#eczema
We are the unfortunate patients,
we can’t have true bed rest.
Baby skin can’t appear at its best
as pain blooms in every itch.
Little bubbles whisper poison under the skin.
We fumble with the bedside switch.
We can’t shine outside.
Histamine, cytokines rebel inside.
Can’t sleep,
the sleepy lamp cries at the bedside.
Barely surviving battle wounds
we never chose.
Still, the world points them out,
making our identity lose.
Cruel scratches, a mess of red.
Falling out of love with the skin
inside our head.
How much can baby skin endure?
This world still has no cure.
Maybe like the tiny root of depression,
it never ends
maybe it only becomes sure.
Untold struggles become compassion.
The beautified world is cruel.
Here, battle marks hide,
a trembling mess,
insecure under long sleeves and dresses.
Beauty, beauty
secrets more than cuisine.
Magic potions for skin,
a new routine.
Here, our battered skin
can’t take those potions,
your aesthetic, magical lotions.
We choose to be normal
just to lose the minimal.
Eczema feels like a curse,
dusted inside a world of magical books and looks.
No cure, just flare-ups
hatred, trapped and insecure.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 12:11 AM UTC
At one point I couldn’t find love to purchase
I thought you ended those searches
but now I’m getting nervous
thinking I might be allergic
to your nature absurdist
and I can’t swerve this
feeling I’m worthless
stripped of all purpose
boils start to burn us.
I’ve got an eczema
sense of a
relationship
rashly lips
can’t kiss
who they wish.
I can’t leave the house
or your eczema breaks out
you scream and shout
and make me doubt
if your love is devout
when you treat me like trout.
Stress boils through my skin
after you tell me I win
and leave my house of sin
leaving a gift in
an itch
given by a witch
to make me twitch.
You’re the itch that rashes
causing unnecessary scratches
leaving a width of lashes
on my skin in patches
your personality matches
the blistering ashes
of my skin that detaches.
I keep itching
I keep scratching
to be switching
from your thrashing
into comfort
to numb hurt
of dumb words
creating thunder.
A doctor gave me a prescription
to avoid your dereliction
and feral diction.
He gave me an antidote
in a plan of hope
helping me cope
with saying nope.
The rash lingers
like poison fingers
choking me
woefully
draining life
like rain at night
I pray for light
and wait inside.
I found cortisone
in the form of a home
with a man
so I’m in demand
not your empty hand
red from the brand
of all the discomfort you withstand
now that you’re itching like sand
seeing I’m no longer ******
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 5:46 AM UTC
There are so many things
that you can judge upon;
all I ask from you is to act as
if my soul has long since gone.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
My knuckles look like coke and roses
The winter bit them hard; they cracked
I **** on them; they bleed their noses
I fear they are forever chapped
My knuckles look like milk and lipstick
Dressed in cream and Vaseline
I'm oiled up so says the dipstick
With pink supreme silk gasoline
My knuckles look like wine and diamonds
I deck them out most everyday
They never mind the crime and violence
I keep them moist with Tanqueray
My knuckles look like snow and crowbar
They finally just had enough
I tried to run; I didn't go far
My knuckles, unlike me, are rough
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
Skin.
Skin by definition is a thin layer of tissue forming a natural outer covering of the body.
Skin is for people to tan, to clothe, apply make up to... to touch.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Mosquito bites.
Mosquito bites by definition are the itchy bumps that appear after mosquitoes use their proboscis to puncture your skin and feed on your blood.
Mosquito bites are for people to feel, to itch, to bleed, to scab and repeat. The entire cycle.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Summer.
Summer by definition is the warmest season of the year.
Summer is for t-shirts, shorts, exposure, swimming, tanning, skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
"It's Summer, put on some shorts."
"It's Summer, why aren't you wearing a t-shirt?"
"It's Summer, let's go swimming!"
Summer is a time for these questions, these statements, these words to fester, to breed like muosquitos, to sting like the bite of a bug.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Dermatologist.
A Dermatologist by definition is a doctor that treats diseases, in the widest sense, and some cosmetic problems of the skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
The Dermatologist tells me to use this and to use that. Lotions and potions, as my mother would say. Slather, rub, treat, swallow.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Skin care.
Skin care by definition is the range of practices that support skin integrity, enhance its appearance and relieve skin conditions.
Get up, shower, sterilizing soap, body oil, steroid cream, medicated lotion, drink water and repeat the process before bed. My daily cycle.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Seesaw.
A Seesaw by definition is to change rapidly and repeatedly from one position, situation, or condition to another and back again.
Seesaw, to push off the ground, into the air with a sense of victory and joy, only to fall hard to the ground with stinging ankles and sore calf's.
This isn't a playground anymore.
The Dermatologist says that if I don't get better, they'll have to put me on the pill.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
The Pill.
The Pill is an oral treatment for my condition. My eczema.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water.
The risk associated with the pill- Osteoporosis, Muscle weakness, Mood and Behavioral changes, Increase in chance of developing cataracts, Stomach Ulcers and Liver Failure.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water. The daily cycle.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab.... **** it.
I would rather my liver fail and my bones go brittle then to be stared at on the street!
"What is that?"
"Are you okay?"
"What's wrong with her?"
"Is it contagious?"
"Don't touch me!"
I itch, my nails dragging over my scarred skin and pulling at wounds. I bleed, the welts that crack and leak drops from the red river that flows silently beneath my skin. I scab, leaving horrible lumps of ugly, hardened flesh to coat the once smooth area. I repeat....
Well, I don't want to repeat! I want to be able wear the clothes I want, to walk the streets with out the judging and questioning eyes of the passersby on me, to be held and touched by a significant other without the fear that their fingers will fall upon my skin and recoil in disgust!
Without looking in the mirror and wondering when I can finally begin to love myself.
I decided that today is the day! No more Itching! No more Bleeding! No more Scabs! It's time to break this god **** cycle.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 9:12 PM UTC
no one would love me for these scars and scratches and tears on my skin. worry, stress and fear embed themselves under my epidermis and i struggle to live a normal life by wearing my favorite sweaters on most days outside to hide the marks. most of them don't realize or see it. that is good. only at night when it turns itchy and yells to be touched again, to be scratched again, to be bled again, and a fresh wound opens up. i have lived with this for almost seventeen years. and it only surfaced in its prominence at the dawn of my twentieth year. it must be a sign for a premature, impending doom. it keeps me up at night and even my brain wishes to stop my entire system but what can it do? it can only speak and think for so long. it keeps me tired in the day and my suicidal heart pounds in beats of "NO" in my chest, blood rushing faster when i scratch once more. the heart can't even stop itself from feeling the itch, the pain, the anger, the remorse, the pity.
i don't know when this will go, just as i don't know how it came to me.
i just want rest. i just want peace. with others and myself. peace within myself.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
It's time again for your inspection,
Time to make some minor corrections;
Squeezing out each new infection
Eliminating imperfections.
It's not cathartic -it's not bold
To just sit back and lose your hold
and let this lunacy unfold
unendorsed but uncontrolled
And still there's time to pretend
This ritual's come to and end
And soon you'll be on the mend
And you won't need sympathy from friends
But YES! You really had a go;
the flakes of flesh did fall like snow,
ten jagged daggers, dripping, soak
In a red and ragged afterglow.
And then just when you think you know
it's over and you've stemmed the flow
a tiny tumour starts to grow
and it's time again to face your foe.
the bell tolls and the round begins,
this time it's not about who wins
the wide mouthed open sore still grins
forgiving you for all your sins.
And when you stopped your childish games
the mirror did burst into flames
and burned, and now that remains
are tatters, ashes and bloodstains.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
There's a yellow green gas,
You can't see in your glass.
Sometimes you can tell,
It's there by the smell.
It does a great job removing bacteria,
Like Diphtheria,
Or even Listeria.
But what do you think,
Happens to the chlorine in your drink?
I don't want to alarm,
But there's a chance it might harm.
It protects at a price,
Attacking our bacteria that are nice,
And I'm sure it excels,
At killing your own cells,
Forcing new ones to grow,
When a mistake could cause woe.
Some studies have found it an enhancer,
Of bladder and bowel cancer.
Whether old or young,
Do you want it in your lung?
You have the power,
To remove it from your shower.
It's rather grim,
To have to breathe it when you swim.
You're more likely to wheeze,
Or sneeze.
Do you think it will please,
Your inflammatory bowel disease?
Perhaps it's the key,
To why there's Crohns and UC.
Do you think that your skin,
Might become a little thin,
And be filled with dread,
As it starts to turn red.
Can you not feel,
How it's harder to heal?
It makes our tissues grow old,
From what I've been told.
Our cells can only divide,
A few times before they're stupified.
With asthma and chlorine on a map,
You can see they overlap.
Sadly in the West,
Not everyone has guessed,
That there may be a link,
With the gas in our drink.
“But!”, I hear you cry,
“Without it people will die.”
Let go of your dread,
We can use something instead.
The answer is well known,
It's called 'ozone'.
Made from pure water,
It's gone when it reaches my daughter,
Unlike chlorine it's life is brief,
What a relief.
There's many a city,
That make it with electricity,
Splitting water into hydrogen,
And best of all, oxygen!
For ozone is made from O2,
Yes, it's true!
Imagine if you had,
Water with nothing they add.
Already there's Paris and Nice in France,
Where people can dance.
San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA,
Have water that's ok.
And Osaka in Japan,
Now use this plan.
But you don't have to be rich,
To make the switch.
Ask a clever committee,
To stop chlorine in your city.
See if you can arrange,
To have your water change.
I hear you shout,
“Can 'I' get this chlorine out?”
If you leave water in a jug overnight,
What's left will be slight.
Boiling will send it away in the air,
So there's no need to despair.
You can also remove it with a filter,
Or a water distiller.
To learn more have a look,
At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC