"hysterectomy" poems
He mentioned his mother was getting a hysterectomy
With all of the awkwardness and antsiness I would've expected
And understood absolutely completely
Because I've never had a childhood home
I've never even had a home
At least not in a place but in people I have
But if home is where you come from
Then you're forever homeless
From houses that can be sold
To organs that can be removed
None of us come from anywhere
And everything is subject to change
And terms and conditions
And where I live
The sky is too big.
My mind is no home because I can lose it
My body is no home because it can rot
And people can laugh and question God all they want
But the notion of home is the real ****** of the masses
And where I live
The sky is too big.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 5:43 AM UTC
I fear not having time one day to enjoy myself
Not having time to lay with my husband
Or run through a few casual dungeons in WoW
Or just rest for a little while
I fear not having kids before 30
When 30 comes family history says I'll get a hysterectomy
All I want to do is be a housewife
And a mother
A homemaker
I fear that one of my best friend will just disappear
Maybe because I pushed him away
Or because he got bored with our conversations
Or maybe he just never cared
It hurts to think about Null
How I pushed him away
And he did so much for me
I never got to tell him thank you
Or how much I truly appreciated him
It hurts to think about how Papa died so early in my life
We could've had so many fantastic conversations
I could've learned so much
It hurts to think about the last conversation that I had with Papa
I didn't know how to talk to him when he was dying
So I cut the conversation short
I should've never done that
I fear that I'll never see them again
That I'll never get to say I'm sorry
That I'll never get to say I love you
That I'll never get to hear You're okay from them again
But you know it's nice to think about Karsten
The man I love
Not platonically like Null
Or in a family way like Papa
Something in-between
Something romantic
I love him
He's my best friend
We're romantically involved
I could spend the reset of my life with him
I just hope I can make it work
That we can make it work
So yeah life isn't all happiness
And I have fears
And pain
They'll stay with me forever
But because of people like Karsten
And my Mother
And so many others
Life can be bright
And it is worth it
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
When I was
20
I became
involved with
a married woman.
She said that
her husband was
abusive.
She was looking
for a way out
or a break.
She had the
most amazing eyes.
Wild and dark,
like a walnut, on fire.
She smelled like
the earth, sweat,
and wildflowers.
There was something
uncaged about her.
I was young
and naive.
I believed everything
and hoped too much.
The *** was
ferocious.
She taught me a lot.
We broke the
bed and took
bubble baths together.
It was a lavender love.
One day, she came
home with a balloon and
flowers.
She said we are
having a baby.
Those wild
eyes flashed pure joy.
My mom was
worried.
"She has a husband."
My mother was a realist.
She accepted it though,
even bought the woman
some gifts.
It didn't take long for
Amber to show a side
of her, I hadn't seen.
I caught her in some
small lies, and she became
violent when upset.
The affair ended.
She went back to
her husband.
It felt like my heart was
being
ripped out through
my nose.
Pain like a
rotting *****
I remember talking to
a friend about it on
the phone,
pausing to *****
It hurt so
******* bad.
Her sister called
me a week after
the split.
I asked about the
pregnancy.
It was all a lie.
She had a
hysterectomy a few
years earlier.
I still believe in people,
and hope too much,
and the years have made
me wiser.
I heard much
later that
she died at 40 of
lung cancer.
Those beautiful dark
eyes finally got
some rest.
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 7:37 PM UTC
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.
Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.
Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,
(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,
remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband
generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.
Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
****** how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor
without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
There's the thrift shop and
that's the pop the weasel shop,
this is the high street
a bit down on its luck
and these are the councilors
who don't give a ****
(Grammarly suggests I put a question mark after ****
so I did, **** off Grammarly)
I am wondering when
they'll start building again
or have we run out of bricks?
The economy appears to have had
a hysterectomy and
someone will **** me for this.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC
Are you still alive?
Or did your mother’s mistake
Give birth to a child
With her own death already within?
I remember your head on my shoulder
When you told me
“I’ll probably be okay.
But I might need a hysterectomy.”
You never gave me the chance
To face that future with you.
“Maybe we both needed it,”
As you closed the door
I looked you up on Facebook
You’d be sixty-eight now,
If you lived.
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 4:31 PM UTC