"diagnoses" poems
If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy murder-rape-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ********** false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
the loneliness is killing me alive
it’s feasting off my fragile being
alone, locked up in my own four walls
i’m slowly starting to go berserk
i need something, just something
that does something to me
a lonely tear rolls down my face
a trembling ocean underneath my eyelids
maybe i do suffer from dopamine deficiency
maybe i am for being against it
and maybe i just have to stop believing all of the diagnoses of the frauds around me
as fast as the loneliness took me in
and the tears came
it stopped again
and the only thing remaining
was this irrepressible desire
for more more and more
May 15, 2023
May 15, 2023 at 2:04 PM UTC
Health anxiety.
You google one thing and it says another.
You have a headache and it says its cancer.
Countless trips to your family doctor.
The test was negative, you will recover.
Everything is fine but you’re feeling awkward.
Maybe everything IS fine, perhaps you’re like an actor.
Acting out the symptoms you should get an oscar.
Sue me for feeling like somethings not right, get me a lawyer.
To everyone around me, i’m like a destroyer.
I need to rebuild my life from being an over reactor.
Theres a fine line between normal worry and anxiety.
Theres a fine line between being labelled from society.
Theres a fine line between being sick and being healthy.
But even those who are wealthy are not protected from being unhealthy.
And thats where this fear has developed.
Knowing the highest of classes still are not protected.
CEO’s can get cancer.
The president can get Alzheimer's.
Investors can get tumors.
Is it really so peculiar that I fear that this will occur.
Occur in me? Effect my family? Increase mortality?
Maybe i’m not a clinical case of a hypochondriac, but I feel that sometimes I can be.
Maybe i’m not a maniac, but I know I over worry.
These thoughts don’t keep me up at night, but when I’m sick I always think...
What if its this, what if its that, what if this thing can **** me.
But I guess thats just normal anxiety.
Evolutionary instinct.
Our human kind won’t go extinct.
I don’t need to talk this out with a shrink.
So this cold is lasting more than a few days, maybe i’ll just go to a doctor.
Stop fearing that this is the end, see someone and you’ll feel better.
You can get sick from being stressed, or even change from weather.
Its not strange if you catch a cold, no need to worry it won’t last forever.
When you feel like the doctor is wrong, please try to remember.
A runny nose isn’t cancer, forgetting to check the mail isn't alzheimers, and a headache isn’t a tumor.
Those are all just internet rumours.
Google isn’t your doctor.
Worrying isn’t hypochondria, no need to add that to your self diagnoses list.
While disease is a real thing, worrying is the real *****
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.
He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.
It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.
However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.
For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly in two.
He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.
I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.
In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ****** or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).
These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
A criticaster disaster, personified.
Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.
•
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
September 2nd, 2016 I received my diagnoses.
Borderline Personality Disorder
Yikes....
But then it all started to make sense.
I understand myself now more than I ever have before.
But try explaining this to a friend, a lover, a family member.
"Borderline of what?"
They all ask.
Let me explain....
I am on the borderline
The borderline of love,
and of hate
I love so deeply,
I can make you feel like you're on top of the world..
But then I split.
And suddenly,
I hate you,
I hate you,
I hate you,
But don't leave me.
please don't ever leave me.
Love me,
Love me.
Leave me behind.
I'm the borderline
I can be the happiest of people.
But also the most depressing.
See when I feel happiness
I see that the sun shines brighter,
I notice the good in the little things.
When I'm happy l,
I feel invincible.
But then...
In the blink of an eye,
I split.
And suddenly,
I'm the lowest of the low.
I'm standing on that edge,
Hoping to God I have the courage to take one more step.
To end it all.
Staring down that bottle of pills,
feeling like swallowing them maybe wouldn't be so bad.
I am on the borderline...
of your best friend,
And some days,
your worst enemy.
I push you away,
I pull you too close.
The borderline of loneliness,
and never really being alone.
I am on the borderline,
The borderline of insanity.
The borderline of my sanity.
I have borderline personality disorder,
And these borders have taken over me.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
And I wander why I'm here
And your there and there's nowhere inbetween for us to go
And why if there was
You couldn't take me anyway.
Wind mills in our skulls
So fast we can't get a grasp on.
Pretty pills
As we stare out
Of barred windowsills
You tell me you don't understand,
as you hold my hand and demand to know why.
And I sit and cry and tell you I wish you could, I wish you understood
But how can I expect you too
When I have no clue?
Cos your mind isn't fractured
Into hundreds of unrecognisable pieces
Creases
That they try to iron out
And glue together with
Sedatives and weight gain
And cognitive behavioural therapy
That they insist will numb the pain
&fix; the problem.
But i don't know the problem
Because I've skipped in and out of diagnoses ever since i was
Placed into this space
A taste of hell and heaven all at the same time
Where it's okay not to be okay
But it's not okay to be okay
And you get named and blamed and excused and used as examples
For nurses to observe
You're a learning curve
In their degree. Or for a student studying psychology
And no matter what anyone says
It doesn't curb the reality
That you are sick.
Too sick to take care of yourself
To keep safe your health
Your body, your mind
To hold yourself
Together,
An it's strange because
They try to rearrange
All our thoughts and processes
But they don't undress the primary cause
They caress plaus-able reasons
Excluding your explanations
Satisfied with their own gratifications.
2013 ©
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
I never thought I would be a teacher,
even if I am an assistant teacher, I am
helping to shape the minds and spirits
of my students.
I teach students with autism, and sometimes
I wish I was like Professor Xavier and that I could read the
minds of the kids I work with, who are a mystery
to me.
I don't have mutant powers, but I do have the
capacity to love. I learned and honed the skills
of listening to my heart at L'Arche, which is
often called the school of the heart.
I do my best to learn the lesson plans and provide
reinforcements for positive behavior, but
mostly as I engage my students I pray a simple
prayer of "Thank you. I love you."
My students are not a cumilation of data, facts,
and their diagnoses. Each one of us including
me has value, because of the breadth of life of the Creator.
Divine presence, may I treat each child with love and
with an open heart, so I may give and receive.
May I teach and be taught lessons of the heart
from my students. Thank you. I love you.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
A booth Made out of Fed-Ex blocks
Tongue depressors Still lingering with the taste of fudgesicle
Diagnoses Of cat-scratch fever
Of applesauce flu
Of –itises and –idias
One end of a jumprope
Held to one ear
And the other
Tracking the thump of a human heart
When the only illnesses
Were those of a sun-spent day
And playdate fatigue
We were all doctors
We could all
Save
Lives…
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
My house is filled with ghosts,
That only I can see,
I try to tell my mother,
But she laughs at me.
They haunt my every step,
Whispering past events,
telling me their stories,
Filling me with worries.
I lay in bed at night,
Full of anxiety and fright,
That one of them might try to hurt me.
I see jet black figures in my mirrors,
And deformed silhouettes in my windows,
I close my eyes and pray for them to go away.
I guess I'm just intruding,
Living where they once did,
They have followed me around since I was a kid.
My mother takes me to the doctor,
Who diagnoses me with schizophrenia,
Says' it's all in my head,
That I can't see anyone who's dead.
Locked in an institution for days,
They still wouldn't go away,
They never left my side,
They haunt me still to this day.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
Hell will be a waiting room
You’re sitting in an uncomfortable chair
With dingy magazines five months old
The couples on the covers have split
Someone has already torn out the coupons, filled in the quizzes and crosswords
Twelve letters across another word for your damnation?
The answer scrawled out in red ink
Anticipation
Waiting for the news that is never going to come
Waiting
That anticipation is worse than the diagnoses
You could have five months to live this afterlife
Five weeks
Five hours
You could drop undead in the middle of that waiting room
Where no one would do a ******* thing
Because God doesn’t dwell down here
Here the devil is king
And then it begins again
A different waiting room
The same dingy magazines
Except this one smells like a dentist’s office
You’ll just sit
Wait
The walls read
If you have been waiting more than fifteen minutes please notify the receptionist
Alert staff if you are experiencing flu-like symptoms
HAIL SATAN
Thank you for not smoking
No smoking
No talking
No texting tweeting or reading
Waiting
Just Waiting
In this ***** dusty hell of a room
Please take a seat
A nurse will call you to the back shortly
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Words spill like ink from a ***
or blood from a wrist.
And let's be honest...
There isn't a difference anymore.
They scratch their suffering on skin
and scream their love like diagnoses.
Diagnosis, a death sentence,
bated breath because "I've fallen in love."
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
but I had to go mad
to become real
a diagnoses of mirrors
permission to feel,
I miss the drugs
when I swallow the medication
mind numbingly beautiful
with veins like seaweed
wavering in water
salty
thirst never quenched
I crave it like he does.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
Men with rambling fever
Are born not bred
Their diagnoses are terminal
No cure but to go
And they sell their souls to the devil
For a train to hitch a ride on
And they'll die along the highway
While their women stay home
Remaking beds
That have never been slept in
I slept in this morning
Even though I didn't need to
I stretched my limbs
Out into the ocean
Trying to stay afloat alone in my bed
And through my spyglass
I still couldn't find the edge of it
No body of land to stand solidly on
I concluded that beds must be round
Orbiting microcosms floating through apartments
I got up and didn't tuck the sheets in
I got up and didn't make it
I didn't make it through college
Because as soon as I got settled
Into my air mattress
I un-made it
Everything called my name
I tried to ignore the voices
I tried to avoid them
But the mattress deflated quickly
The sails inflated cleaner than a cloudy day
The maps on my wall needed navigating
I had too much exploring to do
I've read about explorers
Men who made their fortunes
Hunting gold and looting temples
Never returning home
Because the beds they left, they had already met
Men who mapped the oceans
And gave their names to continents
Practically for free
I will freely admit that I'm like them
Unable to stop myself
From risking it all
For a chance at nothing at all
Unable to stay in one place
For long enough
To make my bed and lie in it
I will freely admit that rambling fever
is not ladylike
I will freely admit I'm an
Unsettled woman
I will freely admit
I shed lives and beds with purpose
I shed lives and beds like skin
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along rivers
eating one grain a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts and ships
gratefully anchor and lie in the sun.
Christ laughed at thin laws
refused to relent
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and isn't it sad
that officious therapists
blindfolded to the heart
spew grey diagnoses
to describe pathologies
ignoring the daimons
of each soul
labeled in their great sad files.
Rumi cut a great poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .
Smell the wind. Eat mutton.
Do not waste your days
inventing litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your heart.
When the doctor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 9:25 AM UTC
You were rudely awoken from your dreams of happiness
Like a reoccurring nightmare
That never seems to end
No matter how many diagnoses are made
Pills you take
And fake smiles you show
You can never wake up
It's like an addiction
Anything you can get your hands on
Anything you can do
You'll always find away
To sneak into the dark once again
You whisper the words
That your life revolves around
Between forced gags
And broken tears
"You should be better"
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
my hair is smoked with diner eggs and bacon
because I was lucky enough to eat this morning
using the change I found in my pocket.
I have plenty of change on me
some of which I used to purchase
beautifying products
to conceal my blemishes-
imperfections that seem so trivial now
I am ashamed
passing by the Cherry Street Coin Begger
eyes casted in different directions, sitting upon a thrifted walker
it seems my compassion is faltering,
maybe it is these salt stained streets or self diagnoses or
layers of grime surfacing under melted snow
but her and I are no different,
trying to avoid the same soot puddles
like land mines hidden
under sidewalks of putty
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
For my free thought anxiety,
I do like reading Web MD,
For medical catastrophes,
But what to do, in reality,
Send them off to a good GP,
For accurate diagnoses,
Then stop reading Web MD!
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 3:14 PM UTC
i used to think i was the bravest girl in the world, the one
who was going to reach her arms out to grasp sunbeams
and absorb hurt like inverse constellations into her skin.
i'd go up to doctors and dare them to stick me with their needles
and diagnoses, taunt coaches to push me harder in practices,
shed tears like fallen leaves to humor myself on occasion.
i was a tiger shark, alone and comfortable in my shadow, but
knowing that any pause could stop the water from becoming
air in my lungs; i'd kiss and sometimes i swear i tasted blood.
but now i know friends who have lost things in darkness that
they can never reclaim, no matter what lights they turn on,
and nineteen seems closer to both everything and nothing.
now i love like someone who is more afraid of drowning
in her own cup of water than the ocean, even though the
waves have never been anything less than welcoming.
i've seen talent and courage drain into a needle and bottle,
a hoodie and dark skin become the uniform of suspicion,
a country of the free bleed onto its own striped flag.
listen, it's forgotten the words to its own national anthem.
so then where, in the mix of war paint and firewood,
is there a place for the fierce but not fearless,
the ones who want nothing but need everything, and
who are still sometimes afraid of their own voices?
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
*don't do it, it's modelled like speed-dating, i've been to one of those horrid Loserville events and it wasn't pretty - please don't get ****** into this vortex where you reveal everything about yourself, what music you like, what films... you're just showing me everything i'm not supposed to know before i even meet you, it creates a complete and utter lack of conversation... all the fun stuff to talk about comes flying out of the window... all the good stuff, all the DVDs and CDs and books in a suitcase... and all that's left in the house is your ***** laundry... and on dates all you end up talking about (crucially) are your ****** problems!*
it just got me thinking about prostate cancer
and how they shove a thumb up your ***
to see if your prostate glad still has a hard-on;
the western illusion of "not enough time",
not enough time to speak about music, films and books?
i guess the new thing is psychology and how
many diagnoses you can think of,
a symptom of a: not taking interest in philosophy beyond
quotations, maxim, toothpicks instead of pine trees.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
He wore a stripped shirt
that resembled the twist of serpants
though he smiled warmly his eyes were
steady on the dollars
placing labels and badges on all
the soldiers fighting to pay rent
and live in times so far from purpose
I kick back and watch him scribble
false notice
prescribing a pill to every effect from
this life
its left me purging
I hate the institutions
the corrupt unjust
sick ***** sedating my
passions and
numbing me up
smart went to another place
outside your local village where
the villians mix the chemical
perserves in your children's fillings
I cant help the way I percieve what
I have seen
I cant help that my fall from innocents
was rougher and obscene
I cant stop thinking of the misuse
of power and money mongers
I want to burn the kingdom
hoping it'd grow back to something better
misguided we walk off cliffs and to the slaughter
or we come back as our fathers paper back novel
excellence for me has fallen to resistence
because I simply cant stand this kind of exsistence
go ahead and direct me to another perscription
corrupt everything in my mind that makes me human
I'm ODD to the extreme !
I reject most of you and the latest thing
and now this man sits here
telling me I'm sick and spiraling
as he shakes hands with satan
defiling minds from eyes that only see green
and I pay my way to see this jackal conspiring?!
You can keep your advice your diagnoses and the dice
I'll leave you now to gamble with the rest of the villager's lives
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
I feel broken
Shattered
My existence split in two
One lives with him
And the other quickly fades
A whisper in the dark
Of my hollowed breast
These things should never happen
Words erased from language
Pain drawn out in syringes
And burned in brilliant holocausts
We did not ask for this
For the eyes of God
To shadow our lives,
Apparent pity abound
But no mercy from His hands
Where are you now, O God?
How doth thy affection lie?
Prostrate on the ground,
Bury my face in unholy text
Chanting diagnoses
And the time he has left
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
There once was a crazy nurse,
She drove around driving a hearse,
Whenever she hit a victim,
She would cry out "Admit 'em!"
The prognoses couldn't have been worse.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 4:13 AM UTC
Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along wide rivers
eating one grain of rice a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts live
and tall ships anchor firm
on still waters.
Christ laughed at thin laws
refusing to be defined
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and that’s why
it is so sad
some therapsts
forget about the soul
spewing insurable diagnoses
for imaginary pathologies
ignoring the rare pearls
of each heart
logged into their tight sad files.
Rumi cut a lovely poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .
so honor that sacrifice
and never
insult your days
by depending on those
who invent litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your psyche.
When the counselor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC