"diagnose" poems
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
*Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too*.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
Doctors are dumb who go to medical school and need to
ask other doctors to diagnose medical conditions.
If you gotta ask other doctors for help you need more schooling.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
i am tired of talking to adults no i do not want to see a dermatologist or a psychologist or a psychiatrist or a nurse no school counselor i am definitely not having suicidal thoughts and no doctor i do not want to talk about the results of my mental health survey. of course dr. cook i am totally open to the idea of taking an antidepressant dear god i am tired of talking to adults do not want to be diagnosed i do not want to talk about it stop worrying about me, no, 'i am not depressed,' this is my life so thank you for not making me sign a life pact but leave me alone i am not going to cry in front of another strange adult. do not diagnose me. all i want is to be normal, i am tired of the pills. i am done with talking to adults
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.
I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.
Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.
"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.
Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").
So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
We need a biopsy
To diagnose hypocrisy
In American Democracy.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
Bus-riding, crumb-counting hand wringers
Bibble-babbler, channel-flipper slogan slingers
Keep the volume loud enough to drown out the machines
That fill their cupped hands daily with excrement and dreams
These are the ****** of the canon
Button-pushing, lever-pulling product users
Wife-buying, tax-paying alcohol abusers
Emasculated monkeys done up in black and white
Clock in in the morning and flock home late at night
These are the ****** of the canon
Train-conducting, ring-leading hand shakers
String-fingered, queue-cutting, man makers
Drive home, cursing, lonely, breaking bones beneath their wheels
Without the time to diagnose that emptiness they feel
These are the ****** of the canon
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Slay the dragon,
Defend your honor.
Take down the mob,
Restore justice.
Win the fight,
Steal your heart.
Crack ninety minutes worth of jokes,
Break up.
Get back together,
Live happily ever after.
Solve the case,
Lock up ****** killer.
Diagnose patient,
Save your life.
Thank me later.
Jump through wormhole,
Save humanity.
You're welcome.
Phone rings,
Interrupts Epic Tuesday.
I smile,
Hearing your voice.
And just like that,
My life is no longer on pause.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
On occasion,
I dream about drowning at least once a week
And when I drown
I always expect to choke under the pressure of the ocean
That the salt stings my eyes shut
But I am always surprised at how easily my body sinks
And how buoyant it can be under water
And it makes me think of all the slaves
Who threw themselves overboard
How they thought themselves fish before slave
Did they grow gills?
Were they grateful for the mercy of erosion
Under salt instead of whips
Did they backs bend like dolphins do?
Did they build an underwater city untouched
By brutal hands
Do they know, that I see them sometimes
The ancestors who chose water over land
And they are not bone and marrow stacked
At the bottom of the ocean
They are not corpses who chose the easy way out
I see them
They have built an underwater world from their bare hands
They laugh and bubbles exit out their mouths
Even now my family would not mourn my departure
If I were to be called by the waves
For the water has a language that some
Of us have an ear for
It is not the place of mortals to tear up
When one of us africans drown
Because to sink is to find new life
Is to be in the hands of those who control their own destiny
I know them, the water people
They call me during the night
And i don't fight anymore
I laugh with them, and live
And wake angry that oxygen can suffocate me
That I suddenly become flailing fish
That my home is not this land
That I find comfort in ocean floor
That is where my ancestors speak to me
Console me
Teach me the ways of spiritual healer
At the bottom of the sea
And it is not a dream although I wake from it
It is a reality that is bestowed upon
The xhosa shamans from birth
The western world does not have a reality like that
So they will argue it does not exist
They will be quick to diagnose my mental health
Call the act of reuniting with my own
An episode, a stress indicator
A sleeping pill prescription
These are the same people who believe in
Three day resurrection for death
But cannot fathom an african never dying
And we don’t die
We do not die.
There is life for us elsewhere.
And when we are ready
The waves will welcome us home.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
Girl listens to mirror
Girl injects boy into skin
Girl heal
Girl cry
Mascara tugs down face
Hands diagnose
Lipstick
Blush
Boy tug
Girl heal
Mirror prevent
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Around the table, literacy discussion
Turns elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.
I stop to check my sense of what I have just heard...
Am transported back to a prairie farm
And think of my Father, now in his eighties
Who still feels no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare or Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.
Every morning, he reads his Bible;
Some nights he reads the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.
"I don't have time to read!"
He shouts, when I suggest a novel.
What literature he has is in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.
Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way;
Cows and calves and bulls -
Which one was sick or well, dry or bred;
Equipment to diagnose mechanical ailments;
Metals to know which welding rod applied;
Grain, rolled crisp between his hands, a test of ripeness...
Cement to find the perfect mix,
So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
i want to write
but the words aren't coming
i'm feeling trapped
by my mind's inability
to translate my emotions
to letters with meaning
i write to understand
why i feel the way i do
i am the doctor
of my own thoughts
but if i cannot write
then i cannot understand
& if i cannot understand
then i cannot diagnose
so here i sit
with the same confusion
i began with
some words written before me
as useless as they come
accomplishing nothing
begging for everything
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
**graduated *** laude
with a PhD in madness,
practitioner of your
own philosophy as
a harbinger of doom,
tales of darkness where
the deck is always stacked,
what's the sense of light
to a harsh night
or spring's flourish
to winter's brashness,
you don't need to be
a rocket scientist
to diagnose absurdity**
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
I leafed through the DSM this morning
diagnosing every ******* person in my life
incessent character flaws,
maladaptive responses
that ache in my mind,
and shatter my "normal"
expectancies of human behavior
In all of the descriptors
"has a strong desire to be the center of attention"
"is often inappropriately provocative or sexually seductive"
"Exhibits odd or eccentrive appearance/behavior"
"Seeks excitement and stiumulation, often acting on impulse"
the only person I could really diagnose
was me your therapist
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
in 2012 i experienced an incident with a rifle. my friend spinned it around and hit me in the face. the hit was hard enough to break my nose and make me fly backwards and land on the back of my head.
after that i started having seizures. cluster seizures which mean seizures back to back. they have to be stopped by iv or i can go into status epilepticus meaning continued or back to back seizures that can **** people. there have been several times where my heart has stopped or i stopped breathing from it. its hard to live with. soooo many pills, and doctors, specialists to help diagnose me. just about a month ago i was diagnosed with tbi (traumatic brain injury) before i was diagnosed i was so upset with everything. my health my relationship, my family problems. it just piled up so i decided to numb myself with drugs and alcohol. i no longer can do that because the last time i did i woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. i have right hemisphere disfunction and it effects my motor skills, speech, memory, decision making, confusion, and at this point the doctors say that my memory and confusion is dementia. sometimes i try to tell myself i don't need help, im fine, i don't need anyone, or that the doctors made a mistake. but they didn't and that was proven to me today when i saw my eeg, and mri. i have built up white matter in my brain. and it only gets worse . i can never regain anything ive lost but i can learn how deal with it and move on from now. i can never be independent in the part of just living alone. i would like to marry the man of my dreams but i don't think i want to put him through all of this. he would have to take care of me when i get sick, and i get sick often due to my weak immune system. one hit in the face and my whole body went out of whack. we also recently discovered that i have a bundle branch block in my heart which means it is a condition in which there's a delay or obstruction along the pathway that electrical impulses travel to make your heart beat. i have a dog that can smell my auras which are mild seizures like warnings that a big one will come. but he can only do so much . squeeze under my head and bark for help.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
Teenagers write poems about sadness
And I diagnose
Drain false narcissistic depth
I choose to diagnose
Girls that moan about darkness
I can try emphasize
At a therapeutic distance
Walls rather a leather settee
Cry me your conjured problems
The attention that you desperately need
Hug into my
False intellectual façade
You want your name in lights
Rose-colored perception
Of a overused typecast
Your sadness poetic and bottomless
Caught in the flight
Spotlight
That you cannot bear
Insipid perpetuity
Whining and moaning and whining
Life in hard and it is not fair
I’ve seen it all before
But should I sit
Put myself high on a pedestal
Satisfied with my own scholarly ruse
What I lack in qualifications
I make up in apathy
You wear a different coat
You messy attention grabbing
Poetically distraught
Attracted to the next sparkly thing
That will make you more interesting
You magpie, you lemming, you
I will hold your hand if you hold mine
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Been on this forum just a short time
Found amazing talent from all kinds
Makes me wanna dub this creative flow
As the greatest ever, if you don’t know
Thus my admiration has been sparked
To write mad verses with a flaming mark
You are the ingredients of this unique brew
That I’m now calling the “Quintessence” crew
So here’s to the “Q,” your words have weight
More than silver and gold, ’cause you’re my mates
Here’s to the eyez of earth’s celestial Angel
X-raying minds to diagnose and become less tangled
Here’s to the fury of the beast, a.k.a. Animal
Ripping at the life we sometimes take for granted
Here’s to the western gunslinger, holla Pug
Blasting us with the creativity from them slugs
Here’s to the sweetness of sista Sara
Walking the mule as a humane barer
Here’s to the Feminine heart of a special Poet
Grounding us to reality, a toast from a glass of Moet
Here’s to the petals from the Y2K1 budding Rose
Missing the nectar to feed the bees and in those…
Here’s to the shiny armor of gleaming love, the Arhanghell
Giving us adventurous tales, ready to drop more coins in that well
Here’s to the food from the Miller they call Keith
Dropping them verses like tender, tantalizing beef
Here’s to the endeavors of the newbie, a Creator of Love
Soaring the clouds fiercely with the freshness of a dove
Other members of the “Q” are still missing in action
Hope you come back to be part of this elite faction
So this dedication will continue to be unfinished
Not whole, but waiting to be no longer diminished…
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
A toadstool is swelling
inside my limbic system.
Spores sweat amongst tissue cavities,
dining out on grey matter,
until they force me
to stay in bed through the day.
What a thing it would be.
Depression as a fungus.
A mildewed mind as damp sets in,
the trumpet player
with athletes foot,
casting out the air-borne blues.
Misfortunes follow one another
along straits of fate,
as if sadness were a colony itself.
I want to take a pill
to **** the mushroom
that plumes over my head.
You can only diagnose
through words and symbols,
only treat once you set down your pen
and hold the hand
of a patient lover,
of the savant drinking at the bar.
For now I will let air in
through the open window,
watch the dreamcatcher sway
and hang like a tarantula
over the stars and crescents,
spilling out over my bed.
When I close my eyes
I hear the ocean in distant traffic,
sounding as waves when rolling by the door.
I will drown in seawater
and hallucinate a scene
of happiness.
Of a place for a poet's retreat.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Pass a stranger
Nod a polite hello
Choke on the smell of
Cigarette smoke
Blooming all around
Hold breath till
It's passed
Release and gasp
Fresh new air
But he wasn't the only smoker
Around here
You can get cancer from
Second-hand smoke, you know?
I'm convince we'll all
Die of cancer anyways
Cancer of the body or
Cancer of the heart
Something eating away
All of us and we can't
Self-diagnose the chaos
Looking for something
In all the wrong places
Surface level satisfactions
Nicotine and addictions
Rotting away the soul
And we're all dying of
Some cancer
Cancer of the soul
Looking for answers
Failing to look past ourselves
For Something
Someone
To ease the pain
Satisfy the ache of soul
Clean up a world where
No one smokes
Their souls into
Oblivion
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
I write poems, not people,
And in them we all move so gracefully.
I diagnose myself freely with the
fluidity of tongue that can only serve to
mask motives.
no love is sloppy
Besides, it is heartbreak that is the most poetic, and I, after all,
write poems.
(poetry dictates artistry, ensures emotions, grants form, prevents freedom)
Even myself I work over into prose,
selecting words carefully,
double meanings,
hiding secrets within stanzas and passing them off as purposeful.
I am no riddle.
I am a poem like the rest of you,
terrified to be messy and avoiding interpretation.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Is this a cure I'm seeking
Or someone to diagnose me?
Stuck in my own ballad,
Can't seem to set myself free,
Can't seem to set myself free...
Schizophrenia is killing me,
It makes me act so inhumane
Because I am an 'unknown' ******
Living "life" is a real pain
I'm totally convinced that its driving me more insane
I need a change
I lost enough, let me gain.
Is this revenge I'm seeking
Or someone to advenge me?
Stuck in my own paradox
I wanna set myself free,
I wanna set my free..
Justification killing me,
But killing isn't justified!
What is happening to me, I am feeling so terrified
What do I do with all the hurt and pain?
Them, I just hide
Most times I cry
But I lock them all up inside.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Doctors and Clinical Psycologists diagnose Depression as:
A mood disorder causing a persistent feeling of sadness or lost of interest.
Sadness however is just a side affect of depression.
The real culprit is exhaustion.
Exhaustion
that the world hasn't changed.
Exhaustion
that your career hasn't changed.
Exhaustion
that you are poor.
Exhaustion
that your family or other people around you havent changed.
Exhaustion
because you cant seem to fit in with them.
Exhaustion
you cant seem to change your appearance.
Exhaustion
because you cannot change your personality.
Exhaustion
because you are recognized for a fake smile.
Or maybe
Exhaustion
because you are not recognized at all.
Exhaustion strikes because you are ultimately unable to change the mechanics in the grand machine that is your life.
You are stuck in a never ending loop.
A cycle of what you feel is a wasted life.
A life you feel you are powerless to change because you are too exhausted
to do so.
This is the true meaning of depression:
The desperate, crippling, aching, hurt you feel.
The heavy signs you release at the end of the day.
The anger that rips and shakes through your body.
The screams and sobs you let fly deep into your pillow so nobody hears.
The silent pool of tears that stream down your face at night.
The ones that cling and stain your cheek.
All the emotions that stop when you finally sleep, when everything stops and you are taken by the dark void of a dreamland, when the exhaustion finally ends.
With a life like ours
can you really blame the exhausted,
For wanting to sleep forever?
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
God please forgive me
for I have sinned
a many of them
Lies to genuine believers
Immortality rises in my mind
I go blind
Black outs and faded nights
Heart beats hard and fast
Mind spins from that beer in the glass
Morals have been confused
Take me back to that girl who didn't abuse
Take me back please god take me back
Eyes melt into a thousand disappointed atoms of my self worth
This is my life and I have treated it wrongly
Thank you for the pain
To teach me the blessing of not abusing my body
I am not addicted
but afflicted by the fake smiles I gain
From altering my mind with substance not kind
A poison to make me feel this way now
A poison I diagnose myself with
It felt better without all of this
I should reap what I've done
I gracefully won the battle of challenge
My mind still aches
tummy is okay
Peace of mind
draw me back in please
Beggars on her knees
This is me
Praying for the sun to uplift me on it's own
Not to need my soul removed
Not to need something to make me smile
It was a fake grin
Filled with sin
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Go ahead.
Remind me how much you love me
How much I mean to you.
How much you know I can change.
I would just love to hear your lies.
Or you can
Yell and scream
Tell me I'm fat
Tell me I'm selfish
Try to diagnose me every time I ***** up.
I would not be surprised.
Criticize me, I dare you.
It would not be the first time
And it certainly will not be the last.
Am I ruining your idea
Of a "perfect family"?
I hope I have sent it to its grave.
I wish you knew what you did to your child.
You made her afraid to open her mouth
Due to her fear of judgement.
There is no question
That you have played a role in her depression
As well as her eating disorder.
You have made her feel worthless.
You have made her feel like nothing but a number.
You have created a girl who is obsessed with perfection.
And the worst part is,
You don't even understand how bad it has gotten.
You do not know what I have been through.
A friend took advantage of me in a major way
While I was not in a proper state of mind.
But you would say that I should have been more careful,
That I should not have been sneaking around in the first place.
I wish I could tell you
That some days I just want to rip my skin off of my bones
Because I feel gross.
What he did to me was wrong,
But you would not see it that way.
I have a hard time convincing myself of the fact
That this should not have happened.
It is difficult for me not to blame myself
Or not to shut down
Because those who I have told continue to tell me I am overreacting
Or that I did something to lead him on.
I fear that you would do the same.
All I want
Is for you to say that I am alright
For once in my life.
I wish you would compliment me
Or tell me that you're proud
So maybe I could start to believe it, too.
Yes, your younger daughter is the perfect kid.
And we have both been brought up the same way.
But she has not had the experiences that I have had.
It is not fair for you to compare the two of us
As if I do not do it enough already.
So what can I say?
If I am going to drown,
Then let me drown.
Or if you can stand up on your own
Take responsibility for your role in this
Throw me a lifeline,
Then maybe I can be okay.
Maybe I can escape this cycle of destruction.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
if love is a battlefield,
than my mind must be Chernobyl.
a nuclear war zone,
befitting,
I spent years developing a nuclear war head,
that can find lodging in your head.
it lays resident on the pillow on my bed,
my childhood shed,
while bad memories flow like a water drain up ahead,
and may remain with me until death.
maybe such a stigma on depression exists,
because no one still really knows what it is
hell, my mind can compute equations,
spit out essays,
but mental illness?
to solve mine would be aimless.
it lurks, it attacks, it burns
left like a forest fire to churn.
eats up your insides, you feel your ending coming close,
with no conclusiveness a doctor can diagnose.
only if life came with an easy mode,
maybe i'd be better off dealing with this alone.
this is for all the kids
who made Adam's song their song,
or find reprieve at the bottom of a ****
and find life a little bit too long.
can you hear the siren?
three, two...
seconds to eruption
one...
boom.
no time to snooze.
i wake and
immediately collapse into
pieces.
scattered,
in the people i will encounter today
until i come home
empty,
no parts of me left to be seen.
until i finally fall in bed,
close my eyes,
count 1, 2, 3,
and do it
all over again.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
This glass surface shows myself
It shows how I look, how I twitch
It shows my kinks and flaws
I see how big I am, over run with fat
I see how I wish I looked
Eat an apple go on a run
Eat fruits and veggies
This glass surface shows myself
It shows my face, my slight collar bone
It shows my pale skin and dull hair
I see I've gotten bigger, wider than before
I see how I wish I looked
Eat some granola maybe some water
Skip a meal maybe two
This glass surface shows myself
It shows my ribs and my hips
It shows my sullen face and jutting bones
I see I'm still big, as fat as before
I see how I wish I looked
Fast today, Fast tomorrow
Drink some water and have a *******
This glass surface shows myself
It shows a skeleton with skin
It shows my brown eyes, void of light
I'm bigger than I'd ever thought was possible
I no longer see how I wish I looked, just fat
Fast today, Fast tomorrow
Fast the next week and the week after
Stop consuming stop the fat
If you don't eat you can't gain
Most people don't know this but only 1 out of 5 guys will be diagnosed with anorexia and 2 out of 3 girls will be diagnosed with anorexia. People think guys can't have it. Well truth be told they can and they do diagnose or not. People really do this, they hate them selves because a piece of glass said to. Society just fuels it. I'll be honest and say that this is true for me.
~<>~Jinxx~<>~
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC