"hemophilia" poems
I used to think that sadness was beautiful,
But what is the point of it all? We're supposed to be youthful!
They said time and time over that it would pass, but to be truthful:
The feeling and expressing pain or sorrow for sins, it's all we feel: ruthful
So in the end, what is the point of life at all?
When all we do is sit around and bawl,
"I just wanted to be pretty Cristi, just like a doll!"
But isn't it more important to be happy, above all?
All I have been feeling for the past couple of years is pain,
Even though all I have wrapped around my neck is a golden chain
Rather than his clenched fingers restricting against my jugular vein,
With a voice in the back of my mind reminding me of my engraved Mark of Cain,
It begs and exclaims, and it can't seem to remain restrained,
But to ease me of my pain, they'd say: "Here, have a glass of Champagne."
Can't you see what this mystery is doing to me?
I can't seem to break the shackles that would set me free,
All I'm reminded of is of my unfinished Master's Degree.
"Is that all that matters to you?!" I dare to plea,
"But what about my happiness, or my hemophilia b?!"
Their expressions are forever carved in my mind: dropped jaws and widened eyes,
"If it is such a sin to be happy, can't one consider the act of decriminalize?!"
They'd all put up such a convincing and eerie disguise
As if it would turn back the clock to avoid their end, their demise
But I could tell by their silenced, hushed lips and snake eyes:
My inquiry deserved a Nobel prize
What was it about my question that turned my loved ones against me?
They wouldn't dare turn their heads my way, they'd continue to sip on their black tea
As if I were a ghost, or some sort of banshee
The loss of my sanity is what they could foresee
-
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
I breathe in this silence that is not
Silenced,
Air alive with heartbeats and
Clocks ticking too slow,
Eyes meeting over
Sticky plastic tables,
Snapping away like an awkward blind date,
Fingertips drumming impatiently.
Wait.
Calm.
Be patient.
Tick...tock........tick...............tock
I can't, I won't, my son laying
One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away,
But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren,
Interfering.
My red shirt crumples beneath
Nervous fingers,
The same shade as the blood given
To my son, not knowing it contained
Death.
Why can't I fight with my son,
My son,
Shining brightly and boldly as the sun,
Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about.
Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis,
But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a
Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death.
AIDS.
Oh God.
Breathe.
Can't breathe.
Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity
Alone.
White sheets and sterile beds rob
My son of all his sunshine,
Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket,
Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him,
Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock.
I see red.
Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles,
How do I know that this is safe,
No one knows if this is safe,
This is our only hope.
Tick..tock.....tick........tock.
White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us,
We run.
My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue.
Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions,
All of my tears,
All of my grief,
All his last breaths.
My son.
No longer my sunshine,
Just a pale winter afternoon,
No sun beneath cold sheets of snow.
My son.
Time moves too slow when everyone wears black,
Like molasses dripping from a jar into
Metallic air and earthy graves.
Like ash clouding out the sun.
My son.
No more my sun.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
You, Me and the Pink Panther
Also the Mouse in the nest
Eating rubber ***** and drinking chlorine.
Write your Message on the water
And the Moon will tell me
Or let the gravity show me.
The music is tired,
It wants to rest on a glacier
The Perfume is stinking
And the Ink is dying a sad death
Beauty is only history
and time is a mere thought
French is 7=6
And We are floating in a space YET TO BE FOUND
Darkness is made up of too much light
Feelings are Mad Cats now
Now Blood is not Holy
Mistakes are Teachers
And the Computers are tired
They Need a Saridon
Faith now doubts its existence
Leisure can't find time
Colors mean an ugly shade
And Freedom is within narrow confines
Right is now measured by the Wrong
Tears have no place to fall
Words have NO MEANING AT ALL
SENSITIVITY is 'the' disease of Heart
Where Life means a tiring Break
And another child is blessed with Life of Pain
All Undefined shall now die
Motives are the modern vowels
The Crowd is lonely
The World has got pimples
Girls have become Pungent
And Conscious is in Coma
Life crawls under the shadow of past
And Hope for the Future
No One Lives for Today
Mushrooms and cannibals have become Friends
Selling Potato & Mutton Soup
All Needles are telling a lie
The Evil has got Hemophilia
Pride is at the mercy of Shame
Depth is triflingly shallow
The unsaid is still waiting to be heard
While the Expression is feeling Stifled
Blind is the Sight
Dreams are no longer fantasy long
And Deceit is the Common Salt
Happiness is rocking against Triangles
Now Headaches can be tasted
And Sorrows have a Flavor
Money is Dumb, Dumb, Dumb
Love will be born only after death
Only the Weeds on the Graves are Thinking
Chocolates are biting the children
The Heat is turning White
Crosses have become circles
The Roads seem to have lost their way
The Rat-Racers are wandering in the Labyrinth
Its Only Exit being Locked
Silence is beginning to make Noise
And the Earth is planning a Rescue from Humans
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
feelings rush through
veins of red—
pulsating,
plotting,
yearning.
a breath,
a word,
a touch,
a kiss—
one ***** now
the world is red.
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 3:33 AM UTC
Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler
takes us public school, heathens
to catechism on Saturday morn
Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina
Shifts three on the wheel
drives that clutch to the floor
with her thick leg
Makes the engine roar
a little
“to warm it up”
Turns with the grace of swan
Pavlova or belladonna
Something of beauty
just to watch her
three-finger the wheel through a turn around
all while taking a drag
exhales to ceiling
to music on the radio
Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline
circa 1959
Betty's hair is short, uncombed
but she's not without lipstick
lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills
Calm
like a woman who does it often
takes on wear
with I'm in love, and I don't give a care
She shifts and turns
cigarette balanced like gossip on lips
or between
those first two fingertips
Smoke swirling
amid kids squabbling and whining
in the back seat
No belts back then
till Dad got home
to keep them in line
But, I bet on Betty every time
to get us there
I want to drive like her, so badly!
I sit beside her-- ossified
watching
her smoke and handle
like a total expert
I am distracted
and will surely fumble
my catechism answers
for the nuns
cataclysmically
She drops us off by an icy foot slide
I swear to God to stop back later when we're done
...with prayer and penance
recitation... and resolvings
to sin no more
Once we're out the door--
back to that forbidden foot-slide
Always had a plan for fun
So did Betty's son
the hemophiliac
Bless myself like an Olympian
and pray for Johnny
before he joins me for a run
hemophilia:
a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 7:31 PM UTC
i know a place where there is no independence,
Opinions are controlled,well as your "character reference".
It is the place where structures are aero dynamic,
Members Believing that it would fly at the time of panic
The Social-Controller, political-hemophilia,
Millions have joined, expanding the mafia.
Polluted the minds of pioneers, --the low iQ'D,
Wise Child inherit your thy truth have been sued
The thoughts of your childhood was buried deep,
Teachings of the interracial grows in this creed.
It was emphasized, first time in my life,
Discrimination was a wound stabbed by a Knife.
I dont' believe, i can boldly state --
Man-made Cult hurted, roam from day to date.
Creed merged State, Politics, and inner feelings,
Was trespassed, influenced with imposed billings.
How come, you tell me that you can't --
Soul search, and start what you want.
It cuts my skin, when worse comes worst,
I'll go for the love, not with the CURSE!
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 5:58 AM UTC
Jean, death comes close to us all,
flapping its awful wings at us
and the gluey wings crawl up our nose.
Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs,
whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle,
mine pushed into gnawing a stilbestrol cancer
I passed on like hemophilia,
or yours in the seventh grade, with her spleen
smacked in by the balance beam.
And we, mothers, crumpled, and flyspotted
with bringing them this far
can do nothing now but pray.
Let us put your three children
and my two children,
ages ranging from eleven to twenty-one,
and send them in a large air net up to God,
with many stamps, real air mail,
and huge signs attached:
SPECIAL HANDLING.
DO NOT STAPLE, FOLD OR MUTILATE!
And perhaps He will notice
and pass a psalm over them
for keeping safe for a whole,
for a whole ********* life-span.
And not even a muddled angel will
peek down at us in our foxhole.
And He will not have time
to send down an eyedropper of prayer for us,
the mothering thing of us,
as we drip into the soup
and drown
in the worry festering inside us,
lest our children
go so fast
they go.
1.8k
An addiction to the color named red,
An affinity to feelings of dread,
Like waterfalls and raindrops, I feel drenched,
Clothed in a gown of crimson red is death.
Hemophilia causes excessive blood loss,
Just by being touched, you bloom like a rose!
Like roses with thorns that bleeds it's color.
To me who's bleeding out, "You're just a pose!"
I scream out with anguish, a quiet pause.
I lay in a pool of ****** dolor...
To me, you're lips are just like spikes and thorns,
With flowery words born from blooming roses,
As if an explosion of gray matter,
Were your poems that made me bleed all-out.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
Hemophilia runs in the family
A bleeding disorder
I was fortunate
My sister got the gene, not me
She is a carrier
and has mild Hemophilia
If she had been born a boy, it would have been far more severe
But even with her mild disorder
She spontaneously begins bleeding
Without anything even happening to her
I spontaneously begin bleeding too
Even though nothing is happening to me
But you can't see that bleeding
It's internal
Not inside my body
But inside my soul.
Or something.
I'm not really sure where it hurts, all I know is that it hurt a lot
People say, *just be happy!
Don't you want to be happy?
Can't you just ignore it?*
NO.
That's like asking my sister
When she spontaneously gets ****** noses
*Just stop bleeding!
Don't you want to stop bleeding?
Can't you just ignore the fact that blood is pouring out of you?*
NO
just because the pain is not visible
DOESN'T MEAN IT ISN'T THERE.
IT IS NOT ESCAPABLE THE SAME WAY BLEEDING ISN'T
That is why I'm trying to find a distraction from the pain
Because when my sister gets a ****** nose, she just goes and distracts herself with a movie, so she doesn't pay attention to the bleeding
My point is, though
No.
I can't just "be happy"
I'm bleeding too
And it is spontaneous and inexplicable
YOU JUST CAN'T F*CKING SEE IT
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
As a Borderline she suffers through ,
a kind of emotional Hemophilia ;
Lacking the clotting mechanism
needed to moderate her spurts of feelings .
Stimulate a passion ,
and she emotionally bleeds to death .
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
"So, you just keep bleeding?"
"Yep."
"And you just don't stop?"
"Nope."
"Well, I sure am sorry about that."
"Betch'you are."
"Really. I am. But I have to go."
And with that, she left me
The water running
Getting colder and colder until
A glacial layer of cold breath
And a thick film of icy memories
Enveloped me
And washed down the drain
Along with the inky
Red of my open veins
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
Salvaging through all the minds of the forsaken,
The blunt-force-object I carry is shaking them up again.
If this is the end,
I'm going to break,
Not bend.
The decent ones all think I have wasted,
To trash in their little laced-up lives.
They're giving me hives,
And it makes me want to die!
If you speak one more time,
And tell me to get it right,
You'll be left out for the flies!
You're cutting all your corners,
And you'll feel the weight of the world,
I eat the curses that you hurl,
Like a bleach and razor meal.
At least the ******* rats on my floor,
Know when they are done for.
You're not even a rat!
You are your own designed filth.
How about you use your whining mouth to blow me,
I won't rest until you are killed.
Maybe you won't be complaining if you're buried alive in cement.
But this wall keeps me out of Heaven,
Maybe the wall is heaven-sent.
It's not good versus evil,
More like hemophilia and war!
I'll laugh when you're jokes aren't true.
Otherwise be silent too.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
You don’t get a pulse until,
There is someone else’s blood flowing through your heart.
Leeching off the energy of another,
So you can go on a little longer!
Systematically remove them all,
These thieving telepathic vampires!
Draining me of everything,
Leaving me with nothing.
You have come to reap the benefits that I sowed,
Taken what you wanted? Good! Now ******* go!
You drain me,
Of all my energy.
You are engaged in something that will bring you no satisfaction.
You will always be hungry, in search of your next meal.
Just so you can get a quick moment of what it is like to feel.
You are a ******* carnivore,
A predator in the tall grass looming in on its next victim.
They are nothing to you,
Just something you can sink your teeth into!
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
Why did you have to stab me in the heart?
You know I have hemophilia!
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
Small things were
witness to genes
of freak mutation.
Tooth in eye
becoming boat in blindness.
Witch hazel
fails to stop leakage.
Thumb with beads of lymph
stung high in stillness,
wants to peel off
the concept of injury.
A brace
stops the smile.
Blue-chips have nothing to offer.
A king had hemophilia.
Timbers drip the blood
from heartwood
dropp by drop.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
it felt like a kiss from god
stung, swollen red and lots of
peculiarity
I move my hips in the mirror wondering if I'd look good to you
I just want comfort
it's so cold so much of the time
in an existence
chock full of unknown
I just want something to hold onto
so I'll do as you ask
I'll put your crimson hand to my mouth and pull
in
through my teeth
anything anything anything I can breath in
just to sit in a field of flowers
and feel a lively warmth radiate from within
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 4:38 PM UTC
what a poem is supposed to be?
---
philistines mediating reality
a middle brow extravaganza
colored mousey
fancy religion
fortification
against tragedy
a war over abstractions?
---
wearing dolls cloths
made out of wood
axiomatic of surrender to the crowd
but never to the art?
---
consider that poetry
conforms to us
not the other way around
---
so much
for social constructivism
identify politics
and turning emotional hemophilia
into possession by ideology
---
the poet as flammable landscape
that no longer understands
reality through the body
while herds of
theoretical institutionalists
and their slave company hoypaloy
adapt structures
of memory
and cant remember why
---
obsessive herds
word chopping
with tweezers
for atomized food
---
poetry
as engineering
---
tormented contortions of language
replicated ad nauseum
in search of me too formulaic
maternity wards of yackity yac
just intellectual camouflage
in the shape of servitude
---
while grieving the heroic
forgetting there's near infinite ways
to interpret the complex
pushing mechanisms of the derivative
and radical relativism
as fear kills the avantgarde
---
"there is no god
and his only son is Jesus"
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC