"allergy" poems
I appreciate your concern, and yes,
I'm still very much alive.
I'm just a father with a full-time job,
and an allergy to social media
I used to work on this in the wee hours
and now I use those hours for....
sleep
Your donations got the app started
- and I'm so grateful -
But the app isn't ready to share yet.
I will get an app finished.
I will.
I will.
I will.
"But when?!"
I won't promise anything yet
but I won't forget either
Sending you all love from
the real world
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 11:39 AM UTC
Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone
Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier
Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets
Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend? Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn
Friend one:
wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs
Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs
Friend one:
Sets up “camp”
Friend two:
holds crap
Friend one:
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”
Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket
Friend one:
pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****
Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie
Friend one:
starts to snore quietly
Friend two:
nudges her
Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”
Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill
Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere
Friend two:
Sneezes yet again
Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship
being how she is one :)
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
Can we talk about the word trigger
Because people are dumb
Teenagers say they are triggered when
They don’t want to write a paper
They miss a goal in soccer
They drop their phone
That is called being annoyed or disappointed
That is not triggered
A trigger is an emotional allergy
Some that triggers distress or panic
A trigger is loud noises cause a panic attack
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
Sixth grade was the first time I remember feeling out of place in my own body. I tried on a shirt from the year before and realized I wasn't the same size anymore. I felt strange for a moment, then brushed it off. I threw away the shirt the next day. By the end of middle school I knew I was bigger than my friends, but I tried to avoid thinking about it. I just wanted to fit in like the rest of them.
Freshman year I got called fat and decided to make myself invisible. Treated every food as if it an allergy. Lost 30 pounds in 60 days. Told my parents I already ate. Told my friends I was eliminating junk food. Told no one my secret for years.
Gained my weight back then lost it just as quickly. The never ending cycle of starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Nobody notices when I fall off track because disordered eating is only cared about when the victim is skinny enough that you can see the evidence. I have been terrified for four years to speak out for fear nobody would believe me when I told them.
No one expects a bigger girl to not know how to feed herself.
There is something to say about a culture so warped that I get upset by the fact I don't have a stereotypical eating disorder body.
Sometimes I wish it was more obvious, so at least that way they could see how hard I'm trying to be perfect... To fit in.
America, am I not sick enough for you already?
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
She comes to me with
seductive expectation
in her alluring grey eyes,
Bewitchingly she crawls
onto my lap, my chest.
Our mutual desire for closeness
quickening the mood
She puts her arms around my neck,
Our eyes locked in an intimate dance.
I take her beautiful face in my hands
stroking it's soft contours, as she
closes her eyes pleasurably succumbing
to the gentleness of my touch.
She begins to softly purr.
We both understand these brief
loving moments can never last,
owing to my damnable allergy to cats,
Thus, soon back outside she must ****
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
All of the Gnomes from around the globe
Just sneezed their very last sneeze
They've had enough of this allergy stuff
And from the garden they're taking their leave
They packed up their bags, donned their bonnet's and caps
Left in the cover of night
Said goodbye to the trees along with the birds and the bees
And headed out for the big city life
No one had a clue from which wind the Gnomes blew
It was Wa-La they were suddenly there
From Bankers to Lawyers to Tele-marketer callers
They infiltrated every career
Soon they were drinking like fountains as the bills started mounting
With the pressures of the ride to the top
Pills became an everyday need to stay awake and fall asleep
Not sure when this madness will stop
On top of it all they started to cough from the smog
And wondered which one was the worst
The garden allergies or this black lung disease
Either way the Gnomes felt mankind's curse
So they turned in their suits and their ill gotten loot
And took a trip back to the suberbs
Now in the garden they smile cause they know all the while
Yes...it could be a lot worse
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
wrapped up in aluminum foil
head resting on cracked concrete
surrounded by winking lights
and blinking eyes
warmth from the glow of humility
basking in the rays of a two dollar toaster
cardboard dwelling and trashbag scenery
paper towel t-shirt, styrofoam socks
salt and pepper lunchtime
pedastal reconstruction
hot coffee burnt tongue
peanut allergy and poisoned water
locked cabinet, rotting condiments inside an unplugged refrigerator
dying romance read only in magazines
purple heart scrawled on my arm
syringe full of bourbon plunged directly in my eye.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC
I'm allergic
Is it worst case?
It will eventually end my life.
An allergy that would cost your life?
Yeah. Precisely. Totally.
May I know?
Losing you.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection he's going to die either way what's it matter?
buzz of fly crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for
instantaneous brain death
hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
2 years, 5 months, 19 days.
That's the last time a man
Looked me in my eyes
And told me
He loved me.
Nearly one thousand days have passed
Since someone looked at me
Like I was his whole world.
And now I'm at the point
Where I wonder if I'll be alone
Forever,
Not like the cliches,
The woman who chooses a career over a family,
Or the crazed lady who clings to her cats...
No, just a girl
Growing into a young woman
Who doesn't even remember
What it feels like to have someone
Love her.
Not sure if I've really ever even been loved,
At least not like it happens in the movies.
I've continued to pine hard,
Chasing the affection of conflicted souls
Who never bother to appreciate me,
Those cliched types who are
"Too damaged" to really love someone.
Sometimes I wonder
If I'm gonna be able to accept love
If I finally find it,
My fragmented soul having grown
An allergy to kind gestures,
Compliments,
Or anything that actually might be deemed
Indicative of affection.
Slowly sinking down to the baseboards,
Rotted and gnarled roots
Clinging deep to the underground,
My body dissolved into an anterior realm of
Cynicism
As I grasp the realities of my own
Unrequited love,
My yearning to demand more,
Tied up and twisted with my
Fear to stop settling
And actually obtain
"better."
2 years, 5 months, 19 days.
I'm just hoping it doesn't take me
As long
To look at the
Golden brown eyes that I
See in the mirror and tell me
I love me
Enough to not care who
Else might.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
It tastes sour in my skin
The water diverts his eyes upon the curves
I rub them with my fingernails
The tips cried for disturbance.
The pebbled stones in purity
Spit out their dirt with every moist
The need to exhale the longing days
The desolation of their own race.
It stinks with the cover of my skin
No vinegar to pour on the occuring reds
No tablet nor capsule to jive the tummy
There, I'll groove with the ratio of water.
I left the leaves on the dirt
And yes, those gravel and mated things in the sack
Alone am I, here in my own nest
Watching the faded stars and grasping the air.
Neither can I reach the ultimatum
The shutters in me were all aware and trained
The body in rest be put in silence
For the war of itch diverts the angle.
(6/13/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
I would be Concerned when you clicked your face,
Dotted with Spots hungry Mosquitoes bore
But why must you advertise such sad grace,
Your Promising Suave many Girls adore?
I told you to care for yourself once again
And preserve your Form from such Allergy
Lucky they found it Cute, and cried out: "Ben!
Come play with us. We won't find it Funny."
Don't Worry. They're Serious. Try to Believe
How your Charm treats you Special as you are
Look! Your Windows open. Ready to Give
That One Direction to your Guiding Star.
And this from him: Your Dad's Loving Light shine
Becomes the Best of YOU; His Heart in thine.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
I've never seen anything like you.
Someone that works so hard for what he wants
And never gives up on anything.
You’re so loving and daring.
You still have the same energy from when you were a puppy.
I loved when we took our long walks and you pointing everything out.
You’re able to remember everything.
You keep coming back to me and I want to keep you forever.
But sadly I am becoming allergic to you.
Every time I want you to stay, I begin to feel pain.
I know how happy I make you and how you never want to leave me.
And me, I just want to have you by my side till the end of time.
This allergy has been getting stronger and stronger.
I wish it never came up.
You make me smile and laugh and I just want to keep you close to me.
Maybe over the years it will calm down and I can play again.
Until then, know that you will always be
My buddy, my pal, my best friend,
My hunting dog.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
Don't have a clue
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
I don't like you
Blast through the door
Snap your fingers to the trigger pull
You want some more?
Got some lead, give you a belly full
Eat up, yum yum
Nutritious like a vitamin
Gonna give you one
Or two, three, four - Seventh deadly sin
Tasted the **** at the bottom of the well
Tried too hard in case you couldn't tell
Heard you mumble something under your breath
So I beat you mentally 'til you got nothin' left
Waiting for the inevitable
Ding, ding, times up, now you're moldable
Crash, bang
It's all the same
You've always been the one to blame
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
His owner didn't quite know why
Maybe asthma or an allergy,
Maybe it was a cough or even a sigh.
He was a cat and that was no mystery.
He looked like a normal pet,
Colored just like a giraffe,
But, often at the strangest times
He made a sound just like a laugh.
One day a salesman came to call.
Bliggle's owner was a widow.
And sitting with Bliggle by her side
They watched him through the window.
The salesman knocked, she let him in,
He looked at her and Bliggle.
He told her all about his wares.
And the cat began to giggle.
The man went red and sweaty faced
And waved his hands and told her
She must buy his 'Whizzyclink'!
He would stay there until he sold her.
The widow said she didn't care
If the thing cost a buck and a half.
She wouldn’t buy the kind of gizmo
That could make a kitty cat laugh.
The salesman fumed and shouted then
So she opened up the door.
The salesman went all afluster,
Then he stomped across the floor.
The spoilsport then cursed at her
And called her 'an old bat',
And in his rage and fury
He tripped over Bliggle the cat.
Not hurt at all, the cat just sat
And stared at him awhile.
The salesman gathered up his goods
And Bliggle slowly smiled.
The salesman soon gave up his trade,
He could not live down the rumor,
That he lost his art to pitch a sale
To a cat with a sense of humor.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
i saw a little mouse and fed him with some cheese
then suddenly the mouse he began to sneeze
the poor chap looked ill like he had the flu
i took him to the vet to see what he could do
then he looked at him examining around
looking everywhere with no flu to be found
it must have been the cheese he said he has an allergy
when he ate the cheese with him did not agree
so i took him home and gave him cheese no more
now the mouse is well again just like he was before
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
The back-end ****** allergy
Has happened
Once again
To Cumbrians
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
We all cough.
You hear it at home, outside,
Out the streets, in the subway,
"Ugh-Hhuh!"
If you think about it,
A world without coughs would be quite
strange,
Indeed.
Stranger perhaps than a world without love;
Coughs are ubiquitous; Love is not.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
spores! spores!
fluttering demon spawn everywhere!
fluffy white bleached miniscule chimney sweep umbrellas
cascading down like so many newly born spiders
on their silky web shoots
coming over the hill and roof to attack
traversing miles to my nose
which weeps
in sneezes so magnificent
they'd frighten off an elephant
I tell you, for every reproductive winged plant seedling I will counter with fifteen crumpled white tissues
evil evil pollen, the curse, the allergy, which trapped me in the castle in my youth, on many a lovely spring day
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Jew harp, Plath hearted, dream seamstress
who sits in the dark.
Who made me live here.
In a small room inside my head, little dictator
and I lit this place with music, just for you
Where all sounds but songs are dead-headed
Just before they bloom.
Totalitarian angel, rage-filled fragile smoke
who censored my tower of Babel.
Who tamed my very rivers of song
to breathe the moon-tones as vapor, until as a sun
you’d rise to scar these rivers, every single one
wherever you find them, with your face.
No matter how they run.
Paranoid animal with an understandable
aversion to caress and kinetic poetry.
Damsel who births her own dragons
like the fertility of hell, again and again.
Life and love belong to the monsters
the monsters you make of them
but all of them I’d befriend.
and I wonder.
I could chew my pen hand off
snared coyote.
I could swallow my tongue
dancing to dead note barks.
I could visually inhale that sun.
Take in all I can.
To get the eyelid ink spots.
The branded silhouettes
busying my eyes as I sleep
each night as I sleep.
Without this allergy to identity
you could turn this world backwards in me.
That hell of a snow-globe you hold
if only you knew what kind of world you controlled.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
I found a spoon in my garden.
Could you even call this a garden?
The planters are all full of
pine needles and stagnancy.
Even the bench I'm sitting on
is rotting and covered in ants.
Anyway this spoon was barely visible
among the dead leaves and dog ****
Not rusty, save for the edges that had been
knicked by a lawn mower at some time
and then bent perfectly
down the
middle.
A memory of playing superheroes
disrupts my study.
Someone was trying to prove their
strength by bending it
"with their mind".
Eventually we tired of our
mind's lack of capabilities
and used brute force to
bend the dreaded spoon
but the celebration was nonetheless
sweet after being able to bend
our mother's cutlery.
Back then the garden was tended.
My mother put us to work
and my
"secret garden" was born partly
out of my imagination and
a lack of reality.
My mother called one plant
"lamb's ear" and I didn't
argue because it was the softest
thing I had ever felt or ever will feel.
Did she make that name up?
Surely, she wouldn't lie to me.
And now that lamb's ear, like
everything else is covered in
a thick, itchy layer of pine straw
and stagnancy. To let the plants
even begin to heal from their
prolonged exposure to cold,
mistifying darkness I would have
to scratch through the
allergy-inducing tentacles.
Push them out of the way.
Dig up the dead, dry earth,
plant new seeds and tend to them
arduously--all while wondering
why couldn't my family just
take care of what they had?
but then I notice this spoon.
I've gotten carried away again
and now I forgot to write about
what I meant to write about in
the first place.
It's not healthy to let things rust.
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Ordinary people
carry action figures
on their dashboard
and stop in still traffic
on their way to work
to stare at the circus billboard
wishing they could be
the incredible flying man
who soars above the Ferris wheel
and disappears beyond the horizon.
The human cannonball lives
with his mother
in a musty basement
filled with old baseball cards,
beer can memorabilia,
an ash stained billiards table,
Chicago Bulls jerseys,
and pictures of Goldie Hawn
and Evil Knievel.
The human cannonball has
high blood pressure,
frequent anxiety,
a wheat allergy,
a jaw that pops
when opened too wide,
a crick in his neck,
a bruised shoulder
from falling
into the net
over and over.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
this summer,
I am half the girl I used to be.
I need to cry
like I need to sneeze
from an allergy to being alive.
day to day,
the urge to paint everything white
and disappear becomes
stronger.
i've got a pressure in my head
and a weakness in my bones
like someone
punched the inside of my body.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
You tread around me
like a crack in the sidewalk,
counting my vertebrae for fractures
after each time you toe the line.
I've learned to keep
an epi-pen on hand in case
you slip up and feed me the truth.
You can never be too careful.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC