Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
dk Dec 2013
I can waste endless hours
staring into white screens
causing dystrophy
as sleep crosses my mind
I yearn to decide
not to entertain my eyes
but to entertain my soul
yet I find I keep filling
up with these same things until I'm full

reading complaints about the system
written by people staring into white screens
we all yearn to bring about change
without doing anything
all these screens we stare into
are staring into us
so we complain about this problem
and stare at screens while we discuss

I yearn to bring about change as I stare into a screen
I write a song, a complaint, hypocritically
after wasting endless hours
I can't take it anymore
I pray God help me
Pry away to fight this war
Eli Nash May 2014
Just when we thought
this place couldn't get
any
more
depressing,
a detriment of inadequacy ensues,
and the following hour is spent
beneath a paled,
frosted-blue canvas,
atop a frigid construct
of tether, and steel.

BUT!

As quickly as the dystrophy settled
within minds scarcely caressed
by hallowed slumber,
a frail,
yet,
intensifying light
erupts from the faded line
that separates reality
from ethereality.

As this newly self-empowered
hero of the day
ceases the boundless tundra overhead
with a golden fluorescence
of warmth,
and rapture,
still,
ever-trifling is the southern counterpart.

HARK!

From out of the myriad sheets
of thundercloud gray,
laced with veins of majestic purple,
and glazed with the ensemble
of over-ripened peaches
that blanket the northern skies
of this dawning day
spawns a duet of our mothers'
most
sacred
creation.

HOW MAGNIFICENT!

This spectrum couplet
that champions the veil,
extruding their way out
from the darkest,
most steadfast regions
of our Terran celestial.

Betwixt these valours,
who stand
as beacons of glory
in these most
disparaging of times,
dance a flock
of little
black and white birds,
unveiling to our starving eyes,
ever so eager to feast-
their autumn courtship that,
in its own wonderment,
was that of a
silent
symphony.

LO!

For many a fort night,
we have gazed upon naught
but soot-black sand,
sun-bleached dirt,
and endless foliage,
who's lives have been bled dry
long before even our first wave achieved
boots on ground.

And even as the sun rose higher,
relieving the quietus night
to nothing
but a faded memoir,
so, too,
these masters of vibrancy
shall fade.

BUT!

Even in their last moments of glory,
they triumphed as heralds,
mutely evoking a message
that said:

*'Even at our final breaths,
we shall stand as strong as we did
when She first employed us
into Her heavens.
And until we are completely vanquished,
never; never shall we falter.'
Kelly O'Connor May 2013
We all thought he would
Stay here forever, like
So many other lethargic
Sons and daughters of the slough
Who may never have learned what the mustard fields were for.
I escaped early, lucky I
Guess, but never quite let
Go of him, and another year
Gone by, like battered ships we return.

Those eyes are intense and
Hazel in the oncoming
Headlights, buzz-cut
Hair black as the ruins of Haystack Landing.
Once you’re told, you remember what the mustard fields were for.
“I’m different, I mean,” he says,
“****, even at dinner with family. I
Freak out, get paranoid, like I’m
Fighting for my life in the Sonoma hills.”

He sighs, “I know you know,
When I come back from
Where I’m going, seeing you is
What I’ll want the most, but--”
I wonder if he knows what the mustard fields were for.
“I’ll probably be real different,
Probably need a lot of help.”
Passing elevated acres of mustard, we
Pause; he says, “Gotta stop for gas.”

This soldier stands in sharpened
Contrast to this rural, liberal
Community, these Victorian
Cathedrals of a quiet isolation.
They will never tell you what the mustard fields were for.
I wonder then if something about our
Air here makes us want to reach out,
Aspire for our names and badges
Across the expanse of war and peace.

Like the murky waters of the turning basin,
History hides a silent violence.
Hatching, we find ourselves inoculated against
Human strains of moral dystrophy.
I went into the world knowing well what the mustard fields were for.
They’re still here, still growing, those
Slender, musky stalks, golden heads
Sweetly pastoral in their floral bloom,
Soft biochemical carpets in a cultivated sprawl.
I know now, I know **** well what the mustard fields were for.
9/12/2012
Trial of homelessness strikes close to my heart
It's s difficult to put down in part
My poor baby daughter a ghost on the street
For a bottle, a meal, she'd ***** men she'd meet

This is such a sad and dangerous way
To live a desperate life everyday
The hardest part was watching her die
Not the life I'd have chosen, wonder why?

She was a very hostile and hurtful drunk
True tough love on my part, how low I had sunk
Muscular Dystrophy was part of her plight
She saw only darkness, was too tired to fight

She seized even while downing her *****
Early scerosis, extended abuse
I cried for her at night, worried all day
She called from jail, detox and a hospital stay

I once had to search for her as Jane Doe
In a panic I found her, back out shed go
I felt so mad, sad and **** confused
My sarah was out there, with who I mused

Homeless are people with heart and soul
Whether they choose or not to live this role
I know from experience that this is true
Sarah is loving, giving.....caring too

She had cried to me that I loved her no more
I wrote her a poem to convince and implore
Her to live and I loved her, I swore

I read her that poem in her hospital bed
We both cried, she'd get help,she actually said
She's now a month sober, attending AA
Happily sarah has a safe place to stay
I pray to the Lord that she finds her way
This has been recent and if you would like to read the poem that I read to her in the hospital it's called" Don't Leave Me Behind"
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
I’m sitting here
Alone
And its cold
And
I desperately
Need to ***.

But my ****
Is stuck to the
Leather seat
Of my chair
Not a care for my bladder
See, apathy matters.

You said not to burden myself?
Say what
Speak up
I cant hear you?
Yours is mine and mine
Is yours
And baggage is still heavy
With someone else’s
Name tag on it.

******,
I cant just hear you
And try not to listen
What kind of friend would I be
Cold apathy
And dystrophy
Of the heart.

When lovers
Meet
And defeat
The unknown chill
Of strangeness,
Together they take on
And become
Like moss to the sea
And fossil set in
Stone.

We are portraits
alone
In our twisted
Insecurity
But together we are
Landscapes
Painted tint
and obscurity.

The burden is only the beginning.
While there was the alchemical conclave with Valekiria and the ****** foliage of her in the veins of her beloved, the lightning of the advent of the palfreys was felt. Etréstles, goes out and looks through the strip of the between tent, making sure that Alexander the Great's entourage of Tágmati was there, bringing him his missive, Etréstles warns Mardiath and the others. While the General retreats in awe with his Leonatus falling to the ground depressed from some of the blades, from the riddled herds and the nits of the lycaon in the middle of dismounting. He sneaks up to the marquee where his main commander Vernarth was! He sees him surrounded by inexorable probes ..., pre-existing of such prosapia and losses of the Poimenandros, in all the Shepherds of Men who approached a greater one, when breathing in their exchanges of credibility, and of Vernarthian passion archeology when being introduced by his thoracic pectoralis right, leaving here before his eyes the visible and bloodless of his main artery.

Alexander the Great says: “Khaire, I wish joy to my distinguished Commander Vernarth… !. The General Raises his hands clicking and spreading tiny earrings, to grind them on his face, they were sent by the Falangists, paying homage to him! They were pieces of horse leashes with gold fillets that they ripped from the hooves of cavalry, and from the breastplates of bruised containers. With the tips of their fingers upwards and from his face, they appealed higher to Apollo's presence, and then they bowed to him.

He says: “The last time I saw your individual, we had alternated him to see the enormous bravery of his over-proportioned of him, which our Vernarth imposed in battle. You arranged your army in such a condition so that we would face all its parts forming a large rectangular, at such exterior angles where only your fierceness peeked out, being able to face thrusts derived from anywhere, not being an angle outside the defensive geometry. I saw myriads of Arrows fall on our army, I paid attention to our Lord Vernarth Hetairoi, going with his right Thoracicae Pectoralis lacerated, also semi hanging with his Aspis Koilé. You had your thigh and shoulder blade with impostor arrows that did not detract your spirits to continue ****** trampling of enemy Persian angels, being incapable before you! You mounted Alikantus and with all your momentum in an extreme insane act, you ravaged his insistent enemy ranks. There the omega happened in its exalted moment that I could see over your great courage and bravery, beheading all the Achaemenid troops. Today we have won thanks to your invaluable recklessness. Now I will go after Darío, after his escape in search of new scrolls, which is what the world did behind him, who should never have exposed himself against our alliance with our army and his historicity "

Vernarth replies: "Khaire, Chairetízo ton dioikití mou gia to thánato tou pesménou phantasma, I salute my Commander for the death of the Fallen Ghost." All submerged in the Dorus-Xifos with multiple edges impregnated in the fractions of the kardiá, like a new blood alliance that has to provide us with a new life beyond our deaths. In the hand of the smithy, smith will reside the new land where we have to implement new expeditions. " Brisehal, my Hound of Dash-e-Lut, stifled his ambitions by tarnishing superfluous designs. Now on his broken plain dystrophy, there are signs of panics, which only He instilled on undamaged bodies in the Falangists, they are deponents of our intrepidity, and of the wild rebellion that caused the flight of the Achaemenids. On the glory that did not cease to aspire, I will go in my stir up to meet my paradisiacal ancestors, gratifying the great brotherhood to the kingdom of creation by bustling through the great chimneys of Hestia, and from the universe, departing from its own powers of power, and from the uncontestable love, which makes us coexist with our extremities without anything being clearer than the very trace of their gales, more exceptional than the same that others must reward with adhesion by representing them under all limits that exceed the superior ends. "

From that moment on, everything narrowed into territories of energy, faced with the excesses of events and energetic waste that extended into exquisite archeology of evangelizing events, where its background fluctuations of retro causalities, entered into the observation of the events of energy that was filtered with the elementary particles. They were the crowning of eternal energy that makes the total summary of the elliptical trajectory of the orbit of the electron, as a virtual particle in which they refer to the muon (µ), it will be this massive elementary particle, with spin ½ with negative electric charge, with its mass 207 times greater than that of the electron, with a somewhat longer life than other unstable particles. It is associated with its corresponding antiparticle, the antimuon (µ +), the perfect interaction of the particles and Higgs and Muon, they will marry in the cloud chamber of the Patmos tunnel, becoming active at elevation 197 of the Wonthelimar vertical, at detecting the presence of electromagnetic field that will bend with the early arrival of the fourth Zefian Arrow. Everything was curved as it passed through this field, mediating between the proton and the electron, called the mesotron. Everything evolved with the mass of active light that was teleported by the neutrinos that imploded from Zefian's arrow, a few light-years before reaching contact with the Megaron Áullos Cosmos and the rest of the Katapausis, to allow for the spatiality of the vast numbers of the transversality of the millennial process, and of cosmicity between the elemental and theological physical actors, revealing the blunt veracity of the concatenation of passion archeology, for purposes of the Cosmos Ultramundis valuing the retransformation of consciousness, and shallow souls for a theological quantum becoming.
Codex XVI - Ultramundis Tertium Finale Bumodos
Christopher Lowe Jan 2015
Living in a world
Suffering from Empathy Dystrophy
More concerned with their reality shows
And clean windows
While others live in trash
With people throwing away things
Others would **** to have
wordvango Jul 2014
the dormant sound when breath is all but gone
cranial infarction electrical spark disconnects around
a bad analogy, and, I don't mean to spoil the fantasy
but,
corpuscle dystrophy rots my bulbous anatomy
'tween me ears swelled
synonymy or  antonymy
like psychology through buzzy eyes
often,
brings a symphony of cries,
I apologize!
Amanda Shelton Jun 2017
Who understands the frustrations of using spell check on the phone?
Me I do.

My smart phone isn't very smart,
it types words that I would never use.

Some people are very rude,
they judge me because of a typo.
Hahaha!

I think that some people are just
too judgemental
to allow such a thing to go
without giving demeaning criticism.

It's not fair because it's not my fault the phone is programmed to work the way it does.

How I am the error or the stupid one
if I have tried to change the spelling yet the phone still types for me?

Sometimes it works and has a beautiful sway,
other times it choaks my poetic flow
goes the other way.  

But there's no call for rude comments,
what did I do to you?
It must be your personal issues,
has nothing to do with me.

There only typos,
they won't bite you
or cause you cancer.

You don't have to stop by my space and throw it in my face.

You are a childish person to think
it was okay.
Also I am disabled
and I have learned to love my mistakes.

Why don't you try being autistic and suffer from a movement disorder on top of muscle dystrophy?
You think it's easy for me? Hahaha

I am proud to say "yes I make spelling errors like everyone else does once in a awhile."

I bet you started out with horrible spelling,
you had to because you had to learn just like the rest of us.

You are no different than anyone else.
I hope you feel better about yourself someday.

I wish you the best.
Maybe you need a hug.*

*© By Amanda Shelton
I am fed up with rude trolls. They say very ugly things. I wrote this because of a comment I got. I will not be silent about my thoughts if I did, bad things could happen to someone else who is weaker than I and I don't want that to happen. Please stop the judgements and trolling. I don't care what your problems are you don't have to put it out on me. Keep it to yourself and get help somewhere else. I am done. Thank you.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
With a lack of coffee and muscles for dystrophy,
as a royal carcass on my own doorstep.
Go on and find another.
I'm tired of being ****** with by you,
find another "king" who sleeps
on floors and couches and worship him.
I didn't ask for it.
Find another pawn to suffocate
in a desire to fill the masculine
with violent tendencies and bulk.
Go on, get out of here and
build something else that
howls at midnight because it can't cry.
Put on your sunglasses and look for
another star; something that longs
to be bright.
**** on someone else with your love,
and don't let me owe you anything.
I've been in bed for a string of days
that haven't ended yet.
...
And still haven't seen the end.
It's funny how tragedy
attracts me
not funny haha
but funny
bizarre

the weird cases
distraught faces
distract me
and this affects me,

perversely I seem to thrive
on human misery
and strive for
the ultimate
(dystrophy)

It's a burden
carrying a *******
for the big one,
Armageddon

but
when the World goes tilt
I'll have my hand in it up
to the hilt.

funny haha?
but only funny so
far
and then it gets spiteful

shamefully
I have to admit that I'm more than a bit
off key

tragedy does that to
people like me.
Liz Anne Oct 2012
Haven't you seen when the world stops moving?
No sooner had you left than when I closed my eyes and leapt.                                                  
I have no pity for you but my own ghostly, living, empathy.                                                    
    ­                                                                 ­   Felt the air as it took its vacume exit from the room?
You know little of what makes me my own, I can forgive.                                                        
My tongue has touched bitter haste and thanked words gone to waste.                                  
                        ­                                                     Didn't you hear the tedium evaporate into sick silence?
There are no words for what you have yet to smell.                                                           ­         
I cannot drive home my own dystrophy to you who has never known it.
raingirlpoet Feb 2018
i think you hurt me
and i think,
at the time at least
i liked it.

i liked that someone listened to me
that should’ve been the first red flag
no one listens to me
i mean no one like you listens to me.

and i didn’t think it odd or inappropriate
i’m gay,
i told you
i didn’t think you were a threat
and that should’ve been the second.

i didn’t think it was weird
when you asked me for selfies
because people swap selfies, right?
i’ve sent some pretty hideous double chinned bedhead dead eyed selfies to my girlfriend
how is it any different if it’s to a guy friend?

except it was different
you asked to see my thigh gap
my feet
my lordotic back because you wanted to see how my muscular dystrophy affected me
physically.
that should’ve been the third.

you called me pet names.
you told me you loved me.
you said you would always be there for me when no one else was.
fourth. fifth. sixth.

at first i thought it endearing and a platonic kind of love.
but you don’t say those things to a girl you met on the internet
i don’t.

i struggle saying those three words.
they weigh me down and make me choke on air when i try to say them out loud
so when you insisted i say them back, that you wouldn’t stop bugging me until i did,
i panicked
typed them, hit “send”
and cried later
and you told me it’s no big deal, everyone says “i love you”
not me. never me.
seventh flag.

you told me you’d visit
you told me we were meant to be
like a ****** up romeo and juliet
you spent your nights talking me down off of suicidal ledges
you thought you saved me
you kept telling me to just ******* eat, that starving myself was stupid, that you couldn’t have me die on you, that you were supposed to die first
“death is not a race,” i said
“you’ll win anyway if i don’t save you,” you replied
eighth flag.
i didn’t like it anymore.

i think you hurt me.
i can’t be too sure since you’ve convinced me you were just being friendly but i’m starting to come out of this fog you’ve put me in
and i do believe
you’ve hurt me.

-rgp
I live vividly without visibly having the ability to live willingly nor the versatility to fight your volatility. Unequivocally I believe in relativity but unofficially I use negativity as a means of self-sufficiency. Naturally I have a proclivity towards acting predictably when publicly judging turbidity. Additionally I hide in anonymity and indignantly ignore my epiphany of the asymmetry of unanimity. Shamefacedly I turn to your intricate dystrophy and observe the futility of my soliloquy. I can' find nobility in dying deliberately, but it shows efficiency in skimming humanity. Initially my hostility was untangible but it has suspiciously aquired solidity and is now intermittently sending signs of my eccentricity. My alkalinity is running low because surreptitiously the pungency has grown. I am undoubtedly peripheral to the society and irresistibly disposable in the industry of this idiosyncrasy.
Willard May 2018
love is muscular dystrophy.

i can feel the earth cave in
and the mountains touch tips,
a "drunken mistake"
in the church parking lot
they'll never tell their friends.

i get it.
i never told my friends the truth,
i just told them i loved them.

and for a while i have been
attempting to soundtrack
the world's end, my end,
and the realization that
my gastrointestinal system
will collapse before i'm 20
if i don't lift my head up for once.

yet every good poem i've ever written
has been sober and manic,
pessimism with too much hope,
and every metaphor used
never held any actual weight.

i've welcomed writer's block
with half open arms
as i try to write a final track,
or at least a penultimate one,
if the time doesn't feel right.

if i have to promise once more
that i'd try to take care of myself,
stop crying in empty driveways
over broken promises,
stop holding myself over
the diner's staircase
with bulging anticipation.

it felt good being surrounded,
it feels bad being crushed

and knowing there is so much more
out there in the valley or whatever universe
i decide to live in,
yet i can't get out
of my family's trash compactor.
Ben Sep 2016
My friend works at
An old folks home
Makes his living off the
Constant enterprise of  
Death and disease

"It's a dark place"
He says
A parliament light
Between his fingers

He tells me about
A twenty five year
Old who has
Muscular dystrophy
Named anthony

"You should see him clam
Up around this aid, Caitlin.
All he wants to do is talk
To her."

A man
A boy really
Two years younger
Than me whose body
Decided to eat itself
One day
Who still gets nervous
Around pretty nurses

"He'll be dead in five years."

He tells me about Joyce

"She collapsed in the
Airport on her way back
To England. Shes been in the
Home for seven years. Her
Family doesn't have enough
Money to bring her home.
She told me it's all about the dash."

The dash? I say
Tipping the green
Bottle up and draining
The last warm slug of
Beer into my mouth

"Yeah, the dash.
On your tombstone.
It doesn't matter what date
You were born or the date
You die. What matters is the
Dash in between them."

I leave later than I should
When music comes on
The car radio I turn it off
And drive with the windows
Down.
Charcot–Marie–Tooth disease
Other names Charcot–Marie–Tooth neuropathy, peroneal muscular atrophy, Dejerine-Sottas syndrome

The foot of a person with Charcot–Marie–Tooth disease: The lack of muscle, a high arch, and claw toes are signs of this genetic disease.
Pronunciation
[ʃaʁko maʁi tuːθ]
Specialty Neurology, podiatry, orthopedics, physical medicine and rehabilitation
Symptoms Foot drop, hammertoe, peripheral muscle wasting of lower legs and lower arm/hands
Usual onset Childhood – early adulthood
Duration Lifelong
Causes Family history (genetics)
Risk factors Family history (genetics), high-arched feet, flat-arched feet
Diagnostic method Genetic testing, nerve conduction study or electromyogram (EMG)
Differential diagnosis Muscular dystrophy
Treatment Management to maintain function
Prognosis Progressive
Frequency Prevalence: 1 in 2,500[1][2]
Charcot–Marie–Tooth disease (CMT) is a hereditary motor and sensory neuropathy of the peripheral nervous system characterized by progressive loss of muscle tissue and touch sensation across various parts of the body. This disease is the most commonly inherited neurological disorder, affecting about one in 2,500 people.[3][4] It is named after those who classically described it: the Frenchman Jean-Martin Charcot (1825–1893), his pupil Pierre Marie (1853–1940),[5] and the Briton Howard Henry Tooth (1856–1925).[6][7]

There is no known cure. Care focuses on maintaining function. CMT was previously classified as a subtype of muscular dystrophy.[3]

Signs and symptoms
Symptoms of CMT usually begin in early childhood or early adulthood but can begin later. Some people do not experience symptoms until their early 30s or 40s. Usually, the initial symptom is foot drop or high arches early in the course of the disease. This can be accompanied by hammertoe, where the toes are always curled. Wasting atrophy of muscle tissue of the lower parts of the legs may give rise to a "stork leg" or "inverted champagne bottle" appearance. Weakness in the hands and forearms occurs in many people as the disease progresses.[8]

High-arched feet (pes cavus) or flat-arched feet (pes planus) are classically associated with the disorder.[9] Loss of touch sensation in the feet, ankles, and legs as well as in the hands, wrists, and arms occurs with various types of the disease. Early- and late-onset forms occur with 'on and off' painful spasmodic muscular contractions that can be disabling when the disease activates. Sensory and proprioceptive nerves in the hands and feet are often damaged, while unmyelinated pain nerves are left intact. Overuse of an affected hand or limb can activate symptoms including numbness, spasm, and painful cramping.[8]

Symptoms and progression of the disease can vary. Involuntary grinding of teeth and squinting are prevalent and often go unnoticed by the person affected. Breathing can be affected in some, as can hearing, vision, and neck and shoulder muscles. Scoliosis is common, causing hunching and loss of height. Hip sockets can be malformed. Gastrointestinal problems can be part of CMT,[10][11] as can difficulty chewing, swallowing, and speaking (due to atrophy of vocal cords).[12] A tremor can develop as muscles waste. Pregnancy has been known to exacerbate CMT, as well as severe emotional stress. Patients with CMT must avoid periods of prolonged immobility such as when recovering from a secondary injury, as prolonged periods of limited mobility can drastically accelerate symptoms of CMT.[13]

Pain due to postural changes, skeletal deformations, muscle fatigue, and cramping is fairly common in people with CMT. It can be mitigated or treated by physical therapies, surgeries, and corrective or assistive devices. Analgesic medications may also be needed if other therapies do not provide relief from pain.[14] Neuropathic pain is often a symptom of CMT, though, like other symptoms of CMT, its presence and severity vary from case to case. For some people, pain can be significant to severe and interfere with daily life activities. However, pain is not experienced by all people with CMT. When neuropathic pain is present as a symptom of CMT, it is comparable to that seen in other peripheral neuropathies, as well as postherpetic neuralgia and complex regional pain syndrome, among other diseases.[15]

Atypical presentations of CMT can also lead to leg muscles, specifically the calves, enlarging.[16] This hypertrophic type of CMT is not caused by the muscles enlarging directly, but by pseudohypertrophy of the legs as fatty tissue enters the leg muscles.[17][18][19]

Causes

Chromosome 17
Charcot–Marie–Tooth disease is caused by genetic mutations that cause defects in neuronal proteins. Nerve signals are conducted by an axon with a myelin sheath wrapped around it. Most mutations in CMT affect the myelin sheath, but some affect the axon.[20]
David Hilburn Mar 2019
Look, pal
The truth in a countering hand
Has a lip to prove, any old how
That should know the better, of a guilty and

Simple news, to the disenfranchised
Paces we can deal with, the lover's
Of summary not, knots in their life?
Lie's we can deal a blow to, once and forever

Look, pal
The lies in a contrivances hand
Hasn't a lip to prove, any new call...
To keep the better, of an innocent and

Complex news, to the dystrophy
Peace's deal with, hatred
Of sincerity's nothing, notches with a key...
Kindred we can't deal blows to, without anger lead

Liberty we assure
The coming part and host of commitment
To work in concert for a thought purer
By the senses we adopt, or adore as the spire of lament?

Prejudice and privilege...?
To take the back of your hand, for a fool it was
An honest means, to finished same, the tooth of rage
In intuition's mar, the consensus of love from dust

Tales from the creep
Visited with a portion in vague, the light of precisely
Then and heart's of cope, the logic you let, with
A hand in the scourge of time, that has become power's season?

— The End —