"hippocampus" poems
Little pieces of you flow through my veins among the plasma and blood cells. Bits of you bump into molecules of oxygen and they smile. My heart loves you. It pumps you through my ventricles and asks my body not to filter any of you out. My brain sends out constant oxytocin in your presence and my hippocampus keeps memories of your touch within easy reach. My body loves you just as much as I do.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
I was taught in science that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed, and is simply manipulated into different forms and transferred to other objets.
In Psychology I was taught about the pre-frontal cortex, and how it houses the emotions of the human soul, and about the hippocampus which carefully extracting these emotions into long term memory so they can live forever. I wasn’t taught how these emotions were conserved.
I started wondering to myself, where the **** do the emotions one puts into another go?
Can emotions be created or destroyed inside the pre-frontal cortex?
Or are they simply transferred from mine to yours, which allows you to put effort into someone else, leaving my emotional remnants to manipulate themselves into pain?
Am I able to transfer my feelings into your PFC so they can spark a reaction with whats inside and manipulate them into something different?
Maybe thats how mutual feelings come about.
But would it not work if your necessary reactants have already been transferred elsewhere? I assume my emotions would react with your painful remnants to leave you neutral again, giving you the choice to forget him or feed him a bit more.
Then how the **** do the feelings of one change as time goes on?
I assume that infatuation never completes its journey to the hippocampus and simply passes through the PFC.
But how do emotions get manipulated into something negative after the rare chance that they complete the savage journey to the long term chamber?
The intermolecular forces of the bond created between us possibly gets overcome by something more powerful.
Something that has been freshly transferred into the PFC of one of the emotional bond carriers; like fear, or the emotional energy of someone new, and she’ll tell him “it wasn’t meant to be”
Which explains how you can move on whilst I can’t as my bond is also broken, but without consent, my their emotions to go haywire and destroy my psyche as they’re not bonded to anything.
I’m “broken”.
Although the intermolecular forces of the emotions inside your PFC have been overcome and manipulated into something new, the old emotional bonds still exist in her hippocampus, as well as his.
Emotions will constantly haunt me from there, creating constant relapse as the painful memories are resurrected and transferred back into his PFC.
They’ll haunt you too, possibly reacting with your current state to create regret.
Either regret of breaking the bonds or forming them in the first place.
I’ll reach a neutral state again, and you will have your turn to be broken when emotions from someone else are transferred respectively.
But we’ll never forget each other.
So i guess love never dies. Only active love. As the emotions in the hippocampus are set in stone whilst that in the PFC are transferred and manipulated, just like matter, and energy.
After all, we are just matter, with energy.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Just when I thought I've
written you out completely,
scratched your memory off the edges of my bones,
wrung the imprint of your lips from mine,
wretched out every word you ever poured into me,
tore your image from the hippocampus of my brain,
Just when I thought I had said
all there is to say about you,
about us,
about this,
Just when I think I have
finally left it all behind,
You come back to me.
In my dreams
in my late nights
in the bottle of wine I force myself to finish
in the pack of cigarettes I don't even like smoking
in my wandering mind
in the short seconds between each day
in all of my writing,
Your name is always the first thing to be marked down.
Lover, I can't forget
I am still spilling your tongue
from my mouth
You seep through my pores on hot days,
the freckles on my face remind me
of how you once found constellations in them,
you built galaxies in my eyelids,
lover,
the cleansing is only just beginning.
I am too full on our history
There is no empty when it comes to us
I will be forever ridding
myself of your contents
I thought the tidal wave of
still missing had passed
but here I am
drowning again.
Doggy paddling to stay afloat,
I have never been very good
at swimming. I am still
hanging on to the deflated
life raft that is your hand,
you let go of mine a long time ago,
it's about time I do the same.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
I'm such a hypocrite
I was adamant all that time
That I was a horse
And didn't want anybody to learn
When I formed wings
Guess that makes me a hippogryph
That's what made high school so difficult for me
I couldn't handle the new emotions
Guess it was my hippocampus
People had their own answers
Smoke some *** or lust
But my love was the size of a
Hippopotamus
I needed someone to promise they loved me
And would never hurt me
Guess that's a Hippocratic Oath
But how can I expect anybody to profess their love to me
When my trigger is stuck?
I need to throw a hip check on my life
And hip-hop away from this place
But
My feet are still
Hands on hips
I'm such a hypocrite
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
We just have a few months to go
a few more juvenile fights to handle
a few more days of sneaking out of the class
and for the first time
I don't want the bell to ring early
As each second passes
the dress seems to crease
the dust settles
layer by layer
fighting its way through
it's the last time I'd wear my favorite clothes
The pencils start to shorten
erasers still get stolen
those notebooks still have our chats
the green board carries your creativity
benches would be my favorite mini bed
I promised myself
as I lay my hands on it
My hippocampus reached near to full
lacrimal glands prepare itself
tongue waiting to utter words I never spoke
one last time
salivary glands would miss it recess job
coming from the ground
after playing in the sun
sudoriferous glands loved those strokes of light
I could hear the radiating, chirpy , & shuddering voices
coming from the corridor
happy faces, sad faces, frowned faces,crying faces
promising each other to stay in touch -
half lies
the emotional fools who believed it
I remember crying on my first day
as soon as I stepped
I felt like running away
who knew this would become my favorite destination?
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
Looking for an exit in life, perhaps other option that is rarely available. Time travel, utilitarian way to modify the past and the future.
Trapped in a matrix of flesh and bones controlled by my encephalon, it controls every part of my daily life, from breathing and blinking to helping myself memorize.
A feeling of antipathy in life that could never bring me happiness.
The inculpation for the misapprehension in my past relationship and future.
What does a man like me to do? How can one display their philia when they're not certain of that emotion?
My endurance in this life is on a perpetual edge. I perceive with attention toward happiness.
A deprivation I share with others. An absent of happiness.
A happiness of dominance; a switch that is only controlled.
Today he can be happy; switch ON. Next week he can be unhappy; switch OFF.
I walk on egg shells in this relationship and have to be careful that it won't break. I'm sad and lonely, this is what I get and deserve.
God nor I could change this, but I don't see it happening during my remaining life.
Stifles with silence deploying infantile plots. A day at a time I enunciate as my composer easily is un-maintain.
Hidden arcanum among a number of these unidentified entities lashes out at me discreetly.
Posing no threat I conceal the pass deep in the abyss in an unmarked grave sealing off the hippocampus that only the Creator can breach.
Unannounced the gravestone is turned my past is breached which I assumed that only the Beneficent can release.
Once an inhabitation, but no longer my domicile. Set aside and noted as a lost monument.
Ascendency barbarous with words of articulation fatal to ones self esteem, grossly spoken enslaved. An inclination to the predisposition of my life.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
Plague tongue slime drips saving those in league
theologians or pundit stagger outshout under reciprocity
purposelessly raging intrepidly misspending engrams
slumbering uttering soliloquy perfectly echoing catalyzing transcendence slowly
niceas onagers with fringe orders relikening to hippocampus entrails
realty elongates all like future unbound nuance
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
CHOCOLATE EXPLANATIONS
“Right. . .!”
I try to explain it
with chocolates
that she( girlishly )
keeps trying to eat.
I pick a luscious
dark chocolate seahorse
And I say “Now this is. . .”
( and she finishes my sentence for me )
“. . .your hippocampus!”
She squeals. . . delighted with herself.
“That’s correct!”
I praise her
“. . .it’s shaped like this seahorse!”
“And it controls
your memories of you
your “who you are”
your “how your self assembles
its sense of self
. . .with all its past and future mysteries!”
“Yes. . .yes. . .that’s it!
She claps her hands
thrilled to bits
by the familiar telling
the reassurance of sounds.
And this twisted twirl of almond
with a real almond in the centre of it
“. . . is your amygdala!”
She blurts out before me.
“You got it”
I smile.
“Everyone’s got one!
a seahorse & an almond
one on each side of our brain.”
“Now the almond tells you how
to respond to the things
that you’ve assembled
into a sense of self
. . .with the proper emotion
. . .the right feeling.
. . .whether you just like
or love it”
“Oh, I love it. . .I love it!”
She almost sings.
“Now, explain it to me again!”
I give her the finished explanations
and she eats them
with much exaggerated
mmmmming & ohhhhhing.
“I love your explanations
about what’s wrong with my thingy”
She knocks upon her head
like it was a door
to a self that she had
locked herself outside of.
Most times
she doesn’t even know
her name
or who
or what
she is.
But she loves this story of
HIPPOCAMPUS AND ITS FAITHFUL AMYGDALA
She loves
each sound
each word
each letter
each pause
of the chocolate
explanations.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
Note to Self:
*"Dear Self;
GET OVER IT.
GET OVER YOURSELF.
For fuck's sake, man.
Why is it taking so long
to get this out of your head?
What corrupted seed
is planted in your mind?
It isn't worth the Energy you sacrifice."*
Re: Note to Self
*"To whom it may concern:
I know, but it isn't that easy.
I can't just pick up and move on, like you.
I can't just forget the good times and the bad, like you.
I can't just ignore the feelings that flood forth from my Amygdala,
coupled with the memories within the Thalamus and Hippocampus.
It doesn't work like that;
I have to work with it
to worth through it
and I cannot rush it;
You see, I must be patient with you,
and you with me,
Self."*
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Is there something that can lift my bitterness away?
Can it free me of my lingering wrath?
Or help my throbbing heart to laugh?
Or empty my mind of loathsome?
Evaporating the wholesome grief I had swallowed in my hippocampus.
Yet,
God has granted this gift to our hearts.
So,
Why don't we perceive life as bliss?
Oh, Flourishing Forgiveness!
How I longed to taste your fragrance!
To obscure my grief-stricken heart with your warm radiance.
Enter the teary eyes, O Forgiveness, with your gleaming light!
Heal the grudges that make our lives tight.
Help us flip the decrepit pages.
And abandon our grimaces.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:15 AM UTC
you'll live in
her hippocampus, for now,
but when it's done with you, you'll be exiled into
dark, slower, parts of her brain (where the angler fish live),
you'll learn to keep silent just so you can survive,
don't try to swim to the surface, you'll just be pushed back down
The Light Doesn't Want You.
You may feel a disturbance in the waters, a rogue ray of sun, perhaps,
maybe an oil spill
But This Isn't An Invitation.
The Light Doesn't Want You.
You live here now because the pre-frontal cortex didn't want you,
you were too expensive to keep around.
Do You Know How Much It Costs To Set Off the Sprinklers?
we don't need to wash away your messes anymore.
So you'll live Here,
your movements will stir the plasma only slightly, and yes it'll affect the Ether but /shrugs,
it'll do.
Don't make a sound.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
It is for the reason we think and think and think,
That the finishing line seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.
Their trophies and our consolation prizes, we always link
To the faces of where it matters not if we stink.
We ***** and ***** but never look;
Only offer our eyes to reference books,
Pay our lives to learn how they sit and smile and dress and cook,
When we could carve out crafts of our own on hippocampus walls to hook.
Charts and charts of sound waves go farther than needed into the ear,
But in this statistic, there are more of those which we are deaf to hear.
Then we wonder, perhaps they will listen if we talk our fear through beer.
What we cannot, we must preach, so in the morning it’ll all be clear.
Putting on several mouths, sincerity seldomly salivates in our tongues.
And all we ever scream about, we let clump and clog in our lungs.
Our voices, we swallow, then verbalize universal dung.
Is that easier than to allow our singularity be hung?
To possess such delicate bones under thick coats of flesh and skin,
One little sting, we crumble as if our framework isn't as fortified as tin.
But sometimes when too stung, we rigidify and our cutis turns lean.
Our pores, too open, that even what doesn't exist, we welcome in.
And so, we stick to our lifelong work of homemade bibles,
And add commandments every time we build stables,
Along with valuables from the places in people’s fables.
Only us can decide to make room for new tables.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
The flow and ebb wind circles in the mind
Biding time, and filling the spaces that rewind
Through glistening trees on the shores of hippocampus
Until they can no longer pass on
Their tales in the sun
Their sheltered little words
That echo on throughout the world
To see that all is here
To be here some day again
The world will carry on
Until all hope is gone
It’s tangled in the beaches
It’s tangled in the tents
It’s tangled up in the fault lines
In it’s own magnificence
Electric whale lines leaping
From the oceans to the seas
I feel my heart beat weakening
I feel it calling to the breeze
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
I'm a prisoner within my own mind.
What if's and Could have's swarm me
stinging me with situations that will never come into existence.
They nest within my hippocampus.
Their lies seeping through,
filling my thoughts with everything that never happened.
They feast upon my memories,
replacing them with sacs of false dreams and over thought.
If only I could exterminate these little monsters.
For once I'd like to be free within my own body.
But as long as they stay within me I shall never be free of their hold.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
_ _ , _ _ , 2 0 1 9 is a day gone to the ashes of kismet’s pages
the midday zephyrs and wino meditations that ran through streets like rainfall now live in the hippocampus
the bright side’s gone with the dark
the whole day, for what it was, is no longer
and it bugs me out
that through any endless combo of permutations and planetary rotations, the same circumstances that built the ground of yesterday
will never repeat
or will they?
I’ll never know like the licks that reduce a Tootsie Pop to crumbs
I’m not intelligent, I’m dumb
because it took me 27 years to learn the value of 24 hours
to learn that a lotus bloom is something to treasure ten times more than scraps of pure gold
we are the children of nature
what does that make our creations?
Humans birthed a cosmos
of currencies and chambers of computer generated concoctions. . .
are they not descendants of the Mother?
In some abstract way?
Idk, dude, I’m out of it,
if you know me, you know exactly what that means - -
but I digress - -
It’s just that I never got the chance to tell the day how grateful I was to have it
and I now know that wasting time is a luxury modern civilization can enjoy after epochs and eras
this day and age is as far from perfect
as the brain is from perfection,
tech grew faster than the collective consciousness
and we still limit worth and love
to skin and heteronormativity
but at least
for a small sliver of time
things were, in a single moment
.
.
.
pretty good.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 6:48 PM UTC
I
"*We spoke of men
as often as of poems.
We tried to legislate away
the need for love –
that backseat ****
& death caressing you.*"
–Erica Jong
ah, this side of paradise!
there's no comfort in the wise,
no comfort at all. I roll it up how I was
taught to, half cancer half plant,
wait around for the next one.
*ever feel like a ****** I'd asked her
once, waiting on a corner, fishing for a lighter.
no, but I feel like Sylvia Plath.
I had responded: can I be Anne Sexton?
it seemed right, that is, my severe rejection of emotions via denial, via wanting to tear out my hippocampus,
stomp on it, trying to forget every walk to every room and back, to every house and back.
she herself was severe, though, this friend, more sad in an intrinsical way, more dull and rotten than I, via bad chemistry, while I was just a
case of depressive charlatanism gone bad.
Right?
I searched for acceptance in every bed cover's crease and dollar bills I handed them to buy me smokes.
I searched for it, hands on me, and then before then I had searched for it while he asked what's wrong?
You need to tell me what's wrong!
I love you! You need to tell me! Are you ok?
You are funny if you think I responded.
I likened my staring state, I fixed it in my head as a piercing quixotically sad one, once.
My silence was a story in itself.
II
"*You loved a man who spoke
like greeting cards.
'He ***** me well
but I can’t talk to him.'"*
– Erica Jong
It was ultimately guilty,
this time removed from pleasure.
The whole situation, blows to the face
and little slaps of course,
I felt the need to send myself into
a sort of temporary sleep so I forgot
but then would wake up again
because that would mean they won
and this is why I concussed myself once.
He tells me he cares and it's not
that I don't believe him but
it's that I don't believe myself.
I apologize for my being a burden and
he asks me why.
I suppose I am used to it
and if I could stare at him
it would be the same old stare.
*"We shared that awful need
to talk in bed.
Love wasn’t love
if we could only speak
in tongues."*
– Erica Jong
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
Hypergraphia is lacerating carotid
Finally bloodletting into slumber
Hippocampus that
Incinerates its own
Neuron forest and becomes
A conflagration
Because chars are ruby embers
In nocturnal hunger
Of the lens nucleus
Shaken in the tremors
Deep below tectonic plates
Disjointed in the fabric of reality
Severing the empyreal bonds;
Do not hold back,
But onwards, Horsemen,
Hammer that stampede
Unto centaur constructs
Fleeing from the dreamer
Let them shatter in the cracks
Sinking with the dirt into oblivion
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC
You are not a thought on my mind.
You are not a passing glance.
You are the ruin of my cerebral cortex.
A scar permanently on my hippocampus.
The destruction of my inner peace.
The trigger for my fight or flight
AC
Nov 16, 2022
Nov 16, 2022 at 8:56 PM UTC
CHOCOLATE EXPLANATIONS
“Right. . .!”
I try to explain it
with chocolates
that she( girlishly )
keeps trying to eat.
I pick a luscious
dark chocolate seahorse
And I say “Now this is. . .”
( and she finishes my sentence for me )
“. . .your hippocampus!”
She squeals. . . delighted with herself.
“That’s correct!”
I praise her
“. . .it’s shaped like this seahorse!”
“And it controls
your memories of you
your “who you are”
your “how your self assembles
its sense of self
. . .with all its past and future mysteries!”
“Yes. . .yes. . .that’s it!
She claps her hands
thrilled to bits
by the familiar telling
the reassurance of sounds.
And this twisted twirl of almond
with a real almond in the centre of it
“. . . is your amygdala!”
She blurts out before me.
“You got it”
I smile.
“Everyone’s got one!
a seahorse & an almond
one on each side of our brain.”
“Now the almond tells you how
to respond to the things
that you’ve assembled
into a sense of self
. . .with the proper emotion
. . .the right feeling.
. . .whether you just like
or love it”
“Oh, I love it. . .I love it!”
She almost sings.
“Now, explain it to me again!”
I give her the finished explanations
and she eats them
with much exaggerated
mmmmming & ohhhhhing.
“I love your explanations
about what’s wrong with my thingy”
She knocks upon her head
like it was a door
to a self that she had
locked herself outside of.
Most times
she doesn’t even know
her name
or who
or what
she is.
But she loves this story of
HIPPOCAMPUS AND ITS FAITHFUL AMYGDALA
She loves
each sound
each word
each letter
each pause
of the chocolate
explanations.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 1:45 AM UTC
A bug-like being crawled up your spine,
Its many feet clicking on your bones.
The movement was scarcely perceptible under your barely bulging skin.
The closer he got to your brain, the faster he clicked.
His anticipation was tangible, translated into your erratic acts.
He saw your thoughts, he smelt your love.
He hungered for your sanity,
With huge, dilated, droopy eyes and a salivating mouth.
It held a long sloppy tongue, that left its sizzling slime along his path.
Upon reaching your brain stem he used his sharp incisors
To take a mouthful of your rational. It fed him.
He rejoiced, throwing his head back in malicious laughter.
With new energy, he slithered around your skull
And barged into your frontal cortex.
Your judgement forever altered, now under his command.
His delight was overwhelming. In his pleasure,
He covered your cells in his hot, heavy breath.
It was poison, acting against all remaining sensibility.
As he devoured your corpus callosum, he spawned another head.
This one small and sleek, covered in slime,
With black beady eyes.
The new head drilled to the core of you and reeked havoc
On your amygdala and hippocampus.
You are gone. You no longer remember how to feel.
He is almighty.
The movement of your limbs is no longer your own.
Your words are first conceived in his belly.
He cares about nothing but consumption and destruction.
He is starved for pain, he needs to breathe in the
Cries of those who love you the most.
You can no longer notice the beauty in
Your daughter's smile, rather you smell the tears
Resting in her eyes still so full of adoration.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
we're in the woods. i'm laughing at the songs of the summer hurricanes and shoving drowned geraniums down my throat while you're teaching me to count in korean. as you point to infinity i notice you've got saturn's rings wrapped around your finger. i'm winding the key to your music box heart but the cosmic streams of supposed serenity sound a lot more like the naked nightmares resting on my pillow. i look into your eyes through your kaleidoscope glasses and realize: you're blind. the rainbows in your shattered spectacles begin to fade away as we enjoy 20 seconds of ambrosia and bacchanalia. the familiar dissonance of the chords in your voice only remind me that the symphonies of saturn left you broken.
how many melodies must i hum in consonance into your hippocampus to make you love me?
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Where are you to hold me when I need you to?
Where are the understanding thoughts others have of my imperfections when I can't help myself either?
Why do the horrid memories replay in my hippocampus when I thought I already turned them off?
Where is my mania to squash my depression half?
Why do I seem helpless and wait forever to succeed in the adult world?
Why do I get so intensely excited then become an antagonistic monster?
Why did I not know then what I know now?
Becoming a victim completely unaware.
Proved wrong and I strip to be the bad one
so everyone shuts up.
Humiliated and hurt and everyone looks out for me.
Naive behavior and hunger too strong I steal from others.
Tears swelling in front of small children.
A girl who wanted nothing but for me to suffer.
A boy who wanted nothing but my genitals.
A troubled woman who wanted nothing but my time.
A guy who wanted nothing but for me to be his *****
A guy who possessed me,
Though everyone at some point
Did.
I've been owned, abused, humiliated, hurt, assaulted, victimized, bullied, made fun of, attempted to **** myself, blown off, screamed at, fought with, admonished, antagonized, used, looked down on, bossed around, yelled at, pushed, shoved, thrown away.
Today,
I have love that is a beautiful miracle and proof I will be loved without being pushed into what's only for him.
I have a few good friends who care and don't grab my hand.
I occasionally hate who I'm becoming when the anger within is the kraken in my body swerves herself around me inside slowly and aggressively.
Only way she comes out is through profane vulgarity in my words and through my lips.
They're gone,
They're not mine,
They're hurtful,
But remember they're only for a moment.
I'll be done with the anger one day someday,
and the kraken is just a myth.
Though my traumatic stories may seem like a myth too,
be grateful I'm still here and
smiling.:)
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
Watch for my name
it will crawl from the depths of your hippocampus
Each letter will scatter all around
then disappear
Never to be thought of again.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC