"hypoglycemia" poems
sweet things I do not tend to enjoy
ice cream, cake, peppermint sticks
pass me candy, I say nay
(unless there is a rare occasion of hypoglycemia)
I do not really relish sugary sodas
or cinnamon toast
I prefer spicy when it comes to my tongue
sweet things I just have no taste for
but I find you pretty sweet
and I really like you
so maybe I enjoy sweet things after all
I just needed a new flavor
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
Blood work. Glucose tolerance tests.
Appointment following appointment.
Cat Scans and MRI's. Radioactive liquids to ingest and fainting spells.
An awful rendition of some woeful soap opera is playing day by day updates on what is ailing my seemingly healthy shell.
Maybe it's hypoglycemia? Maybe it's not. Maybe the oxygen that my brain is writhing for isn't being delivered because options A,B, & C are the direct result of head trauma age 14. Or was it 18? Forgive me; I can't recall information lately.
I'm not even surprised that somewhere within my cells the ATCG format to my beautiful helix strands aren't aligned. I suspected.
Instead I go through phases of crashing emotions. Each wave more dizzying than the last. Maybe that's my blood pressure plummetting again?
In any case, the most consistent emotional response I experience is not questioning what, but considering the maybe. Maybe I deserve this? Yes. This may be what I deserve.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
"You are what you eat"
until one day you don't
and that's what you become
n o t h i n g (beautiful?)
your cognitions like broken clock cogs
s l o w s l o w s l o w (perfect?)
tabula rasa is the body unbefouled by
nourishment (enemy?)
And the walls are washed white
Nature sickly perverts vitality
The cornucopia becomes a conspiracy
To sully your porcelain
e m p t i n e s s (happiness?)
hypoglycemia makes you shake
but not as hard as eating a whole meal
Can one person be so myriad?
This identity could not possibly fit inside a body.
Dreamer. Comedian. Thinker.
Friend. Musician. Writer. Smiler.
Lover. Wisher. Runner. Fighter.
Bulimic.
And there it is: ugliest of all words.
This identity could not possibly fit inside a body,
and you see, it doesn't.
It breaks it.
I don't know how
but
I will win
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
Do you remember?
Do you remember talking for hours on end, until I was nearly falling asleep at the computer?
We talked for hours and hours, about anything and everything and nothing.
We talked until late, or early, however you want to put it, and I would tell you that I was gonna go,
but we would keep talking anyways and I would keep saying I was gonna go.
We would talk about everything from your friends, to my hypoglycemia, to religion, to superheros.
We only stopped talking for sleep (eventually), showers and when I went to the movies.
And then there was the incident.
We were talking about how, in middle school, when I had to switch schools, I felt very alone.
Then, you said to me:
"I hope you know I've never done this before, and I hope you know you're not alone.",
an indirect quote from Repeating Apologies by Of Mice & Men.
And I couldn't help it. The boy I liked so, so much, telling me such sweet things, when I did feel alone
and I started crying. I made a post on my blog, and then I remembered too late that you followed me
and I told you not to read it, but you read the post anyway and after I left to sleep finally, you told me
that you wanted to give me a hug, and when I read that later, I kind of wanted to cry again, knowing that you cared.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
Being nice in this world
It doesn’t get you so far
It’s okay to be cold
Let the stickers on your heart
Encapsulate your muscles
Constrict your veins
If you never let it out
It’s only yours to contain
The agony inside
Crying out to feel
The laughter that hides
Saying it all isn’t real
I take black stickers
I cover myself
It’s easy to be bitter
There’s no one to tell
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 7:44 PM UTC