"ailment" poems
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.
Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.
No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.
Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.
Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.
Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.
It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...
But I see red...
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Happiness bought off agonies
to prolong its life span just for a spur of moment,
agony's ear-deafening silence spoke,
prolong happiness is an ailment in its own way,
you'll die in happiness just by showing me a deceptive ray!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
no one is subscribing
to the universal affection
draining subconscious ailment
that needs no treatment
quaking with fear
shaking with revulsion
looking to prolong
an hour, a minute
stretching one second
into ten seconds
where are we going,
past the streetlights
the crossroads
the commotion
inside the canal boat
that surrounds and accompanies
this road -
will it ends one day,
sometimes, somewhere
and brings an end
to the entire's generation
guilt and disease?
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
I tried sleeping it off, but I often found myself stuck in a dream transitioning to a nightmare.
I tried not sleeping at all, but even the smallest occurences brought you to my eyes.
I tried writing, but even the purest words were tainted by your memory.
I tried loving again, but once a house collapses there is no room where there are no rooms.
I tried everything I could think of to cure the ailment I once thought you were brought upon to expel.
I tried everything until I finally tried everything.
I truly am sorry I couldn't fight it any longer, but the days were too long, and the thoughts were too plenty.
Please think not of it as my quitting, but as your winning.
For this day forward, my beloved, I shall feel no pain.
Goodnight to you for the last, My Last, and may your life be the sweetest dream I forever hoped for you.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Dysphoria is like having to *****
You're sitting there, weak and trembling;
every movement becomes twisted into a bout of nausea.
You're pale and helpless; held captive by your sickness
Every fiber of your body aches to oust the illness
A vile purgation, stinging and hot against your throat
Waves and waves of sickness pouring out of your body
Until finally, feeble and wavering, you stand.
And the color begins to come back to your face.
A relief of all the gross and disgusting feelings
Allowing you to lay down again and rest
Without your head swimming with blight.
But that is not dysphoria.
There is no purge
There is no relief.
You are hit again and again with this nausea
No hope for an end
With every breath, your stomach churns
With every movement, your body shakes
Your eyes are closed and you bite your lip;
Any action can only serve to entice the disease.
No medication could ever relieve such a force
Of this malady, this fever, this ailment.
Nothing can calm the tides of dysphoria.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
I understand why you hurt and
I understand what's been done
But it seems to me you do not understand
That I am not the one.
She was the one that broke your heart,
I'm not her.
She was the one to psychotically start,
I'm not her.
The ones that left silver scars on your perfect face...
I'm not them.
Yet,
You react and flinch at me as though I am your former femme.
Ghosts of girlfriends past
Haunting our sublime present
They begin to scar me too
As you reflect onto me your ailment.
Punished for performing torment, neglect, and malice
When all that I'd done was exaltment, respect, and cherish.
I beg you to lift the mask from your eyes
That will lead to our purest love's demise
For if we were to end on their score
I will forever bear my own wounds that were yours before.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
They line the streets
And on every corner
One "ailment" or the other
A family, sometimes brother and sister.
Crying in a song
Singing with one voice
All covered up in fake injuries
Lamenting about past glories
They line the streets
Crowding every corner
Always a bother
Clinging to our knees
In their deliberately torn dresses
Keep them away from us
Stop them from touching us
With their deceptive illusions
Appealing to our emotions
With empathetic persuasions
And now our money is gone.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
When the wordly things get all the glory
You tend to live a life that's unholy.
Facing the life's painful reality.
Fight againt wicked principalities
Losing your sense of morality.
As you are procrastinating about Learning your biblical A...B...C's
You are counting up your salary
When you should be counting all of God's promises like 1...2...3..
Thats when it begins to Spread like an deadly ****** transmitted Disease
First its sniffle and a sneeze
Next is a cough and a wheeze
Then you'll Barely be able to breathe
Knocking you to your knees
Begging God, "Please Heal Me"
Praying desperately For His Mercy
Then the STD forcefully will begin to tightly squeeze.
Till it becomes an Infection that attacks your every function flowing like a virus.
This sickness removes the color from life and leave you like eyes with damaged to the nerves, pupil and Iris.
This happens when you Subtract Christ from your life like a math equation involving minus.
Being sticken with this ailment will deprives us, If we dont let Christ take the wheel to Drive and guide us.
This Infirmity is very cancerous
It will impact your 6 senses Just like the Symbol for The Eye Of Horous.
Because we are individuals who are like sponges, filled with holes, absorbant and yet very porous.
Beneath the fleshly being lies a spirit
Crying out for help can you hear it?
This deficiency will leave you Shivering from the Chill of it's swift wind's cold breeze
The very thought of this illness makes the soul freeze
Once it realizes it has a contracted a Spiritually Transmitted Disease.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Poverty
This ailment clips my bare soul
My malady hides my ample sight
Penury loads my cognition. Watery hole
Shift not far my destination, yet too blight
It is corral, harvesting my living carcass
I don't egender chaff in the shining sun
this coop is an enclosure of my idleness
Like a jailbird my to be is limited and shun
*One day. My wandring ship will wheel
My fervor will ease and I'll scope my haven
My wounds and lesions will then heal
I will grab my revenue as in Heaven
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Pick a cause, any cause, and slap your receipt on your bumper.
Everyone is doing it.
Everyone needs something to be passionate about.
What's your disease?
Not a one of us has it but **** if we don't act like it.
Walk it off.
Blame federal taxes.
Blame the government.
Why not your cause?
Why not your ailment?
Cus' you know Johnny is going to die if we don't do something,
and Susie's just runnin' outta time.
Buy a teddy bear to show you give a ****
Donate that extra quarter.
It all piles up somewhere.
But who, I mean who ever bothered to cure anything?
A million lab coats are workin' on your answer.
Just give em' a sec,
this stuff takes time.
In the mean time throw another buck in like your the only one.
Like this is the only problem left.
Like Santa only cares about breast cancer
or the church only cares about Alzheimers.
It's got one of their own you know.
Uncle Jim's got cancer of the liver,
where's his save the children fund?
Timmy's got cerebral palsy.
Sara's got Aspergers.
Randy has the Typhoid.
Pick a brand any brand and show you give a ****
Like the only one who gives a **** about the only thing that matters.
Forget them, what about me?
What about my issue?
What about my family?
Does the take a penny leave a penny in the seven eleven make you feel important?
Good.
Look here, buy this pin. 10% goes to Katrina victims
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
It isn't sadness;
that is the biggest misconception.
People treat it like an emotion infecting a blue day,
labeling slightly soaked cheeks as this ailment of the mind.
The term is cracked like a whip in stinging insult:
weak, powerless, loser, outcast.
It is feeling a lack of feeling,
where one exists in a mental state of wanting to be anything but lethargic
yet finding nothing worthwhile inside
with which to take action:
no talent, no skill, no interest.
It is not only not believing one has any energy
but seeing nothing to which to give it,
in yourself, in others, in the world.
It is severe despondency and dejection,
consuming worlds like oozing, viscose magma
dribbling uncontrollably as burning ***** from the mountain's fiery mouth
burping filthily as is sludges onward.
It isn't sorrow, or misery, or despair.
It is inadequacy,
an ebb of interest in life,
with a sliver of interest to take it.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
What need have I for a gaze like wine,
That shows me but shadows, and grants no sign?
What worth is an eye that weaves its tales,
Yet Your veiled beauty, it fails to define?
What use are the forms that drown in the night,
If love does not seek them, nor hearts ignite?
They are but illusions — fleeting and dim,
Songs of mirage, not passion’s true hymn.
Your face — the last veil of all that is hidden,
A whisper of light, yet never unbidden.
So I lowered my gaze, though vision is mine,
Not out of blindness, nor ailment’s sign.
But a shape of hope it has now become,
That even in darkness, Your light has come.
If You choose to appear, let it be through the shade,
Where hearts are lit, and the soul is remade.
These eyes are not fit to behold You unveiled,
But the soul sings of You — in silence, it wailed.
You are a flame that cannot be tamed,
No string of the soul by You is claimed.
A light too distant for eyes to attain,
Yet hearts that are kindled may catch its flame.
And if my heart glows with Your gentle grace,
Then seeing You not — still leaves no trace.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC
healing:
*verb (used with object)
1. to make healthy, whole, or sound; restore to health; free from ailment.
2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile: They tried to heal the rift between them but were unsuccessful.
3. to free from evil; cleanse; purify: to heal the soul.
verb (used without object)
4. to effect a cure.
5. (of a wound, broken bone, etc.) to become whole or sound; mend; get well (often followed by up or over ).*
reconciliation:
*verb (used with object), rec·on·ciled, rec·on·cil·ing.
1. to cause (a person) to accept or be resigned to something not desired: He was reconciled to his fate.
2. to win over to friendliness; cause to become amicable: to reconcile hostile persons.
3. to compose or settle (a quarrel, dispute, etc.).
4. to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent: to reconcile differing statements; to reconcile accounts.
5. to reconsecrate (a desecrated church, cemetery, etc.).*
The task
painful and cumbersome
is to decide
if both can be.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
my younger sister
never allowed fun
to limit her imagination.
at a mere five years old,
she decided she wanted to become an ice cream truck driver
at six,
she wanted to save the world.
seven,
she wanted world peace.
eight,
world peace.
nine,
world peace.
ten,
love.
eleven,
a boyfriend.
twelve years,
nine months and three days,
lighter skin.
i remember her
questioning days in pre-school
what color am i? she’d ask.
and her inquisitiveness
never allowed black to be accepted
as a proper answer.
Ruthie, we share the same color
but not the same complexion.
too much melanin, not enough skin.
the people in your pigment are waiting for a prayer
to be prayed back to the hands that once found
power in praying.
let not the lashes of historical context blind judgment.
they oppressed our kind.
feared the golden in your flesh
so they bore a color wheel of acceptable shades
and suggested brown be bad.
she laughs at black jokes, but don't be one.
and somewhere between spanish sailboats
and slave ships
you lost the strength in stride.
you let them white-wash your worries
and bury your woes in waste.
they beat her blue until she bled acceptability,
not blackness.
But
pale isn’t perfect
and black isn’t bad.
embrace the dirt in your darkness
for what could explain the foundation
that fertilized your fancy
better than you?
your people stomped on grounds
they called home
and sprouted seeds of
brown
black
beautiful
babies,
you.
she questioned God’s existence today.
she questioned why her skin tone was
the color of disease,
but she knows not the shade of ailment.
our culture brought freedom
to a situation where we could only see *******
I want to tell her to not hate God,
not even close,
not even a little bit,
not even at all.
that our black is not rooted in shame.
that she should not feel ashamed,
or silenced,
or transparent.
I want to tell her to
enjoy the diaspora in her Africa.
she's thirteen today.
Nourish your plateau sister.
Find the strength in your coffee,
and never ever let the brown in your *** stop dancing.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.
Behold them mounting every stump,
By speech our liberty to guard.
Observe their courage--see them jump,
And come down hard!
"Walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud,
"And learn from me what you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.
"Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all that pass.
I--I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."
They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make--I wish they'd go and make--
Of Heaven a Hell.
A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
Win wamr applause.
Lo, D lifts up his voice: "You see
The single tax on land would fall
On all alike." More evenly
No tax at all.
"With paper money," bellows E,
"We'll all be rich as lords." No doubt--
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.
As many "cures" as addle-wits
Who know not what the ailment is!
Meanwhile the patient foams and spits
Like a gin fizz.
Alas, poor Body Politic,
Your fate is all too clearly read:
To be not altogether quick,
Nor very dead.
You take your exercise in squirms,
Your rest in fainting fits between.
'Tis plain that your disorder's worms--
Worms fat and lean.
Worm Capital, Worm Labor dwell
Within your maw and muscle's scope.
Their quarrels make your life a Hell,
Your death a hope.
God send you find not such an end
To ills however sharp and huge!
God send you convalesce! God send
You vermifuge.
2.1k
The worest pain of all pains
The unreasonable hatred of persons
The blined conclusion of a grudge
That eats you in and outside
The ailment that weakness the strong
And weights a person by the color of the skin
The insolent behavioral catagory of human
The foreboding labeling that robes person's greatness
Which I call this
'RACISM.'
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 4:16 PM UTC
Grasping vagrancy in one's child
Most simplistic act is not
Fractured maternal heart bleeds wild
Suffered soul the abyss caught
Crucible ever prevails fraught
Futile remedy ailment breeds
Posturing all heedless things
Neglecting primal earthly needs
Harsh inebriant trappings
Averse entirely lucid pleads
Clamping malady straining chest
Wakeful blackness vanished days
Clutched slight suckling babe at my breast
Cast tears enduring malaise
Reflection of having caressed
Tragic sustinence chosen vile
Sighted resolves not to see
Relentless self imposed exile
Indifferent to love me
Offer life to capture a smile
Grasping vagrancy in one's child
Cognizant of special spot
An alternative to beguiled
Alter processes of thought
I am needing to know she fought
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
You loved me so,
to numb my pain,
You served them more.
To end my miseries,
My happiness you abhorred.
You loved me so,
To cure my ailment,
You poisoned my soul.
To vent out my heart,
You closed all doors.
You loved me so,
To quench my thirst,
You offered me sulfur.
A desire to experience heaven,
Hell was raised above.
You loved me so,
Answers when granted,
Were forms of silence.
Breath when needed ,
Vacuum you granted.
You loved me so,
Of wine I dreamt,
Found blood and gore.
Expected images of life,
Death images you swore.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Goodbye
Disgusting excuse of a friend
A confidant
I used to hold such confidence in,
Now a sickly
Pseudo relationship.
You and I
A Despicable desert dry
Duo
I can't spend another second
At this pathetic pretending
That you can offer anything to anyone
But a narcissistic notion
And a nerve-racking
neuroses of the mind
The universe is out to get you
I curse my oblivious self
I had forgotten you are the single
Cohabiter on Earth
Ah, yes
You are undefeated
At the blame game
I've tried to hold honor in defeat
But, I don't have an ounce of energy left
For your egotistical world
You unhinged
Dark gate
You let your steed of self-obsession
Out to stampede the sincerest hearts
You don't even see the *****
Destruction
You deal out
From your deprived reciprocity
Alcohol, your only ailment
Your **** filled words
Tossed out lament and futile
This is where we go our divided way
I will not claim even a freckle on your face
As a friend
I will not look back
Nostalgia is not necessary
I will detach myself from your
Leach like misery
And I'll slowly build strength back
A blood flow of enraged fierceness
Has circulated through my core
And it will be as if
I never had any bit
Of me
Belonging to you
Friend, now foe
Farewell
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
in a studded wood, you river
sapless stream of spruce bark
-no ailment
-no midwife for the sediment
in a black mirror, the seer
needled to the tree-
two ravens
I know what my future holds
watch as the horse balks
white rind eyes
hopeless as stars
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
I no longer possess the will nor train of thought
to focus on education or socializing
And whatever I manage to write
has already been written by this hand
in different variations but with the same emotional ailment
Lethargy lies under my skin
a blanket for my still blood
I cannot shake it free or shrug it off
I have to make an incision
but I cannot make this decision
because procrastination holds the scalpel
and after it keenly sterilizes the blade
and tends to the many precautions of this surgery,
then inevitably becomes distracted by its other senses’ desires,
my disease will have won
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
What a sad state of affairs it is
when the cure becomes the ailment
when hope turns to despair
when loves turns to disdain.
What a sad state of affairs it is
when the free are enslaved
when information has a price
and when laws are unjust.
What a sad state of affairs it is
when people worship their tools;
when the path is worshiped
as opposed to traveled.
What a sad state of affairs it is
when empathy and kindness are mocked
and subtle wickedness is the status quo.
What a sad state of affairs it is
that we find ourselves in today.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC