"donor" poems
Those stretch marks are not tiger stripes.
Instead, they are the waves and ripples in the reflection of the ocean on the side of a boat.
They are proof,
of a death before birth.
Proof of a still born baby's water birth,
and how the pool of blood and fluid leftover from the trauma,
became salt water poisoned by tears.
The red lines are the way her eyes looked.
Blood shot and bruised from the previous blows.
They are proof that she lived.
That the ***** donor that does not deserve the title of father, lived.
And that the baby girl is dead.
She never got to see her eyes open.
Do not romanticize those stretch marks,
saying that they are stripes that were earned.
They are nothing but scars of a horrifying event that she is reminded of every time she sees a baby,
and every time she looks at her body,
because she is no tiger.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
There is ***** for sale and wombs for rent
For same *** couples it’s cash well spent.
While heterosexuals breed their own
Gay couples, as yet, cannot clone.
A lesbian couple who had the itch
is suing their ***** bank for “bait and switch”.
They wanted a Caucasian baby
and had requested ***** from vial “380”.
The donor of that ***** was white,
Handsome, smart, just “not their type”
They were given another’s ***** instead
And an interracial child was bred.
It seems they were given vial “330”
The vials, it seems, were marked unclearly.
An honest mistake by a nearsighted boomer?-
or one with a twisted sense of humor?
A civil suit will go to trial
seeking damages for a mixed race child.
If their motion to dismiss should meet denial
The “bank” will suffer premature withdrawal.
In which event bankruptcy looms
For the bank that supplies the ***** for wombs.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
They are Immortal.
They are dead inside.
They are pale.
They often sparkle
but naturally don't.
They bite necks.
They are nocturnal.
They are out for blood.
They enthrall people effortlessly.
Their loved ones are often dead
or being mourned
while secretlly alive.
They act like the cool kids.
Or the awkward emo clicks,
but are treated like this exclusive club.
They don't show up in mirrors
because this IS their reflection.
They don't let the real them see the sun.
I am reflecting.
On.
Why.
Why have I only dated vampires?
I'm loosing lots of blood.
But
What am I gaining?
Besides y'know...
their blood diseases.
And lots of exciting! moments
That belong in movies
that would get
or already have gotten
way to popular.
And be better as books.
Some of them can throw me across a room.
Some of them love to count.
some of them seem to only show up around halloween and looove chocolate
Don't get me wrong.
I still love all these terrifyingly
Seductive temptresses.
I have a type.
But I don't know if it's A
Or B
Or O negative?
I'm an optimism ******
Oh, Positive?
I'm not afraid of needles
But they're afraid of me.
I tend to be a universal donor.
Which makes matching blood hard
Blood that works with my body is rare.
This is not to say anyone
could use my blood
Universal donor or not.
I am infected
with a blood disease
It could be vampirism
Or well, whatever causes one to seek
Vampires.
I Can't confirm anything about wooden stakes
Or decapitation or garlic.
But i can assure you setting them on fire doesn't work.
No matter how hot or fiery I make them
Their anger never kills them
It just makes them stronger.
But it does repel them quite nicely.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
I call you an *****
An ***** player,
Player of hearts and eyes alike
Your fingers pressed to the porcelain
as if the weather depends on
whether or not the pipes pipe up
as if a heart does not beat without
your hands repairing the metal indents
An ***** donor,
Donor of drunken livers and stomachs full of barbed wire fencing
Your lips pointed upward once awakened from dissection
as if you could lacerate a human being from the inside
and go on being
as if keeping them in liquor-filled mason jars
will cradle their fear
An ***** system,
Without a skeleton or bandaids to piece yourself together
You bleed out and ignite a single flame
as if you could burn a house down
with all your leaving
as if you could survive a life spineless
not living but breathing
DDD
(11/10/2013)
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
I took my name off of the *****
donor registry. I don't wish to wish
myself on any-body. I'm a hard man
to live with, you see. You've seen
the way I treat(ed) my liv-er; any way.
Anyway...if you really want a piece
of me take my heart. Cigarettes and
women haven't yet ruined the best part.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
It’s unique in jurisprudence,
this case I must decide.
Child custody is disputed
between a woman and her bride.
One spouse supplied a fertile egg,
The other gave it womb.
Deciding custody is a challenge
in the absence of a groom.
Was one woman just a donor?-
having no parental rights.
Was the birth mother just a surrogate?
It’s keeping me up nights.
To which mother should I give the child?
Which one will I turn away?
I cannot cut the child in half
to let each have their way.
Its tragedy when Love had died,
leaving children in its wake.
I gave birth mother custody-
Have I made a bad mistake?
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 8:30 PM UTC
Today I cried even though I did not know you well
I cried because I was wishing for one more day to know you better
I passed you in the hall almost everyday
I pass by your door and feel the absence of your presence
You were a very good neighbor always kind an anonymous donor for whatever our apartment building needed
You deeds that were unnoticed may have an eternal reward
You service to our country was recognized today
How come it takes someone's passing for people to be noticed
When there were so many opportunities when they were just two doors away.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Harvested perfect eggs,
of the mother to be,
are kept, in deep freeze.
enriched sperms of paid donor
(looked after well
to keep perfect fit)
are getting impatient.
the bee, fertilizer nonpareil
handpicked and hired,
fertility specialist,
didn't keep his word;
away on leave,
"pollinating vacation"
over phone, he explains,
"my last chance to
proliferate my clan,
wife is excited,
need to make it happen now
this time, of the year,
the chances are the best"
*a melancholy moon, barren woman
silently weeps moonbeams
over the sparse, still thinning forest*.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
A Finn-Dorset clone,
Now not the alone.
Born on 5 July in 1996,
She died on Valentine's Day in 2003.
The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six,
Produced not from the common ovine ***
Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on.
Named after Dolly Parton,
'Coz of her admired *****
Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders,
Extracted not without the sheep's jitters.
This sheep was the donor.
However, these cells were enucleated,
And the enucleated nucleus was handled.
Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo,
Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus.
This sheep was the recipient.
Without a folly, born was Dolly,
Resemble she did the donor.
Not only in its visible phenotype
But also in its invisible genotype.
Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA.
Her birth did open a new portal,
Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
Does it really matter how many people like my status on Facebook? Why do I delete posts that don't get any likes, as if what I said had to get peer approval to be real? I don't pose for the camera on Instagram to make a fan to get a heart, which I feel has turned to stone like I locked eyes with a gorgon, That heart is as fake as the comparison to the actual ***** It's okay if she's break my heart, I can afford to loan her, I'm an ***** donor.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
I signed the papers
to give my organs away
after I die
to let you know that
even after I'm gone
you can still find me
inside of others.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Donor of precious breath and dappled miracles;
'Tis virtuous Lord that sends the kissy graces---
Those which we pride fully see here in blessing hues,
Of florets that primly spring the sweet daughter's eyes.
When Saves the sinless face of her; the mirthful thought-
So watchful is purity in cheerful weightless hours,
And nestled above the innocent columns of bright-
Radiance, which are seen on growth's careful corners.
Once you held the esteem when you have watched-
The birds with surprising eyes, your baby feet crept
Silently on the corridor and wind a song tuned,
As softly murmur’d on your own balmy ears to apt.
O' a real bead of ruby, that marks parents proud,
On those starry glances that quench any a thirsty mind
So as your humble nods and tiny frame allowed-
Them to seek those tender hands, where I, kisses find.
Like a flower that spring up early above the leaves,
To spread the fragrance so peacefully to fill the air,
Where the morns latest star,that shines to active lives,
Will throw his pointed beam to enlighten you fair.
Life can teach you a success, by nature you must grow;
If Divine that your eyes can see, and divine will,
Be ears can hear, to show you how to love and sow,
The seeds of compassion and mutual respect still~
What else I compare with those smiles to be adored-
For she has to the world so happy-happy love.
O' precious little girl--- crawl to your sleeping bed,
And mother will tell you a moral story, so motive.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Shut the door
Breathe a little more.
Because they say
Sticks and stones...
Break my bones.
And its true.
Your words hurt too
They cut like knives
Stab like swords.
Make me feel war headed.
Something so dreaded.
Ghosts of my past
Spawn every year.
But im a good person
I dont deserve this curse and
More and more
I begin to imagine a life without you.
A place where you dont exist.
I will try to presist.
But ive got a list
One that makes me ******
And your name's on top.
*what a ******* honor*
Its like you are a suicide wish donor.
Im roasting you
And i know you hate me too.
But ive escaped.
This game.
But i just might come back
To teach you
how to play
welcome to war
**mother ******
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Dear dad,
I'm 18 years old,
and you've been out of my life for 17 years and 42 weeks of it.
You missed out on your little girl learning, and growing, and turning into a woman.
Someone else taught me how to ride a bike,
but I don't think that you mind missing something so important.
I don't think you mind missing recitals, and concerts and shows.
I don't think you'd even recognize me if you saw me on the street.
You don't deserve the title dad,
so for as long as I can remember, I've called you ***** donor.
Because that's all you ever given me (except for daddy issues and hereditary mental illness).
You don't deserve the title dad because you never taught me how I was supposed to be treated;
so I settled for too little, and longed to be loved.
But now, I don't even call you ***** donor,
I neglect to recognize your existance in my life,
because let's face it, you were never even a possibility.
I feel bad after all these years,
because you missed out on the joy of having a daughter,
and being a father.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC
where would we be
without our community volunteers
those wonderful people
who are there in times of need
the blood donor
gives a pint of blood
to keep a soul alive
the only payment he takes
is a cup of tea and piece of cake
the carer
who looks after a neighbor
who has no relative around
to assist with showering
and household chores
the Lions Club member
out on the street collecting money
for a wheelchair
to be placed in a hospital ward
there are people
who've an altruistic bent
out in each of our communities
daily assisting others
if these people
didn't come forward
to offer a helping hand
for free
the community
would be the poorer
without their kind deeds
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
Devil just can't get a hold of me
'Cause God's life and death has set me free
Devil just can't keep me down
'Cause not even death could keep Jesus in the ground
Devil won't take my eyes
'Cause Jesus has power over the prince of lies
Devil don't own my heart
'Cause God made me his right from the start
Devil can't bind my hands
'Cause God has my life under his commands
Devil won't hold my feet
'Cause Jesus stood strong when taking heat
Devil won't steal my soul
'Cause Jesus is he who fills the hole
Devil can't steal my strength
'Cause Jesus is my rock, refuge, and with him I'll go great lengths
Devil don't bind my chest
'Cause when I'm at my weakest, God's at his best
Devil just can't hold me back
'Cause God will protect me from attack
Devil can't control my *****
'Cause God satisfies fully when, to his, our hearts we join
Blazing hot with the Holy Spirit
The devil runs for fear of it
To God I give my entire being
His power sends the devil fleeing
When Jesus is present on my mind
I can leave the devil far behind
In Christ's eternal perfect love
Devil says: "Aye, there's the rub"
In faith and trust I hold to hope
Feet are firm against the devil's steep slope
In God I take great joy and delight
That the devil can't hope to steal my light
Jesus is my source of peace
Devil won't win but he doesn't cease
To God I sing hymns of praise
To fend off the devil's cold embrace
To serve the Lord is a great honor
My life was saved by a blood donor
To God be power and wonder and glory
Spoiler: The devil loses at the end of the story!
Jesus is the lover of my soul
Devil just don't have any control
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
I woke up on the gurney
with pain that robs my breath.
Broken ribs and a row of sutures
running down between my *******
Strange to still be breathing
when my heart is dead and gone
In my chest Abio-Cor
stubbornly pumps on.
Was it really just a week ago
sitting with my friends in class
when first I felt the stabbing pain.
when each breath came as a gasp?
My teacher called an ambulance
He saved my life, friends say.
A muscle killing virus
caused my pulse to fade away.
One hundred over forty
I was quickly losing ground.
I would need a donor transplant
but none compatible was found.
I’m a high school girl, just seventeen
-I should be college bound
Not fighting for each breath and
destined for a plot of ground.
The surgeon asked my parents
if he should try Abio-Cor
an artificial heart replacement
in which researchers placed great store.
My crying parents, grasped the straw
consenting he should try.
They would operate immediately-
delay would mean I’d die.
So now I’m in recovery
with my artificial heart.
My fiends call me the Tin Girl,
because of my replacement part.
It will be a long recovery-
seven weeks if fate is kind..
I share my feelings with a heart
still learning to be mine
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a ***** I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
there is one truth of which i'm incandescently certain and that's that nobody can take away a truth as it darkens, a galaxy in a glass; and the truth is that i'd be the only ***** donor in a charity just for you because signals and signs have showed me your soul and you're grander than celestial poles
if i didn't know any better i'd suggest you're the sun and i'm the solar system and i orbit around you and i'm not too sure about humans having wings but imagine:
a snowy cabin some place away from civilisation, you and i and wholehearted communication, you and i and books and fictional integration, you and i and mind blowing realisations, you and i and wings outstretched souring across nations
you are the sun and i am the solar system and although i orbit you i'm never allowed to brush the surface, i'm guessing it's for a purpose so i admire from afar, a gaze stretched over constellations and the sound of your voice bouncing off stars into my hemisphere of tangled webs and ripened tears, the echoing trailing behind merely a souvenir
there is one truth of which i'm incandescently certain and that's this:
the only reason my brain hasn't stopped my heart from beating is because the thoughts of you are giving it meaning and it's hard to breathe with these overwhelming feelings but i'm coping because the broken glass holding my galaxy is healing
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
we were drinking wine out of mason jars
and spinning records on the floor.
getting kicked out of our basement bedrooms for burning memories and starting fires.
we were young and leave each other every other week. you and i, we pass each other on the street.
you're in the car that almost hits me and honks instead of apologizing, but you get out and kiss
me after.
we stop traffic you know.
as time progresses for everyone else but loops around and pauses for the two of us.
if the stars were to say we're a fatal combination
i'd say, **** the stars,
nobody speaks for the dead except the people speaking for God and what right did they have?
what cult do i have to join to get to heaven?
where do i sign my body away?
when i signed the papers to become an ***** donor my mother asked me if i was okay with somebody taking my eyes,
nobody sees with their eyes it is beneath them, they can take them.
you, you take what you need.
you put your hand in the cookie jar expecting to bite so you never know sugar but honey.
i am here.
in your waiting room
in your bookshelf
in your breath.
you’re dreaming of a better place.
i'm never leaving before you wake up.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
I am quiet. I am shy. But don’t you dare think for a minute that that means I have no voice. I am short, and I don’t speak unless called on, but don’t you dare think that that means that I am any less of a person. I have a voice, and I will be heard. I was forgotten on the bus because I was too quiet, too small, too shy. I am afraid to look people in the eye, to walk past a male without feeling in danger. I have been shoved, pushed, squished, and squashed! So I am fed up, and trust me, you don’t want to make me mad.
I am 14, I am a female, and I have a voice! I have opinions, and you **** well better listen! I will have opinions about my life, and I will have a say in the matter. You can try to put me down, but I’m already short! You wanna know why us short people have such fiery tempers? It’s because we are closer to hell. And we will give it to you too.
Don’t you dare tell me that I can’t. I can do anything, and I will do it better than you ever could. I was captain of my baseball team for 5 years. Yes, that’s right boys, I, the quiet, nerdy, small girl bossed your ***** around on the field.
My step-father insists I have no voice. Now, as I’ve said before, you know I do. My step-father insists that I am too young, my step-father insists, that I, know nothing. I want to yell, I want to scream out: “YES I DO!” But my mother insists I stay quiet. My mother insists that I should submit to his whims, my mother insists that I must behave for him, to not anger him, DO NOT ANGER THE BEAST! This is what I am taught every day!
Don’t you dare make him mad, don’t you dare have opinions, don’t you dare have a say. Because you are a 5’4, 14 year old female, raised by a single mother and a ***** donor. Because you come from the bottom of the heap, so why should you? Because you are bullied, because you are quiet, shy, short, nerdy, and you want to have a voice.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
i tried forgetting you so hard
my liver's collapsing
& i've got these bruises & cuts -
contusions & concussions -
from my aggravation, concentrated
on the wrong people in crowded places
but we all need ventilation.
so i spilled out abuse
on whoever was willing to take it,
combining fists with faces -
call it distraction or entertainment,
whichever way you phrase it,
i won't remember...i was wasted -
i was swimming in liquid sentiments
the backstroke of the blind
as i'm blacking out my mind,
turning off the lights
on the portion of my life
you partially defined.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
does the dawn fall in love with
the receding night?
does the sun long to merge with
the silvery beams of the moon?
does the blue sky ever attempt to kiss
the earth in a tight embrace?
do the mountains strive to touch
the stars of the firmament?
is it not the red tint of the morn
that colours the cheeks of the dusk?
is it not the smile of the moon
that lessens the wrath of the sun?
is not the sky sharing the earth’s pain
as she sheds tear drops in sweltering heat?
aren’t the twinkling stars covering the darkness
lending a radiant sparkle to the black granite?
love turns the world around,
enriching the donor and the receiver
it gives more than the soul can aspire
it lights up more than darkness can hide
it fills the void, makes us whole
a light house to the sailors at sea
the greatest gift, a treasure of measureless worth
so love as never before, love till you die!
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly that night.
And even more sorry to know that you had the shock
of finding my ’not wanted on the voyage’ body.
The useless carcass I left behind.
That shouldn’t happen to anyone,
to find your lifeless partner by your side…
That’s how you’d see it anyway.
But me? I’m off now into the wide blue yonder,
never to return. Not as you knew me anyway.
These are the rules I’m afraid.
Apparently some people do come back.
****** Spiritualists & Clairvoyants… They make us all,
up here - seem like part timers.
Not that I wouldn’t… But it’s complicated.
There’s a kind of apprenticeship,
a protocol to follow…There are still rules
even in death. There has to be a trade off.
No pain… no anguish…
And, you can just dip in and out of your old
family’s life - PAs… Personal Appearances.
That’s what 'Head Office' calls ‘em
Pacifies the loved ones that you are settled.
In the dying mode of things that is.
Really what you’re doing… as a soul,
is waiting for a suitable donor body
then you're born into a new family!
That's the way it goes!
To end on a lighter note… Kind of makes you wonder
why there aren’t more child prodigies around…
Maybe only the smartest ones make it back! Who knows?
All that knowledge gone to waste… Just saying!
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
It was something of a medical miracle;
First, an acid attack had destroyed one girls face.
Then another young woman died and
her parents donated her guise
so the first girl's could be replaced.
It was a delicate operation,
detaching the face of one dead.
It became as pale as a Kabuki girls'
It looked like a death mask they said.
How strange then was the sensation
when the patient was UN-mummified
To see someone else in the mirror;
The face of a stranger through her eyes.
She was glad to once more appear human
though the donor was somewhat older than she.
She would live out her days in the face of another-
but then, We are all wearing masks- aren't we?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC