," I retorted.
Her smile contorted like the prudish smile John offered me in support.
"I'm not worried about offending the corpse as much as I am the ghost, and this Lab will NOT be haunted under my watch"
(Her pride in her wit inflated much like Johns body inflated with decomposition and bowel gases.)
I apologized internally for the comment and action  I was about to make-
"This medical dictatorship has to collapse sooner or later-
and I still want an answer too my question"
And with that,
I took the nearest scalpel to his bloated stomach,
and watched in disgust and glee as everyone else ran for cover amongst the ****** of stomach contents and Johns final retribution in death.
I got an A+ in that class.
Probably one of my favorite classes I've ever taking, I don't think Mrs. Johnson was too pleased either that John's name resembled her own so closely. hahahah.
Med school, here I come.
“Really, he’ll be—”
“But m—be-”
“There isn’t anything we can—”
“THERE HAS— SOM—ING”
“Sir, I’m going to—ask you to—sit—”
“DON’T TELL—DOWN—”
“…I assure you—”
“*******—may—then—weeks—”
“Sir, please calm—”
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