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Mose 3d
A questionnaire of my family history is only a monologue I tell myself.
Practicing in front of the mirror to get better.
So, the next time the doctor’s words I am sorry falls back into their lips.
& I am onto my feet.
Tears in the ducts like my mind that encapsulates my emotions.
A vapid, monologue screenplay.
The rehearsed version of my life.
Somehow always fumbling through the words.
Answering the questions.
Yet leaving voids in my answers as my family’s members absence did.
Two strokes. She’s alive but not apparent enough to know it.
Her blood runs to thick.
Blood pressure always boiling.
Mother knew how to live fast but never well enough.
Dead. He was alive but never long enough to hold it.
Heart always dropping and head into the palms of his hands.
Thirst never stopping.
Alcoholism is a wicked thing I say.
Brother. Alive somehow not present enough to count it.
Healthy. We count his days as tick-tack-toe though.
Family history has a lineage that says the roots in this family tree are rotten.
Sister. Victim to mental health.
The prodigy of a broken foster system.
I reckon her days are counted in lines.
Between days she’s alive & the days she wishes she wasn’t.
The doctor does an homage in the way she bows her head.
Makes the hollowed-out chest of mine seem like it’s filled with water.
I let out a gasp.
Trying to fill the room where all the air has seemed to have evaporated.
Hoping to catch my breath.
My story filling their break room like a lingering coffee smell.
Keeping them brewed in satisfaction that it could always be worse.
My story always seemed like the punch line for better days.
Our family has been waiting since genesis for such.
These are the days I wish I believed in something.
A god to drown every nightfall with dawn.
family sickness death grief history health wellness doctor god
Sophia 4d
Doctor: Well, it looks like ur pregnant.

Me: Wait, IM PREGNANT??!!1

Doctor: No, but it looks like you are.
I ligit got roasted by my doctor today like what the actual ****.
olujimi Sep 27
I am getting addicted to you
I am getting subjected to you
My heart stops anytime i see you
Where is the love doctor?
O, no i think i am love sick
Darling where are you?
O, no i just caught love in the air
Jada Sep 26
My heart is broken  
It didn't happen all at once  
There was a series of cracks and wounds and bruises  
Held together by a few desperate strands of self-care
Still, I go on
Until I decide I do not have to live like this  
And call out for change
Finally, a doctor hears  
Smiling, he grabs my heart  
Squeezes it tight  
And it shatters  
Still beating
Dr Om Prakash Sep 22
A doctor's day is filled
With emotional tides
Cloaks of anxiety can build
Depression on the sides !

We have to deal with these
With detached involvement,
And try hard to please
Those in throes of torment !

How do you manage
You might well wonder,
I use a Canoe called empathy
With humour as an oar !
Sungmoo Bae Sep 10
Call me a medicine man,
and yeah, I'll be there for you sure,
dedicated to you only,
to help the one without a cure.

    Once I step inside your heart
    you'll begin to doze off,

and those shaky hands will be soothed
while letting your head rock to and fro; can't be helped.
You'd be my tiny little sleepyhead
holding that little dose in your palm

    and you'll soon wander off
    deep into the neverland of your own version,

forgetful of human senses:
the striking smell, the taste to savour,
the sound the music that is ever whimsical,
the bright light and the dim dark.

And I reckon you already like it
all surrounded by the forgetfulness
- the numbing sensations nullifying your will to rise,
and the pleasure finds shelter within you.

    Then in your dream
    you start to want me more,

    not knowing the impending consequences
    of forgetting all about yourself,

of drowning
further into the river
that we all call the sorrow,
and of falling faster and farther

until you know nowhere to return.
I call out "Wakey-wakey," then,
prying open your eyes and every doors
that'll lead you outside with haste

- the light shines upon your pupils
still drowned in tears,
bewildered, with your legs wobbling.
Yet you're no longer my sleepyhead anyway,

    so walk on, off with you,
    carry on with your stiff legs

    - though you pretty much look like
    you'll need a stick just to stand upright -

    and do come see me
    if you ever need me again.
If interested, you can also visit my Facebook page as well:

(C) Copyright: Saul Bae
This quiet office determines my future.
The four walls are dull and dim.
The plastic chairs are rough.
The temperature is chilling.

The air is thick and suffocating with tension.
Nerves and emotions race around the room.
They shove me with every pass they make.
They mock me with their crude words.

I can feel your tight grip on my arm.
My knuckles are turning white.
My muscles are tight.
My back is stiff and straight.

You tell me to relax.
You tell me to let you do the talking, because you know best.
You are the mother after all.

A faint muffled knock cuts through the room.
It interrupts our war zone.
A cheerful man comes bounding into the office.
I can see the joy dancing in his eyes.

He greets you warmly.
He reminisces over fond memories of you, before there was me.
He trusts your judgment, and believes your lies.

You have him wrapped around your finger.
You are now the puppetir and he is your puppet.
I can feel the happiness radiating off you.
You have gotten your way.

Fear builds inside me.
It pounds on the walls to be let out.
I plead him with my eyes.
I beg him to see the truth that is hidden within.

I know I cannot speak out.
This would just cause more trouble in the end.
You have convinced him that I am just shy.
He has been lead to believe that I agree with you.

He does not hesitate to give you the posion that will **** me.
He gave you the dose that you requested.
He believed you when you said that it need to be higher.

You fail to inform him that this medication causes me to be ill.
He does not know of the coma state that this medication puts me in.
There is no talk of how this drug causes me to lose my vision.

Why would you inform him.
You have your legal way to end me.
The end of me will not be blamed on you.
It will not tarnish your good name.
After all, you were just following doctor's orders.
Roses are red,
thinking gets dicey.
Speak to a doctor,
before things get too spicy.
Fifehanmi Jul 23
I am in need of a therapist
The voices in my head are driving me insane.

I am in need of a brave warrior and hunter
The beast in me is fighting hard for freedom.

I am in need of a doctor
My health is relapsing again.

I am in need of music to calm me
The storm in my head is raging.

I am in need of love
It is the only cure to my diseases.
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