"inhibitors" poems
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains
when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights
that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips
that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
the cigarette smell her breath emits
disturbs the delicate orchid,
it refuses her fragrance
using inhibitors,
as a retaliatory
measure.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
I am young but old
Not chasing the singing dragon out into the night
Dumping the dragging lull of liquor into my being
Like it will fill the cracks in my psyche
Thwart the emerging of my being like some slick spector in the recess of my mind
Gobbling up my intellect one atom at a time
Relevant only to the tantilzing beat of the bass
The ghetto melody making me elated to the fact that
A white hick hippy want-to-be can never be a ****
I am young
With the knowledge that time is in my favor
Wild wanton ways of youth touch my limbs with excitement
Too much drugs and drunkin dancing in the streets of small time city lights
Where I float on the blissful bubbling blunders of slurred words
And harmless touching that we all know means more than the numbing
Fuzzy fingers of inhibitors want us to believe
I am young
But I grow old
With the acheing feel of gritty mornings
Class time drool-drolling onward towards the final accumulation
Of my efforts
How the liberation of my mind feels fresh and shiney
But at once I feel a regress into old thoughts old beliefs and the worn out mentality of those older
I am old
In that my soul longs for the love that it is denied
Beaten down by the distance that holds it hostage
My tendancy to find rust and petinal signs of age beautiful
Long talks with my mother give me joy
I am old
In that I taste the test of time and see wonder in the generations past
Hoping for the sweet lull of a good nights sleep
Feeling and emoting a progressive approach to a dieing dicotomy
Loving
Hating
Saddended by things that will never change
I am growing receeding and more importantly changing
Looking to renew the implications of the word normal
But above all the old
The young, fresh and vibrant
I will forever more be
And always be me.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
1. Klondike bars
2. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors
3. Out of rope
4. Just joined the cult to get laid
5. Turns out mom and dad do understand
6. Tie: The Price is Right and Matlock
7. It's called responsibility!
8. High as hell on life
9. Foes still unvanquished
10. Sex
11. Drugs
12. The Wise and Mighty Zoroaster
13. Rock 'n' Roll
14. You
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
I obsess compulsively
in and out of continual focus
absorbing without effects
selective serotonin re-uptake
inhibitors, wearing out a path in my floor
as i go back and forth to the bathroom,
again again again
staring at a caricature of me
fixated on this one unruly hair
perpetually sticking up,
neither Brylcreem nor plucking can tame
all this irrational behavior.
I know all these years i have devoted are
in some psychotic haze.
I am bald.
But I still have
eyebrows.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
When I was younger we moved from place to place. I remember, even from a young age, worrying about where we would lay our heads after we left this place. I remember yall being at home a lot but not being around us. I remember you both going into rooms with people, that I met for the first time, and you all spending hours together with a locked door. Sometimes afterwards, I remember staying up late doing crafts and playing games until the clock hit 3am. I remember being able to do pretty much anything I wanted to do. I remember waking up crying and finding comfort that you both where still awake. I remember the house smelling bad. I remember you telling me to lie to social workers about things. Like if there was powders in my house or if I have smelt any bad smells or even about how yall act.
It wasn't until I started getting older that I realized that you both were on drugs. I started to realize that the reason you both where at home is because you did not have a job. I realized that is why we had to move so many times. I realized that you went to your room to hide the drugs from us. We knew they were bad. I realized the new friends that mommy and daddy made were not friends at all but drug dealers and inhibitors.
It took even longer for me to realize that pain pills and maraujana were not the only drugs you where doing. I began to pay attention in class when they spoke to us about drugs. I knew that both of your reactions didn't add up. One day I found a **** pipe wrapped up and hidden in plain sight. I can still feel the anger that rolled out of me that day. I remember wanting to bash it across the wall and walk out. I knew that I'd get hurt by dad if I did that. I walked away and left it.
That's when I realized that the reason you where still up when I woke up from bad dreams is because you could not go to sleep. That when you wanted me to lie about any white substances that is why.
I am not angry at either of you. I am thankful. I have pushed myself. I will continue to push myself. Not only for myself but for my future family.
And mom I am proud of how far you have come in the last 5 years.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
“**People say they don’t understand [my songs], but I never believe that.
It’s like understanding an embrace…**”Leonard Cohen
<>for cj<>
perhaps, there is someone in this world, who does not
understand an embrace; something physical no doubt.
perhaps, you thought that first kiss was the portal to
shedding the inhibitors, lobes stings, first arousal aroma.
but you’ve been practicing embracing from toddler age,
but someday, it traverses from hugs to all-encompassing,
the sensory adaptors, go wild from shock; and you think
to yourself, dear god, you’ve been holding back on me!
<>
two hands,
*smooth the shoulders, slide down, elbows grasp,
you’ve been taken unawares, while fully aware you’ve been,
taken, taken, and need to take, more and back, take again,
and you can’t decide between reciprocation or incantation
breaking separation, if only to start over from the last lingering...
touching vibration and every sense erupting, and you think
I’ve never been fully embraced, and now I understand the
music and muscle of your poetry, and will add my verses,
lay on my stanzas,
ocean crossings, seafaring voyages, exploring hands on hips,
then encapsulating another’s face, stroke, not squeezing
arms come to rest on a pacific neck, the hairs tensile teasing,
and you can’t believe this newly formed addiction and why
everyone simply doesn’t go about constant craving embracing,
racingoverloading uncomprehending, it’s fulsome fulfilling, quenching
a new thirst, a new taste, extending your ********* reach everywhere
you clear the catch, the cache, and your voice now begs, announces,
commands, whispers, screams, so many things that all emerge as
simply a guttural exclamation raw and needy, again, again, again,
you say it as if that was your vocabulary entire, a one word language
because it is, it is, the language of insatiable, the speech of
only love poetry
embracing.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
Freedom.
Empty fields, growing grass, and sprouting weeds. The freedom of the weeds is inspiring. Nothing holding them back, no groundskeepers spraying anti-weed spray or ripping their world apart at the roots.
The freedom to grow.
Free to grow however they please; however God intended them to grow.
There's no inhibitors. Just freedom.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
The golden light caresses the horizon,
Almost like a rainbow flushed out one final go-
Before the world is devoid of light for the next two ‘prahars’ of the day.
The time when we bearing the weights of extended tutoring or -
The day job, come out, to public squares
Take roads illuminated by street lights to a destination where -
There is either a plate of food waiting on or aperitifs to begin a night a revelry.
Both fulfilling.
But, gluttony kicks in, which is almost second nature,
To gorge on (circa Harari, Yuval Noah).
In inebriation, inhibitions take a hike; the decisions to call/text people are usually very wrong.
We need to accept that the things we do then,
It’s what we wanted to do all along but societal/personal pressure - Inhibitors do not let us, which blow off when alcohol blurs them.
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC
Aware of
the hot
and cold
sides of
my heart
Remain
in one
place,
homeostate
—erode them
away— into
cardiomy-
apathy
Manage with
a balance of
beta-blockers
and ace-inhibitors
Prognosis:
still to slip
into syncopal
states, tacky
cardiac
elevated rates
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
He came home from the Middle East
A depressed and very different man,
After having served a tour
In Iraq and one in Afghanistan.
At one time an athlete with a hopeful future
And mentor to his cheering peers,
He struggled now to balance his memories
With the dismal, heavy weight of tears.
Tears that suddenly came from nowhere
Drenched his pillow. A panic would sweep
Through his body making him dread
The nights and the thought of falling asleep.
The outbursts of anger frightened him more;
They frightened his wife and children as well.
Avoidance and withdrawal only seemed
To aggravate his daily hell.
People and places constantly triggered
Painful memories of war and death.
Loud noises would send him through
The roof and make him gasp for breath.
Walking down a city street,
He'd have a flashback and quickly duck.
His heart would race until he gained
Control of his fears that had run amok.
The doctors diagnosed his condition:
Battle fatigue, or PTSD.
They had a list of remedies.
Of course, there was no guarantee.
Serotonin reuptake
Inhibitors failed to do the trick.
And tricyclic antidepressants
Made him feel listless and sick.
Tranquilizers and neuroleptics
Caused him to be more confused.
Prazosin and propranolol
Prescriptions both remained unused.
When the pills failed to help him,
Alcohol became his friend.
At least temporarily;
The haunting nightmares wouldn't end.
His family suffered along with him.
His friends slowly drifted away.
Who had time to spend with someone
Whose life was in such disarray?
His plaques and medals on his walls
Made his pain more acute.
His isolation made him feel
Emotionally destitute.
Cognitive behavior therapy!
That's what a doctor recommended.
The desperate man acquiesced.
He said he'd go, but just pretended.
He dropped the kids off at the sitter's,
Drove back home, texted his wife,
Held his pistol to his head,
Squeezed the trigger, and ended his life.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Through dark anvenues- long adventures
Past fire escapes- elluding dark figures
Beyond there lies- a strong willed exhibitor
As we consider- all of the inhibitors
Consuming false minister's
In a race to penetrate the heard
Through our experiences- in a world so perturbed
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 9:48 PM UTC
Solomon…, Solomon…, kingly grace
Imperfectly coordinated with she-mind twisters.
Wild chelation: some cofactors, some inhibitors.
One lesson is just too many.
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 5:25 AM UTC