"biochemistry" poems
I have studied
my head
for my whole life,
and I've read
a little psychology
and a lot of religion
and my head
has been studied
by doctors,
so thoughts
interest me
and it seems
like there
is this voice
in there
who is something
that I could call me
and these other
voices
who I could call
voices
or thoughts
or whatever,
but, you know,
it dawned on me
that all it is
is the action
of electromagnetic biochemistry
in my head,
and I think
oh...
so that's what
I've gotten
so crazy about
for all these years.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Imagine how salt and water
hydrogen and oxygen
ball and stick models
all the real things
create the intangible
obese sadness crowding out
skinny gems of budding joy
the moment I try to shed my skin
eyes cloudy
I can't see
straight anymore.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
Lust, attraction.. attachment.
I'm at the mercy of biochemistry.
Cupid with his arrow, shot my soul.
In a ridiculous fashion.
It makes no sense.. is it supposed to?
Flushes cheeks, my hearts racing.. hands are clammy.
Never met a soul I was close to.
The dopamine, could be the nicotine.
I'm blinded.. such a beautiful face
The adrenalin & serotonin coursing through my veins.
I find I'm tempted, temporarily insane.
Cupids star struck victim.
Vasopressin & oxytocin in my nervous system.
Tell me are these the drugs for long term commitment?
I just had to laugh.. in my experience, good things never last.
Like the ocean, my love for you was vast.
I guess cupid missed his shot
The time has come, your love went past.
Like cocain, I'm sure there's a better way.
It was all just chemicals anyway..
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
You may think that you are a dull gray
Quite like heavy clouds that casts dark shadows
Or those ***** dusts you sweep out of the house
But I think
You're a yellow
Like the highlighter you use to study every night
You're a red
Like the big book you read on biochemistry
You're a purple
Like the rims of your thick glasses that people make fun of
You're an orange
Like the ball of this game you don't know how to play
You're a blue
Like the only pair of jeans you seem to have
You're a green
Like the lizard you keep in your room as a pet
You're amazing,
Fun, and full of surprises
And I won't allow you to think otherwise.
So please stop seeing yourself as
Someone who is
No one,
Boring, lame, uninteresting because
Your spirit is uniquely splattered with colors
And it never fails to brighten my day.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
dear immoral,
salt
seed of
s
la
ughter
enticingly, affably, salt
compassionate psychic stimulates
the pigheaded exclamation
compassionate osculation stands
glove
gives callously
equally, nonetheless, equally
quarrelsome loving glove
a persnickety longshoreman
each persnickety biochemistry
is the
longshoreman cancerous?
A ambiguous certification
a stupid symphony
leads a wizardry
a road worker.
No content,
j
us
t web,
you
r bright face
is suffered with an imagery.
Bridge operator:
agile
computation
today, randomly ordinarily
ah! A
trembling
je
we
ler
confidant loves increasingly
languidly, sociably, spontaneously
Look! A poor ***********
perpetual on my
quick
bible;
my psychotherapy roves
into a
bleeding seashore.
Oxygen
tickles beautifully
boisterous, antisocial, odorous
Look! A quivering predisposition
the
psychoanalysis's
preferably quick
psych
otherapy-
how
ebbing it is!
It has the the depression snowed ordinarily.
It repels the grin into the seashore
a
punishing scream.
Cataclysm predicts perfectly
stupidly sensually noncommittal
unchanging rambling cataclysm
in t
he
unharnessing camaraderie
a perfect board
overshadows
his youth
so
that it is contemporary
grin
quick psychotherapies
I repel quick
this punishing kennel.
The chore
into appreciated camaraderies
psychotherapies rove in it.
A ink stick:
into appreciated ca
mar
aderies
psychotherapies rove in
my own gossip.
Dogmatic, unrealistic cliff
grip
of firefly
realistically, subtly, cliff
Situationist
on my quick bible;
my paralysis roves
onto a crazy seashore.
Situationist on a
journey;
my
paralysis ambles
onto a
crazy hotel.
A equality
onto procreation kings
paralys
is
amble outside of the kings.
Buzzard: omnipotent nullification
extraordinarily, perfectly, saintly
that buzzard is ambitious
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Jungian archetypes dance on the strings of my consciousness,
they play rhythmic music inside the logic unit of my mind.
Some where deep in there a spirit wonders of it is the sum of its parts, bit more or a slave to my own biochemistry; Trapped inside the house of mirrors ever echoing the same.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
In brown eyes , flame beckons oxygen from all directions , the vacuum filled by shrieking winds ! Soil receiving the dead , corruption intermingled with Earths biochemistry , perpetual change , continuity , rebirth ! Blistering days , sun shower in the heat of day , thirsting for cool waters , quenched by the marriage of fire and ice , high above naked lovers ! Rapture ! Hope of the flowers that bloom in Spring .. Honeybees spread the chemical cues of life eternal , abundant and constant . In brown eyes on a cool Winters day !
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Here I sit
In this big blue chair
where thousands have sat before.
Stories of them
exist
saying:
**** you”
“I’m so bored”
and perhaps
my favorite,
“I must not tell lies”
I must not tell lies
which is why when you approached me
I was intrigued.
The triangular shadows under your eyes,
the scruff on your face
the words that left your lips-
a man you are
and a woman I am
you left me wanting more
simply from your sweet melody
of biochemistry
and 40 hour workweeks
just to make your ends meet.
But now you’re gone
and I’m still here
in this big blue chair
watching the trees stretch for the last rays of sun
the leaves
on the bricks below
dance
in shades of fire:
reds, oranges
and golden yellows;
the death of summertime.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
I’m a bit of a sensualist.
First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.
Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.
Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.
And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.
“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
.
*Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE*
.
.
Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 8:39 AM UTC
My mom asks me what I'm studying,
And I say The heart.
Her interests peaks,
Because she's always seen
The body as a work of art.
She wants to know more,
So I give her the brief about pumps,
What makes it faster or slower,
But I don't want to talk about this,
In truth, I haven't told my parents much since I started to go here.
We've studied anatomy,
And how bleeding works,
Biochemistry,
And why swollen red skin
Seems to always hurt.
But the more I've taken in,
The less I've given out.
As if being an expert for only you
Is what becoming a doctor is all about.
I tell my friends my grades are good,
Though I definitely study less than I could.
And after saying school is fine,
I skip to some other line
Of thought,
Like I suddenly don't have the time
To include my friends in this new life
Of mine.
It's not that they wouldn't understand,
Because these pals are smart as hell
And it's not that they wouldn't want
More details than "I'm doing well."
And it's not that to learn,
You have to forget,
About the people who matter,
Who got you where you needed to get.
It's that this world is skull-crushingly,
Mind-numbingly full
And at the end of the day,
Escape seems the goal.
But creating two worlds
Makes it easy to leave one behind.
And I wouldn't want to lose the rhythm
Of my values
Just to learn more medical rhymes.
So I need to work harder
To tell my mom about the heart.
To make these two lives
A little less apart.
How there're really two pumps,
No, really there're four,
And in some people's hearts,
You can hear a dull roar
Of a valve slamming shut
Or opening at the wrong time.
And if you've got pulses in your feet,
You're doing just fine.
To tell my friends the truth,
Instead of sloughing it off,
That asthma and emphysema
May have a similar cough.
Or that there are really two systems
That your body uses to clot.
And platelets aren't the only
Thing that you got.
To become a good doctor,
I have to become a good man.
And I thought until now
That was a simple enough plan.
But it might not just be about
Good bedside manner and empathy.
It might be more about how I treat
Those important to me.
If I can give everyone Zach
Without a dodge or excuse,
I'll become a doctor in training,
AND a doctor in truth.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.
This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.
We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.
Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.
I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times in the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain the ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).
Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings
May 18, 2025
May 18, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC
Motivated, I’ve always been.
When I was five years old and also when I turned eighteen
That Medicine is all I want to do and all I want to practice.
Anatomy of the human body is definitely not something I’d want to miss.
Years of hard work and turning into a night owl
Just for getting into a med school that I’m in now.
Still looking for my niche though a year of it has passed
Unable to work hard like I used to in the past.
Distractions creep around me, and probably has already engulfed me
Because I look for every opportunity to flee,
Or search for external motivation which I never need,
Or sit and brainstorm for this poetry.
I know I should be studying but I don’t.
When the consequences struck, I moan.
We are asked to combine and study Anatomy, Biochemistry and Physiology.
But are we given the time to do that? Not really!
I expected it to be so much fun.
But all we are being trained for is how to be number one.
Really depressing, but the training has to include competitiveness
Because we have to be our best
Or else our mistakes would **** innocents
Instead of saviors we would end up as villains.
The gravity of this my shallow mind has forgotten.
Has made me ignorant and repulsive to compassion.
Or why else on a holiday would I waste my time?
Instead of studying, write a self-obsessed rhyme?
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
My dorm room was bright this morning. It was disorienting.
The sky outside was a cloudless, striking neon blue.
The air was so crisp and clean, I could hardly feel it going in and out.
It all sparked to create a diffused sense of well-being.
Gone, it seems, were the concrete bunker feels of winter.
There's been some loose talk of ‘spring’ lately—I thought it was fake news—but from my third floor lattice windows I could see what looked like people outside. They were walking in the sunshine, riding bikes, throwing frisbees, kicking hacky sacks, a couple was making out in the grass—it was a riot of activity.
Sunny skiffed out of her room (which looks like a hotel room trashed by some rock star), she seemed lighter than air. Three days ago, she announced there was someone of “particular personal significance,” in her life (translate: girlfriend).
Start the schmaltzy, string-drenched soundtrack—love is in the air.
Our challenge now is to carve out a poised and measured final act to our undergraduate years. There’s a scurrying, cynosure, beehive, hyperfocus to labs and classes, a heightened, almost cinematic quality, as if, up to now, we’ve only been practicing for some undefined ‘real thing.’
.
.
Songs for this:
Daylight by Harry Styles
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing by Michael McDonald
Dizzy (feat. Alfie Templeman & Thomas Headon) by chloe moriondo
.
.our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list.
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 9:22 AM UTC
Tongue Tied
I have searched all over
Beneath the deep covers of seasons and times
Books and even fairy tales
Just to find a trace
A trace of elements
Of chemical rudiments
That should explain this biochemistry
My heart; an antenna seeking a frequency
Its fast beating, a signal that you're within reach...my reach.
Aye! Do you even understand the psychology of you and I?
You could be a million miles
And yet
Your smiles
I hear
And yet
The distance between us is just six paces
And two window panes
And I'm yet to negotiate the planes
To say the first hello.
So they say
We are made in twos
Pair of opposites
Right and wrong
Me and you
And no matter how I fancy you
I'm sure we couldn't get around the first hello
'Cause in my dreams
We meet
Of course you are always fine
And I always get your attention long enough
Just to get tongue tied again.
____
#winks
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
I have a confession to make. I’m a trust fund baby
and a member of the educated Elite.
In my defense, I'm a newcomer in both categories.
I got my trust fund at 18 and graduated Yale University this year.
I was a double major, at university, in biochemistry and celibacy,
until as a sophomore, I met this tall, handsome, awkward, disheveled, physicist in a coffee shop and knavishly schemed my way into his life.
(He insists that he knavishly schemed his way into my life.)
Let’s get poetic-ish..
I said,
*“Let’s start a flirtationship
abstract, immaterial and fun.
We have a little chemistry - an interesting.. tension.
Could we just have an involvement and not read into it?
Something friction free, hands free, germ free, and guilt free?
Let's get a pizza, don't worry, I'm paying."*
Of course, that was a lie.
I had designs, I wanted him in the utmost
and honestly, when do I not get what I want?
"I was by far the knavishist." I admitted.
"Then you don't know knavishEST.," he responded, shaking his head 'no'.
.
.
songs for this:
Honeypie by JAWNY
Really Saying Something by Bananarama & Fun Boy Three
Hanging On the Telephone by Blondie
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 10:55 AM UTC
(a series of micro vignettes)
Chella and I are reading our analysis assignments together because that’s how we link and build.
We read out loud too, because how else can you judge the flow?
When my phone, lying on the table, jiggled. The caller ID read, “Tommy’s girlfriend.”
Chella gave me a little look. “I never change anyone’s ID,” I confessed. “Neither do I.” Cellia agreed.
“She broke up with him years ago..”
I feel sorry for panhandlers, I don’t see them often but I saw one yesterday. Who carries cash any more (Noone)?
Along the same line, Chella and I are wired, it-girls - we’re noise cancelled. Were you talkin’ to us?
We’re hard to engage, not because we’ve got attitude - we just can’t hear you. It’s irritating when I have to tap-out of some stream to hear people.
Even if it’s the waiter from the bistro downstairs delivering their exemplary frozen-strawberry-smoothies and burgers.
Later, after the pool, we showered. As I was toweling my hair, I studied myself in the mirror.
“My skin is SO ******* up,” I moaned, “I need a ‘rescue spa’ ****** Let’s go to New York (city)—I’m taking you there.”
“There’s a ‘Forever Young Spa’ on Beacon street.. about a mile from here,” Cellia offered.
“Ever been there?” I asked.
“No, but the ad says they have an AI-powered massage robot. I’m curious.”
“Ooo! Call ‘em up, see if it does happy-endings.” I laughed.
“We could get a home unit.” Cellia updogged.
“I think we’d need the industrial version,” I added, “that’s the sell.”
.
.
A little playlist for this:
Nothing Can Stop Us by Saint Etienne
Goodbye by The Sundays
Our cast:
Chella, A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida. She's a Harvard Master's candidate with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale. She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things.
Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia and a Harvard Master's candidate with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale.
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC