Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Michelle Lynne Sep 2013
To be a human being is to be riddled with thousands of imperfections.
Full of flaws; scrapes, spots, and scars cover broken and bruised skin.
But robots need not fear and fret about fixable, trivial defections.

Humans perpetually throw themselves at cold, apathetic, greedy clinicians
Only to be given terrible news and told there is no cure for a horrid death.
Meanwhile, robots bask in the glow of love from a passionate technician.

Humans can never agree when it comes to the dealings of the heart.
Always one-sided, they take turns ruthlessly destroying each other.
Robots, oblivious to the issues of any and all feeling, live freely.

Naive humans will work tirelessly, only to see nothing but certain failure,
But life has never once benefited those of us who are currently living.
So, humans crafted robots, to always succeed where they could not.
Kassiani Jun 2013
“Studying at ------- University
Would afford me so many opportunities
That I could not find elsewhere…”

Personal statements are always BS
Filled with flowery phrases that
No one
In her right mind would ever actually use
My sentences had started to look like
A thesaurus had come along
And vomited up last night's party all over them
Who even talks this way?
Who can take himself so seriously as to think
That his pompous-assery would go unnoticed?
Moreover,
Who seriously wants to read all of this
Pretentiousness
Splattered all over the page
As though some English major's senior thesis
Had been brutally murdered?

“I am ready to bring my own
Determination and
Motivation
Into the equation to improve the
Lives of patients.”

I am disgusted with myself
For trying so hard
To impress a committee of nameless, faceless
Academics
To convince them
With fancy words and pretty sentences
That I am the best person ever
The more I write
The more I wonder if it even matters
If it's really so important for me to become a
Well Connected PhD
Doctor of Philosophy
Engineer Extraordinaire
Patients are going to keep dying
And there's no guarantee I can do a **** thing about it

“The Institute of Biomedical Engineering teaches engineers
To work side by side with clinicians to deliver
Meaningful healthcare results.”

Meaningful
Healthcare
Results
What a wonderfully vague phrase
It means nothing, really
Not without context
But it's Impressive and Dynamic
A phrase a committee would salivate over
(Because "drool" is too simple a word for them)
It's not enough for me to just come out and say how
For my entire life
I've dreamed of myself as Superwoman
Armed with engineering skills and a well-stocked lab
Ready to take down human suffering
I just want to heal people
And blood makes me faint
So I can't be a doctor
But I know my way around a lab now
And I can make medicines
In fact, that's all I want to do
Is to make new, better medicines
To grow cells and tissues and cures in my bioreactors
To make someone, anyone's life a little less painful
And these things cannot be told in florid prose
Because these are the messy parts of life
These are the parts that ache and ooze and itch
Keeping us up all night
Until words blur together
And all that's left are limbs and bodies and faces
So you can throw your thesaurus out the window
Because it's of no use here
None of the BS is helping anyone
Pretty words aren't going to make
A failing heart grow back
And this personal statement isn't going to
Purge anyone's cancer from their veins
But this person
Untroubled by higher diction
Might just do something useful
Written 6/30/13
Full version has BS written out explicitly, but I try to be more delicate on a public forum... University name redacted because this is on the interwebs where everyone can see it.
NitaAnn Sep 2013
I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.

My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.

My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.

My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.

My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.

My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
             A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
             More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
             Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
             It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
             such on death certificates.
             More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
             Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
             religions and at all levels of education.
            About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
            the horrible cycle of abuse.
            About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
            psychological disorder.


And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.

And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?

When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and ****, and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?

I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!
At 7 years old, I told my mother,
"You're not my real mom.
You're my Earth mom,
And at night when I'm asleep,
I go back to my home planet."
As the years sped onwards,
I conceptualized myself as a three headed alien,
A Poet From Another Planet,
Acutely aware of my innate differences.
No explanation had I other than being extraterrestrial.
Those around me, too, seemed to sense I was "other."
Playground insults supported by adults who floated labels like
"Lazy," "Difficult," "Rude," "Deliberately Obtuse"
Over my head as if they were a crown,
Signifying I was queen of kingdom "Unlike Us."
No one looked deeper at the poor social skills ,
The rigidity, sensory difficulties, challenges with executive dysfunction.
It was easier to pretend I was in control,
Choosing the route of difficulty and belittlement.
It was only after I nearly succeeded in killing myself
That someone assembled the whole picture.
My story is not unique among women
Born into bodies and brains whose operating system is Autism.
We are the forgotten, the alienated, and plastered with assumptions,
Lost under the blind eye of those who spin tall tales of
"Only straight, white little boys can possibly be autistic!"
Generations of autistic women have known not a name for their difference,
Bogged down under self-loathing, eating disorders, and suicides,
Anything to cope with a world designed to break them
For the differences everyone noticed but no one could see.
Now that women are finally coming onto the scene,
A subtle shift in the awareness that the clinicians, teachers, doctors
Were missing a whole population of autistic people,
Answers are gate kept behind assessments that are thousands of dollars
And diagnosticians who've yet to see the error of their ways.
Peace of mind seems to be a right only of white autistic men
Who are lucky enough to have the "profile" of autism modeled after them.
It took 19 years, two suicide attempts, including 10 days in a coma
For someone to finally "see me,"
And I'm one of the lucky ones.
Answers were finally mine,
But understanding one's own brain should be a human right.
I think we can all agree:
The price of a diagnosis should not be your life.
statisticians, assistants to quack physicians & staph-blind clinicians
CHEMO- IS NOT THERAPEUTIC! Chemo- kills indiscriminately! Tumors are constructed to "wall off" propagating outcroppings of malignant-cell structures. Tumors "imprison" cancer with varying degrees of success. The immune system and cancer cells are electrostatically-charged negative. Like-charges repel, opposites attract. A fully-charged immune system CANNOT attack cancer, thankfully. If it could it (the immune system) would attack placental & pre-embryonic cells and the consequence of that would be: all mammalian pregnancies would be terminated by the immune system. Cancer (neo-plastic/neo-plasm = new life) and pregnancy (new life) are intricately linked. Susan G. Komen has supplanted the militancy & outrage of patients swindled by the allopathic cancer cartel (married monopolies) with adulation for oncological quacks who answer to no one. ALL vitamin-deficiency diseases were said (by allopathic "doctors") to run in families. Diets are familial, not chronic metabolic maladies. Cancer cells are indistinguishable from pre-embryonal cells. Cancer is a symptom of malnutrition. Divide and conquer is a precept of war. There are now hundreds of "cancers." Treatment strategies are customized & personalized. The cancer industry has created an "army" of clinicians, physicians & laboratorians to win "battles" against cancer. The cancer industry mounts "campaigns." Nixon declared "war" on cancer. Cancer-diseased women are "drafted" into breast cancer "boot-camps." Patients "fight" cancer heroically & bravely. The cancer industry has an "arsenal" of treatment options. Next year a new "weapon" against cancer will be unveiled. Several years ago the cancerocidal "gamma knife" was used on Patrick Swayze to "fortify" his "battle stratagem." Doctors, researchers & nurses of cancrology are "foot soldiers on the march" sworn to the selfless task of preventing, treating & curing a morass of dreadful cancerigenic diseases that plague modern man. Is no one safe?  B vitamins are water soluble. There's no known toxicity. Take your B17 with meals, along with zinc & pancreatic enzymes. B17 won't necessarily dissolve your tumors. B17 will **** the cancer cells within the tumors. The tumors will temporarily swell as these cancer cells die. Monitor your results with ***** analysis pregnancy tests (they work equally well for males). Positive test results = cancer (&/or pregnancy or faulty test result.). You can buy the tests at Dollar Tree for a buck (of course). B17 capsules come in 100 m.g., 250 m.g., 500 m.g. & 1,000 m.g.-strength doses. Once your cancer is eradicated (once you start turning out negative pregnancy tests) you can cut your dosage of B17 to as little as 100 m.g. per day as a maintenance dose. Meanwhile, eat the seeds of apples, watermelons. Eat leaf spinach, collard greens & mustard greens. B17 will stop the cancer process. B17 will not restore you to perfect health. Your tumors (or vestiges of tumors) may remain.
Norbert Tasev Jul 2020
Tiny ***** hairstyle and a pair of pensive bamboo-calf eyes: That's all we can observe at first! My wounded and squandered prepubertal years, the unarmed lion claw battles of adolescence. The gliding ghost and mourning robe of family therapy clinicians exposes the fluctuations of moods, the cherished mood pessimism!

Her hamster-tucked son as he poses in a Latin suit for graduation is consoling in the lens of research cameras. - The immeasurable glamor of a beautiful writer after a chosen love is a flattering romantic charm in one of the back seats, because he has always dreaded the front seats and the competitive strigulation of performance! And finally, the destructive, haughty day of atomic radiation on class trips, while the bikini sisters might even comfort you!

I believed in myself that I didn't need more - and maybe I could have had a more saved, decent life if I had let and allowed the immortal Emotion to be chained! Desperate sorrow still carries its grace selfishly - the conscience of my life, the confident Brave's courage could not have been mine, and now that our age is morally submerged in filth, and empty in the knowledge of vertebrates, it is even harder to live a real life, recognizing true values. under the sun!

In the end of culture, it would be so good if instead of hysterical plaza kittens, delicate wildcats, and blonde cyclones: Angel-women, deer-eyed fairies who like compliments and romantic confessions would rejoice in the happiness felt by the existing soul.
Let's learn what army-fightin' fun is predicated on, for a man with 1
arm won't double his fun by quickly having his only arm amputated
under the direction of a curse & ampoules of dope sorely calculated
over the indirection of 3 talisman on acidical tabules time-activated
from the minute of saturation when clinicians selfishly collaborated
kevin Jun 8
Admin level abortion clinicians
Overlords of suspicion
Practitioners at premonition
California is not,
Los Angeles is not
Sacramento is not open

Do you remember the time

2017-census

Work Week
Admin level abortion clinicians
Overlords of suspicion
Practitioners at premonition
California is not,
Los Angeles is not
Sacramento is not open

Do you remember the time

2017-census
#aoc #elizabethwarren #cagovernor #leeherrick87 #robertfkennedyjr #barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla


Time card #1

Big moments in life

Meeting Kris Kristofferson as a boy and having to live up to that handshake

Man in the mirror

I'm not hear to take older

My mentor mc writers block
I'm white out
New York theater company yasiin bey
Ladies and Gentlemen

As a child I got to work the Northridge learning the quakes taught me that she's moldable

You ain't got to stand up
If your fused
Let the flower grow
That's disengaged Buddhism

I'm on
I'm on
Idioms of eden

Good morning Eva Green, you ready for a musical call back

Good morning Calabasas and Agoura hills
Slice off my lumps with lumpectomy as surgery's a draining feeling
till the lumps grow back after the lumpy period of cut-lump healing
that spills through cancer spillways with malignantic double billing
over soft Müllerian cysts by cancerogenic invoices to craft a killing
via vital nutrimental nutrient deficits ignored by crooked, squealing
medicians, dieticians & clinicians whose infamy is willfully willing
TREATING DEAD MEN LIKE FAMILY ingratiates morticians &
statisticians, assistants to quack physicians & staph-blind clinicians
***** hike gal gay traction with Michael J. Jackson who is for sale
during lactation class held over at a one-four-****-Jew-day fraction
'Tis acceptations that ravish your affectations, torn to soily rainbow
ribbons by gibbons holding their powdered, puckered, pouty lips in
Let me bask on the beaches that you have in your huge, smart brain
while I collect water that drips from your red livers like kidney rain
onto my sprained elbow that I got from a big poodle attack in Spain
among fraternal friends riding the Mongolian cyrillic-alphabet train
with a grace more so ephemeral than the not-so-livin' x-Sally Blane or ******-babblin' nitwit Douglas **** or a bludgeoned Bob Crane
in love with hippy-trippin,' dill-hole lickin,' leg-shakin' ankle sprain
in love with chapped-hole *******, mid-brain-shaking cranial strain
to confound German allopathical ****-strokers on Earth's still plane
that abounds in big-boobed broads bouncing on bumpily-flat terrain
so discovered Tarzan beneath the slutty gown of freckled-*** Jane
that had oozing, bull-whip welts & ****** bruises from a tow chain
Slice off my lumps with lumpectomy as surgery's a draining feeling
till the lumps grow back after the lumpy period of cut-lump healing
that spills through cancer spillways with malignantic double billing
over soft Müllerian cysts by cancerogenic invoices to craft a killing
via vital nutrimental nutrient deficits ignored by crooked, squealing
medicians, dieticians & clinicians whose infamy is willfully willing
95,000 Americans die annually from easily-preventable-hospital-borne-staph infections. Stop worshiping science's practitioners & clinicians.
Freedom of choice is the worst freedom from U.S. “homelessness”
Freedom of choice is another worst choice for local, homeless bliss
for shave-cream clinicians in quest of a new-wave-foam-guess mess
that won't extricate an imitative Elvis from shallow, toneless duress
As with inconveniently-located foster caretakers, I take care in refuge with a fostered passion that doesn't rip my trousers weft-wise. Things must exist along aclinic lines for the sake of clinicians.
Lots of expert opinions
from talented clinicians
and options to opt in
to the latest
webinar

we got this far
without them?

Everyone wants to chip in
with their sniping and their
bickering
like chickens at a **** fight
willing one of them to win.

I take it all with a pinch of salt
but keep my Navy Colt close by.
zebra Jul 2
NEWSFLASH: Man, 78, Self-Rebrands as Teenage Femme Bombshell — Nation Loses Grip on Timeline:
EXPOSÉ | The Chrysalis Suite: How One Man’s Transition Shook the Foundations of Memorial General Hospital
Byline: by C. Vallée, Staff Writer for The Subcutaneous Ledger

FROM NURSING HOME TO NIGHTCLUB Parallel reports suggest the revolution began earlier than suspected, when an unnamed 78-year-old male nursing home resident unveiled a Y2K-era makeover and soft-launched as a seventeen year old femme via Instagram named ******. “He looked like the ghost of a prom I never attended,” said one Gen Z influencer. “My sense of time and gender hasn’t recovered.”
Now dubbed bio-camp insurgency by cultural theorists, this movement collapses diagnosis into drag, anatomy into allegory. “Clinical procedure is now performance art,” said Dr. Noor El-Amine, professor of somatic aesthetics at RISD Med.

OUTBREAK OF FABULOUS:
Velcro Orthopedics Rebranded as Adaptive Runway wear
Anatomy Textbooks Recalled Nationwide
Mascara-Smeared Manifestos Appear in Hospital Chapels

Editor’s Note: Panic
ALERT LEVEL Code Cherry: From Pension to Prom Queen — Local Man Time-Travels via Gender Rebrand
In another story that has jolted the local medical community and sent ripples through the hospital’s institutional crust, 67-year-old unnamed man, once a retiree from Radiology with two hip replacements and a fondness for crossword puzzles, emerged last Tuesday reintroduced as Valentina D., cloaked in satin, grace, and unapologetic glamour.

Scrubs Abandoned, Mascara Weaponized — Security Reviews Footage: Surveillance records now archived under “mystic anomalies” show Walter — now Valentina — vanishing into the women’s locker room only to reappear hours later in full regalia: tulle, rhinestones, and a defiant contoured cheekbone. She made her promenade down the East Wing with the resolve of a pageant queen and the mystique of an oracle. Eyewitnesses confirm that several seasoned nurses dropped their clipboards.
What began as a low-key wellness check-up became something closer to myth.

EYEWITNESS: “She Glowed Like the Exit Sign,” says Janitor on Break
Oscar F., night janitor and amateur astrologer, describes the event as “radiant… like an omen or the ****** of a rapture dream.” He adds, “She didn’t walk. She hovered. She beamed. I ain’t been right since.”

HEADS UP: Orthopedics Floor Now Runway — Proceed with Caution
Orthopedics, once home to bedpans and broken pelvises, has reportedly been rebranded as “Ward 9¾,” a liminal space where gender norms go missing and gowns turn to trains. Staff have been advised not to interrupt the newly christened “transitory pageants,” now scheduled every full moon.

EXCLUSIVE: Hospital Insider Leaks Tiara Protocol Draft
A confidential memo outlines a now-shelved set of procedures titled “Operation Glamour Reclamation,” suggesting staff be trained in both trauma care and ballroom etiquette. The document refers to “emergent expressions of divine femininity” and encourages clinicians to “honor shimmer as a legitimate symptom.”

DECONSTRUCTED: Body, Binary, and Other Disposables
Medical ethicists and performance theorists have begun swarming Memorial General, calling the incident “a sacred deconstruction.” Dr. Nina Vega of Queer Phenomena Institute claims, “This isn’t just a personal transition — it’s a metaphysical jailbreak. The patient has successfully trespassed the clinic’s ontology.”
The hospital has yet to issue a formal statement, though a new sign now hangs in the atrium: “BE ADVISED: GENDER MAY NOT BE STABILIZED IN THIS AREA.”

Metro Dispatch — Boston, MA, 3:03 AM
Later that day in an act described by one witness as “the most glamorous Code Red I’ve ever seen,” a third-year medical student at Brightmore University Hospital stunned staff, bloggers, and bioethicists alike after reportedly removing their own genitalia in a hospital restroom and re-emerging 27 minutes later in a backless red sequined dress, a rhinestone tiara, and crystal-strap Jimmy Choo Bings.
Security footage shows the student — formerly known as Stanley G. — strutting down the corridor trailing blood and glitter, hips oscillating somewhere between agony and glamour.
“I thought someone had been attacked,” said orderly Mason Liu. “But then she walked out like she’d just invented gender and fashion in the same breath. I almost saluted.” A faint scent of rosewater and antiseptic lingered.
The hospital declined to comment on whether disciplinary action would be taken. Unofficial sources say a new emergency protocol is being drafted under the title “Code Cherry.”

QUOTE OF THE HOUR
“My body was a curriculum. Now it’s a manifesto.” — She tells stunned cardiology staff, tiara tilted. And when asked by reporters what drove him to it? He smiled through smeared mascara, shook his hips — still glistening with gauze, blood, and rebellion — and said: “I just wanted to feel cute.”
The line has since trended across platforms, emblazoned on tank tops, titanium scalpels, and protest placards across five continents.

OUTBREAK OF FABULOUS
Velcro Orthopedics Rebranded as Adaptive Runway wear
New Protocol “Code Cherry” Goes into Effect Across Multiple Wards
Slay-or-Suture” TikTok Challenge Overtakes Academic Med Tok
Anatomy Textbooks Pulled Pending Emergency Revision: “The Body May No Longer Be Binary”

BREAKING: Elderly Man Reincarnates into Viral Ingénue — Science, Ethics, and TikTok Implode ALERT LEVEL: From Pension to Prom Queen — Local Man Time-Travels via Gender Rebrand
Officials confirm the hospital is reviewing footage under a new emergency classification: “Code Cherry.” A leaked draft of the “Tiara Protocol” is currently circulating on MedTok, where footage of the transformation has sparked the #SlayOrSutureChallenge — now banned in six countries.
A spokesperson for Brightmore declined to comment, citing an ongoing review of hospital guidelines on gender autonomy and aesthetic insurgency. Meanwhile, medical schools across the country are reconsidering curricular materials in light of recent anatomical reinterpretations. As one faculty statement read: “The body may no longer be binary. We’re… reassessing.”

Lady Gaga… just follow the glitter trail. The revolution wears heels now — try to keep up, *******.

Executive Summary:
This document outlines the unprecedented destabilization of national, medical, and moral order catalyzed by the Brightmore Event, now dubbed Operation: Crimson Rebirth. The subject — hereafter referred to as “Entity Cuterina” — has initiated a high-speed cultural insurgency rooted in glamour-fueled gender mutiny, rendering all traditional ideological safeguards inert.

Post-Binary Aesthetic Weaponization (PBAW).
Primary Concerns:
Cultural Reach: Within 18 hours of the incident, #ICU Glamour surpassed national defense hashtags in digital engagement. TikTok influencers have begun performing simulated scalpeless rebirths to the tune of “Like a Prayer.”

Architectural Contagion: Hospital bathrooms — once strongholds of fluorescent despair — have begun emitting a low hum of possibility. Early reports indicate patients refusing to return to gendered wings unless “a proper lighting palette is installed.”

Moral Collapse of Youth: Gen Z+ have adopted red sequined gowns as daily wear. Reports abound of high school students submitting term papers as fragrance.

Doctrinal Schisms: Several prominent clergy members have defected to the movement, performing rites in press-on nails and singing updated verses of “How Great Thou Art” in full falsetto.

Institute Recommendations: Tactical Aesthetic Suppression Immediately requisition all remaining stocks of matte foundation and khaki. Subdue sparkle with “neutral-tone patriotism” campaigns.

Counter-Incantation Protocols Begin circulation of phrase “Respect the Binary. Revere the Clipboard.” Secure trademark rights to “Feeling cute is not a strategy.”

Gender Neutrality Containment Zones (GNCZs) Establish federally monitored “no-pronoun safe rooms” equipped with fluorescent lighting, Muzak, and damp beige chairs.

Emergency Moral Consultants Rehire Jordan Peterson in holographic format to whisper cautionary parables into hospital vents.

Incident Fallout:
AMA board chair Dr. Felix Grunberg reportedly sighted sobbing into a bedazzled otoscope.
Four interns from the think tank’s Youth Policy Unit have defected — citing “irreversible shimmer awakening.” They left a note reading: “My body is a mood board, not your metric.”
One analyst was discovered lip-syncing policy drafts in the breakroom mirror, now presumed radicalized.

The National Spasm: Monitoring the Margins Since the Enlightenment Got Weird
…..News Flash

The Brightmore Incident has made it clear that we were unprepared for ontological improvisation in heels. Institutional binaries are dissolving in real time, and no amount of comb-over rationalism can contain the spread.
We hereby request an emergency 500 million USD “Glitter Defense Fund” to research matte-resistant ideology, reinforce conservative bathroom architecture, and develop voice-based gender verification drones.
“Time is running out while normalcy is on life support. In the meantime, she’s still dancing.”
a poem wearing heels on linoleum— a drag-ball elegy inscribed in hospital ink, a manifesto disguised as discharge paperwork slipped beneath the tongue like a sublingual truth.

🩰 A Performance Poem
Meant not just to be read but embodied— hips swaying, mascara weeping, clipboard dropping. Where each stanza struts.

🌙 A Surrealist Hymn
Warping logic the way gender warps in dream, where sequins echo sutures and blood smells like rosewater, where the rules of medicine dissolve into moonlit pageantry.

🩸 A Lyric of the Flesh Rewritten
Whispered from within gauze and rebellion, blending Judith Butler with Vogue magazine, making a tiara out of trauma, and sashaying toward the divine.

🖋️ A Found Poem
Pieced together from leaked hospital memos, janitor testimony, glitter-stained clinic notes, Instagram captions and coded diagnoses: Patient presents with fabulous.

Trailing glitter and ellipses... or loop back to the beginning, because no metamorphosis ever really ends.

— The End —