Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Vivekanshu Verma Apr 2020
Riddle in Rhymes,
During Corona Times
By Toxic Detective for Indian Society of Toxicology (IST)
Vomiting is nature's protective reflex against ingested toxins with my bitter alkaloids, accidental by innocent kids,
Bitter is Killer 💀, As a thumb's #rule, in medical science; but most of life saving medications are also bitter 👅, instead;
Vomiting after ingesting me, protects you medically as well as legally, in court of law leads;
Prehistoric #judicial systems determined guilt or innocence in a legal #trial, for human misdeeds;
By subjecting the accused to a dangerous experience, traditionally known as “trial by #ordeal” misusing my seeds;
Whether one survived such an ordeal poison of mine,
was left to control of divine,
to be freed;
and escape or survival was taken to indicate innocence on behalf of the defendant, instead;
The roots of this custom lie in the Code of #Hammurabi and the Code of Ur-Nammu, the oldest known systems of law, reads;
Numerous West African tribes from #Calabar, depended on my toxic bean in jurisprudence, in needs;
Also renowned as ordeal poison or #lie-detector bean, for rulings in their early courts, impledes;
Tribal #Nigerians, misused toxic action of my beans to detect witches & people possessed by evil spirits, who concedes;
#Judicators, would feed numerous seeds, what they called “ordeal poison,” to the accused; if he or she was innocent, indeed;
Hypothetically, God would perform a miracle and allow the accused to live—and the court would have its ruling, proceeds;
If the reverse was true, of course, guilt would be “proven” the moment its sentence was successfully carried out, in recede;
I am a climbing leguminous plant in forests, can be poisonous to humans when chewed, as beads;
I am a large, herbaceous perennial vine, with a woody stem at the base, as natural weeds;
I produces a large, purplish flower with intricate visible veins; attracting innocent Kids;
My flowers yield a thick brown pod of a fruit, contains 2-3 kidney-shaped seeds;
it’s not until rainy season (June through September) that my fatal plant Breeds;
In monsoons, my fruits, capable to produce its best, most toxic beans; indeed;
I am named botanically by appearance of my fruit “a snooping beak-like solid appendage” physo- means “bladder,” at the end of the stigma Beaked;
My toxin is reversible cholinesterase inhibitor, which acts on the autonomic nervous system, leads;
My poison disrupts communication between the nerves and organs of victims, it needs;
In this regard, I acts similarly to nerve gas, which results in contraction of the pupils, recedes;
Profuse salivation, convulsions, seizures, spontaneous urination and defecation, exceeds
Loss of control over the respiratory system, and ultimately death by asphyxiation, as due to secretions, airway blocks & impedes;
Antidote to my poisoning is the slightly less toxic tropane alkaloid atropine, which may often succeeds;
Though myself toxic, my alkaloid proves an effective antidote for poisoning from another deadly plant, Atropa Belladonna seeds;
Guess my name, causing Vomiting, as Lie detector for your means: when an Ordeal poison, impleads;
References:
1. Pillay, VV. Comprehensive Medical Toxicology. 3rd Ed. Jaypee. 2018 p612-15
lagoli Dec 2015
+27789936586 Womens Clinic In Randburg,linden,cresta,springs,alex,wynerburg,bramley,midrand,tem­bisa (Randburg, Gauteng, Botswana) - Price: 500maggie WOMEN’S CLINIC - +27789936586 Pretoria, Johannesburg, Mpumalanga, Cape town, KZN, North West
For 100% Guaranteed Services
Students get 30% discount
We are a Women's Clinic Specializing in Medical procedures which are Medically approved.
Experience

Medical Doctor abortion clinic randburg cosmo city
Self-employed
April 2000 – Present (15 years 9 months)randburg johannesburg
A Legalised Womens/Abortion Clinic (pills for sale) +27789936586 In South Africa With Over 6 Years Experience Specialising In Abortion, A Safe & Medically Approved Way To Terminate A Pregnancy Using Abortion Pills At Reasonable Prices. Its A 30Minutes, Same Day/Time, Safe & Pain Free Abortion n Womb Cleaning With 100% Money Back Guarantee in randburg,johannesburg,sandton,tembisa,soweto,crest a,alexander,cosmo city,diepsloot,bramley,pinetown,durban n midrand. We Also Sell. +27789936586.
PROFESIONAL DOCTOR USIN HERBAL
Karijinbba Sep 2018
~~~~~~~~~~
Hello its me ScarlettRose
Nightingale
~~~~~
The exquisit image of the lark returns me to heaven and my soul cries woe have turned to songs of praise.
I thought of  how you bet your
love, and again I found you
all over again through a love magazine singles ad
dearest Knight my Lancelott
King beloved omnipresent
God-like heart of Gold.
twinflame beloved.
The wise universe knowing my inner core had returned you
back to me unaware of the mystery unfonfolding
  treasures, true love, fame and great fortune all mine for the taking.
Us together was treasure enough
when we were very young.
in Astlleros ship yard.
but your strange detective methods of going to a slandering previously rejected,
medically impotent man in lew of just taking time to know me and ask me your concerns my leaping zoaring love wàve
retracted
backfiring on us distrust
You left me hoping for me to go find you in wormhole loop but
time became our foe.
Unrequieted love sat in
suffering was unbearable.
No water quenched such love nor floods drowned it
and my best years went by to unexpexted motherhood
but children's carrussels kept whispering sad secrets from beyound and my heart couldn't be apeaced
~
Throught the years I became amnesic to rddbba treasures
I wished I was never born
kidnapped sadomized what a small price replacing death!
my babes and me barely alife.
but I thought
of your hands body and eyes on me and I felt all over in you
on a hill aroused,
I felt mentally fast awakene'd
able to show my inner core  feelings and cry openly
but I weeped mostly nights
secretly wistfully
for the nunnery had shot me down five hungry toyless chilhood dead-calm years.
Silenced as orphans are
my spontaniety of first thought responces to most questions failed and you thought I didn't love you! That was wrong!
I thought of your mind bending grassy tearful blues looking in awe at my pictures
my star gazer lover you gazing
at my starry looking eyes
scrutinizing mine absence
unaware of how much
I truly loved thee!
I thought of you arguing with tequila thinking of me
loving me missng me,
face to face thrilling me
patient as your true love can be
marrying me so that not even God could pull us appart

I thought of you thinking of me
and getting hard ons.
Spiritual and physical joys
were presented here
you were the perfect lover
Best husband best father best friend.
in this light your star shines on brightest over me
Oh how I loved thee! no other lover quenched mine vessel
spirit heart and soul!
Reversing the spell of the friendly fortune.
Inwealth trumps outer wealth state.
External wealth of a Kings state;
possessions, land, power
your nation
A lovers worth more then a Kings external internal states.
When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse
Wishing me like to no more rich in hope
Featured like him with friends possess'd,
Disiring tbis man's Art and that mans Scope,
With what I must enjoy contented least
With this thoughts myself almost dispising.
Haply I think of thee, and then my state,
Like the lark at break of the day arising,
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For that sweet love
Remembered such wealth brings
that then I scorn to change
my state with kings.
~~
By! Shakespare and me
All Rights Revered and reserved.
Dear Rhett Rk J Paul I am sorry
Not a day, Not a day goes by
that I don,t think of you the good mostly The sacred Hill where the Road not taken bent down into the underground and Veracruz
You were the Love of my Life
sigh..
Àŧùl Nov 2013
Let me declare in the opening of this article that at the time of writing this article I was a young man aged almost 23 years but have never had *** as a personal choice based upon my experience. My reasons for not getting laid till now are not many but just three reasons:
1. I am a guy who is a one woman man.
2. I believe that whatever may be my future wife's virginity status, I am not to loose it to anyone else but to herself.
3. I have analysed and found that for Indian men the best age to loose their virginity is not before 25 years of age and similarly for Indian women, the best age to loose it is not before they themselves are at least 23 years of age.

You all might already have labeled me various titles till now, but wait let me tell you the whole story and I would rather recommend you to be ready for trashing all your presumptions. It's all about self-control that this article is about. You can easily relax and lie back as you are going through my article.

I have a female friend from a big city in India who has been subjected to the raging problem of today's world. I'll be referring to her as Dhara, she was in the first year of her college life when she fell for a good looking rich guy and this guy, Sagar, was her classmate.

In the beginning of their relationship, they both were like the very much perfect 'made-for-each-other' couple like in stories. They both shared a golden relationship between each other and neither of them were aware that one day they will be made to separate away from each other.

The two of them seemed inseparable and one fine day Dhara even eloped with Sagar to start a new life with him. Sagar took her to a new home that he succeeded in procuring for them. It was a farmhouse away from the city. Dhara started following all the daily chores as an ideal housewife would. Both of them ceased attending the college and dedicated all their time to love making. Three months after having eloped, Dhara happily told Sagar that she was pregnant.

In the mean time, Sagar's father who is a powerful person in politics decided to make him marry a different girl for political benefits. And this way a problem arose from this fact that Sagar was told by his family that soon he would be married to a girl for political reasons. Along with this, both Sagar and his father were jailed in a political context. The trouble which had befallen was resolved by another powerful politician who bailed both the father-son duo out of the problem with a condition that Sagar married his daughter.

Sagar then told Dhara regarding the same problem at his home. Dhara straight away went to Sagar's home hoping to win hearts and showed them the Mangalsutram which Sagar had tied around her neck. The Mangalsutram turned out to be the same which Sagar's mother had found missing.

Dhara was accused of thievery and was put behind the bars for the same in the followup time. Sagar somehow succeeded in bailing Dhara out from behind the bars. Soon, Dhara was asked by Sagar to take some emergency contraceptive pills which halted her pregnancy in a period less than three months. Then Sagar ejected himself out from the unregistered marriage, resumed his regular college studies and ditched Dhara.

Here, both Dhara and Sagar were at fault according to me. Neither of them were at an age which could be considered marriageable, either medically or morally. Both had studies to undertake which they turned to for diverting their minds.

Dhara shared with her elder brother regarding the same event having taken place in her life. Then one fine day, I met Dhara at our university's Students' Activity Centre - SAC, where I had been to the University Food Orbit - UFO, and I started conversation with a group sitting there and we both got to know about each other and exchanged numbers at her insistence.

So much experience had made Dhara a wisecrack when it came to making friends. She accepts that it was her mistake that she took a rush of hormones to be love.

In addition to this Indian viewpoint over the subject, a Western viewpoint needs to be mentioned separately because of the biological differences between our bodies' biological observations and our differently made up societal liabilities and settlements.

The West has a superior physique for both men and women and professional services. So the ideal age to loose it dips by 2 years.

To end with the article, I would like to summarise the best age and conditions of loosing virginity globally with a special localisation to India:
1. Get married firstly and then loose it only to your life partner.
2. If you must still have the pleasures of love making before your marriage with the person you have your first *******, keep it safe and pleasant. Use a ****** or similar contraceptive if you must have *** before the ideal age but remember that these may fail as well, even if rarely.
This is not a poem, so comment keeping this thing in mind.
Originally published at:
http://aksspiritualthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-best-age-to-loose-it.html
Dre Brax Jul 2014
The word scars has always had a negative connotation behind it. A common name for Mental or Emotional injury is referred to as mental scars or emotional scars. Medically speaking scars or scarring is a step in the natural process your body undergoes to heal. Even though the healing is happening when a scar appears it tends to leave behind what some people see as an unattractive mark or area. Emotional scars and mental scars follow the same rules; a broken heart, the death of a friend or family member. All of these things can give us scars of some form. Having many scars myself I can relate with the desire to cover up or be rid of the unattractive areas on my body or in my life. It can become increasingly frustrating when those scars don't fade over time, or take longer to vanish then we hoped for. However this doesn't have to be a bad thing as quoted by a musical group AA-" How Stubborn are the scars when they won't fade away, or just a gentle reminder that now are better days".

I've had my fair share of "scars" whether emotional, mental, or physical. Each one has a different story, each one is riddled with wouldas, shouldas or I wish; but like the choices I've made to obtain them they are permanent. A Great example of scars as a story is the process of tattooing. Tattooing is the process to scar the skin by injecting ink into the second layer of skin causing it to be stained in the patterned it was scarred. People are in most cases proud of their tattoos, yet try to hide the natural tattoos of life. The body is a blank canvas when you’re born. Through trial and error we have been painted with life experience. Where I’m from scars are worn like the patches on a jacket. “I've been stabbed here or I've been shot there" is a badge of honor. Maimed knuckles were on the hands that lead us to adulthood. We grew up believing that our scars were how we were defined. If my face wasn't torn or my legs weren't spotted from the bruises then I’ll never fit in. Although it’s looking beyond the superficial, I was convinced we still were missing something. We were missing the beauty of those distorted knuckles, the grace in that scraped up knee. We never stopped to realize that we were actually bonding over our flawed skin instead of boasting about, "You should see the other guy".

We shouldn't hide behind the outcome of something that happened but instead smile that we learned from it. It took me a long time to realize just how special each blemish I carry truly was to me. When I look at my shin I don't see I fell and it was painful; I see my wife and I playing soccer and she juked right pass me scoring the winning goal. Something my grandmother always said to me, “You’re only as interesting as the scars you can smile at". For me that sums up things beautifully. Bad things happen to everyday people and even when that scar doesn't fade just remember that now are better days. I can successfully say I’m smiling because now these are truly better days.
this was a speech i wrote
service failure the ***** will offer
there's something medically askew with it
the usual role is proving so unfit
a second chance in a transplant's proffer
another dies to bring life back again
wellness being redeemed by precious gift
the recipient receives a big lift
living's joy restored out of the rain
someone's kind donation affording breath
so that the period of existence stays
a healthy liver performing its job
for not to have this giving there'd be death
the bestowment allows those future days
gratitude felt within a person's cob
Joseph Schneider Jul 2014
Miguel is a boy of mystery. His whole life has been a disturbing whirlpool of broken memories. His home's a train wreck, his family has vanished, his life lays in waist... Since the day Miguel was born, its gone unseen by no one of his sinister and baneful behavior. Miguel's own family could not bare the sight of him. By the age of 9 he had been put up for adoption several times. Along with scaring away any hope of accumulating a friend. Even neighbors felt the need to move through pure gut feeling something wasn't right with this young boy...but why?

   Well, the answer lives with a man named Michael. Michael was Miguel's Father. Michael lived a life searching that in which we all seek, riches, the big house, the life of a celebrity. Given the mere fact Michael was simply a fry cook, his dreams looked distant and impossible to achieve. That being said he was ready for a change, no matter the circumstances... One day, Michael was walking home from work when he stumbled across a woman in the doorway to an abandoned building. Not any ordinary woman, a beautiful woman. Her beauty wasn't like anything he had ever seen before. Her cheeks blushed, her voice could sooth a giant, and her eyes glimmered through the moonlight. Covered head to toe in jewels, in Cashmere, in Prada... The woman without hesitation snatches the attention of Michael. Her voice so soothing, so soft spoken, it's hard to feel anywhere else but in your own paradise simply being in her presence. 
   "Michael..." The woman whispers. 
   "Michael...Follow me." She says.
Michael so drawn to her beauty he obeys without the smallest of responses. Walking through the doorway into the abandoned building still manipulated by her beauty she brings him to a room. This room seems to have been abandoned for years. Torn wallpaper, carpet stripped leaving nothing but broken concrete. Although sitting in the center of the room sits a table and two chairs. 
   "Sit." The woman Says with authority. 
The man obeys taking into consideration this new tone of voice. She sits as well, directly in front of him. 
   "I, know you Michael." She says with a smile. 
   "I've been following you for some time." She continues.
Michael sitting in confusion he remains silent. 
   "Speak not if you must, It's only postponing your destiny Michael." She finishes with another smile. 
   "My, my destiny?" The man asks. 
She continues to smile gazing her beautiful eyes into his for a few moments. 
   "Yes my love. Your destiny. I have arranged something for you that you cannot pass up." 
Michael's life has him in such a deep depression he cant fathom on passing up the words of what seems like an angel. 
   "What do you have in mind?" He quickly Replies. 
   "Simple, whatever you want my love." She Replies. 
Michael Sits in silent for a second Not really understanding what is being presented to him. Although at this time he comes to terms he doesn't care, change is change. 
   "I accept anything you have to offer, beautiful." He replies with confidence. 
   "You, will live from this day forward wealthy. I can supply you with a house and enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your days." She offers. 
   "Is it that easy?" He asks  
   "No, you must in return Inflict my religious beliefs into your first born child." She says. 
Michael, not really sure what that means, accepts her deal, for she seems like an angel of the sky. Well, as for Michael he lives his life as planned, Wealthy, happy, Full of adventure. He even finds himself an amazing girl who he falls in love with. They even get married. Now, however, things get more difficult.

   They find out together they are having a baby boy. Yes, the greatest gift to any man or woman they think is about to happen to them. Michael's wife having no difficulties through the pregnancy goes into labor. After 6 hours of labor Miguel is born. He is healthy as can be. Miguel's mother on the other hand has surprisingly gone into shock. Hemorrhaging Viciously in her brain. She is quickly put into emergency surgery. With her life in danger they begin to operate. She, does not live to see another day. After doing an exam on her body trying to solve what caused her to hemorrhage, they find something very odd. During the birth of Miguel she suffered three broken vertebrates, and her ****** had been severed. Not being able to explain the cause, life goes on. Michael is devastated at the loss of his wife. The visions of raising a baby boy together have been wrecked. As devastating as it was Michael was forced to accept it and continue on, raising Miguel on his own. It wasn't much after Miguel's birth that Michael really started to realize something wasn't right.

   Miguel had no emotions. Although medically they could not find a single thing wrong with him, he still remained motionless. His eyes seemed as a portal to oblivion. No smiles, laughs, or anything. Once again as odd as this was Michael was forced to persevere on his mission to raise Miguel on his own. Until Miguel learned to walk. Once this happened Michael started to get overwhelmed. As his Miguel was a walking nightmare. Miguel had killed three of their animals within a months time. Things were looking to get out of hand. No matter how much Michael tried to discipline him, Miguel did not listen. Michael couldn't get a babysitter to watch him for any longer then a few minutes without scaring them off. The babysitters would leave startled, leaving Michael with responses such as "He won't stop staring at me" or "when he is around me the hair on my neck stands up." Miguel had become such an outrage Michael lost custody of him just two days after his third birthday. Miguel had driven His father to the point of insanity. Michael tried to suffocate Miguel and end this misery once and for all, but he could not. Miguel had grown too strong even by age three.  Everyone hated Michael for it and Miguel was taken from him leaving Michael now in prison. Michael at that point realized that woman was not an angel, but the devil in disguise, soon after he committed suicide. What others don't know is Michael knew something they didn't. Something so evil, so sinister, that it would ruin many more lives to come. More and more the people started to realize something wasn't right. He bounced from home to home, leaving every home in complete disarray. He was the talk of the town. He was referred to as the "Devil's Child" or "Miguel From Hell."

   The city was angered by the boys effect in the community and knew something had to be done. The council knew the boy had to be murdered. If only this same council would have seen it as Michael did, when he did. Things would of never gone so far south. However the town started planning in the dark for their attack. They didn't want the boy to catch any wind of this whatsoever. So one night as he was asleep in his foster bed the city made the building evacuate, quietly. All but Miguel had evacuated the building and at this time they said their prayers and begun. Six men volunteered, to enter the building. Holding rope, gasoline, and faith. They grab the boy holding him down on the bed tying him up. The boy begun to rage, but he wasn't quit strong enough to escape the six men. After tying him up and leaving him inside they lit all four corners of the building at the same time. Watching it burn to the ground. Once they thought it was finally over, the body was never found...

-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved

Short story.
The Devil won't approach you in his form. He will approach you with what you love.
Karijinbba Nov 2018
I thank you all poets poetessess moderators this thanks giving.
To one or two foe serpents in my paradise writing uglily to me on HP, I am sorry I had to block you and your friends since I am highly intuitive.
One of you posing as female sent me to your page drawing a page full of scissors! without a word in it very cruel sadistic of her an old poisonous snake from my old paradise hanously destructive. Another a female wrote mocking a woman aborting her child!! Abortion is legal to me only if medically adviced.
Grow a brain write, don't mock or judge me. The only child I aborted was one whose heart had stoped due to massive antibiotic dose prescribed by a butcher because MD he was not. That was my missfortune and your oportunity.
What is it to you anyway to write to me derrogatorily so?. It happened in my teens! Long ago. ENOUGH!
I had to block you. I am highly intuitive and gifted first pure blood RHO negative.
I know it's you even when you hide masked behind this HP mirrors.
Please make peace with your ghosts, head voices or seek medical psychiatric help, many of you need it. Poetry isn't to mock hate assault the mind heart and soul of fellow men and women who communicate beautifully even in their distress but evil won't be rewarded or tolerated not by me, if you play your holier than me role.

Theres plenty malice where I am no need for me to pay monthly to be cursed on here.
Please spread love, live life forgive yourself be genuine, share your true life experiences, instead of looking who to dishonor and hate.
For the one or two females who created an account just to spread evil grow a heart a brain and then tell us how you did it.
we might even apreciate your courage to share!
My past love life with wealthiest elite true love, sweetheart soulmate, twin flame isn't any of your business.

G* d, and cause and effect in the universe are my only judges not a malignant infective fungus poor excuse, a human **** like yourselves who tried to defile me unprovoqued undeserved and unsolicited.
You are forgiven and loved still but I had to block you. I don't reward or ignore destructive behaviors.
To all genuine poets moderators and poetessess be well
Happy Thanks giving this November 2018.
All the best to you all

As for killing a turkey,
for six years now, I forgive the turkey and spared it's life but I still have fun eating all other delights of season's greetings.

also I love and pamper myself
I am my own best friend
so that loving, tolerating and understanding others becomes that much easier and enjoyable.
Happy Thanks Giving
PEACE TO ALL FRIEND AND FOE
(!*:):;;;.
Wordfreak Feb 2017
June 1st, 1998.
A child born,
A boy,
With a mop of brown hair,
And complications.
Pulse weak,
Not getting enough oxygen...
But the complications?
They were handled.


June 1st, 2003.
Blowing out your candles,
Looking forward to things to come.
Like being the ring bearer in your parents' wedding.

June 1st, 2005.
Forfeiting your birthday wish,
Because your wish is coming true.
Your brother is born July 26th.

June 1st, 2012.
Looking back on middle school,
And ahead on the monster known as high school.

June 1st, 2013.
Looking back on freshman year,
And celebrating 6 months with the first girl you ever loved.
You're positive she's the one.

June 1st, 2014.
Looking back on sophomore year,
Relishing the thought of being an  upperclassman,
Yet still mourning the loss of your first love almost a year before, on June 26th.

June 1st, 2016.
Going to the meeting and signing the paperwork.
Feeling more pride than ever in your life.
You leave for basic training in August.
Little do you know, you will be medically discharged in November of the next year.

June 1st, 2018.
I will look back on all I have done.
My failures most of all.
Because they're all I have.
Born and raised in Georgia where the A stitched in to the fitted
We let the streets be the streets but some of yall gone snitch
I'd rather be broke with the team then get swallowed into greed
I always kept it hundred living by the family creed
I'm tatted on my arm a last of a dying breed.
One Life to Live while rhyming All Eyes on Me
All these busters wanna be a G
While I'm just trying to do the right thing like Spike Lee
L A P D has their lasers pointed at my back
brothers turning police I don't believe that giant Shaq
I'm going in I'm going in cause I'm trained like that
Pistols in their holsters with a rifle on my back
I'm not a Violent person but a heart is what I don't lack
I won't be gone long if you Hindu then I'm coming back
Last of a Dying Breed look the future in my eyes
last four hundred years some of us been struggling to survive
looking at the world today I see the people tranquilized
this generations music is the reason why they're hypnotized.
Better guard your girl because my voice will have her mesmerized
I'm the Phantom of the opera can't you tell by my disguise?
Smoking on some ***** maybe one day they'll decriminalize
Smoking on the best that will have you bleeding from your eyes
Medically prescribed by a Doctor in a tie
They victimize the victims and they glorify the killers
yet don't realize these symptoms
got these youngsters pulling triggers
Little girls becoming strippers
just so they can make some figures
guess they missed the bigger picture
My knowledge helps reconsider
I'm a country boy at heart
with the style of city slickers
I leave you looking ignorant
you think that I'm a ******
The last man to **** his own people name was
******.
I'm more mysterious then that
compare to Jack the Ripper.
Jeremy Betts Apr 2018
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/  
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these works mold me into someone you could never be/

©2018
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
early risen,
life's au courant
contextual issues
are all bad bus driver dream driven,
visualizations of sonograms
of erred memories,
road forks, unwisely chosen,
incorrect in retrospect,
look back notion thoughts,
and fears of the
good works in process
never finished,
these are all the best ****
too early,
highly reliable,
internal/infernal
alarm clock

waken only to plod the dark,
upon the cool wood floors,
without any slippered coverings,
closet buried unavailable
(no treasure noisy hunting
in the dark permitted,
while the party of the second part,
yet sleeps)

the floored bottom chills
do not succeed
in comforting a mind
instant awakened-enflamed
by a long lived life recalled recapped,
of inaction and interactions,
thrones lost by
choices guided by fear and not
risk,
that in summation,
too many debtors-in-possession
of rose colored
minus signs

so the companions constants,
these well-worry-worn floors,
now refuse me,
no more to repeat,
what all too oft
they have before,
wisely spoken:

too early, man,
too late, fool,
the answers
required/sought
upon our ashen wooden countenance
cannot be elicited nor derived,
go back to bed
there, perhaps,
find what you need,
somewhere,
between the day's rising orb,
the Lady Luck of
a woman's heat,
the grand canyoned
Pachelbel cannon,
the Bach adagios
soulful sweet,
the answers could begin,
the endings,
perhaps can find
you and show
the restart signs positively
new directional


yet obedient to the old nether-wisdom
of these inanimate intimates,
(that are classified now as
sourpusses &  ex-best friends),
off to
back-to-bed,
self-dispatched,
arriving amidst the departing darkness,
being infiltrated by new day
dawning light suffusions,
with coffee armed,
pillows plumped,
all done with
church mouse quietude,
lest I wake the
party of the second part

into bed returns
the prodigal son,

uh-oh,

the poem ***** stiffens

cannot be refused,
it offers me
this challenged relief and a challenged
pleasure:

Subtext

commandeering and commanding:

dispense what you cannot say,
but wish for all to understand,
teach them how to write the literary
subtext
of one man's life


his fantasies *******,
thoughts of world-over trips
upon which his poems trip,
thinking thoughts
of meeting you
first time and fittingly,
reunions of longtime knowing
mutual souls, the lovely perfection
of the guarantee of
better days past
and better yet,
of better days
yet to come,
of first embraces,
longingly overdue,
but happily
familial familiar
even upon initial conception

motioned potions notions
of what he would do
when that lottery ticket
comes true,
seeing hazy
visions of loined, coined children babes naves
as someday adults,
from a future past of
a collection of visions
happily well imagined

now in bed,
dancing (quietly) to a Strauss waltz,
all his sisyphean tasks unmasked,
and peace in his heart,
returning to supreme reign,
re-gifting it all forward,
in a subtext contextually
poem within herein

the coffee now cooled,
the mental dispensary instead,
has issued
a scrip
prescribed and commissioned

write yourself,
one poem,
overly long and rambling,
as always,
(knowingly he smiles at his own critique)
this poem
to be issued
from his ******-brain,
amniotic-bathed,
anointed and by appointment
to her majesties,
The Queen of Hearts
and the
Red Queen,
entitled:


Subtext

the scrip reads:
"take once a day,
life clarity should return
sooner than later,
which is to say
medically and medicinally
eventually,
which is far, far better
than never"

the meds imbibed
the coffee reheated,
and while
waiting for its effects,
the subtext of a man
who drinks drams
of lives of poetry
for all
sees his future dreams
and happily awaits
their completed execution
George Krokos Feb 2017
At times I happen to wonder what it would be like to wake up dead
and if in fact anyone could really wake up at all from such a dread.
Although there have been cases related by people of coming back
after being diagnosed physically or medically of losing life's track.
In particular those who recall going through a kind of light tunnel
or seeing certain things that resemble looking into a bright funnel.

It seems quite reasonable now therefore to assume an afterlife may exist
and that some people have been given a rare opportunity to say or insist
about what they have experienced on the other side of their earthly life
regardless of who they might be and what strange conditions were rife,
when they had that encounter with their own personal angel of death
and were for a while seen lying motionless somewhere without breath.

Out of our dream life we may also have similar experiences to relate
though it's often difficult to recall them or find the right words to state
about what one has been through or even seen after any such time
let alone have the desire or ambition to write it all down in a rhyme.
For some people it may turn out to be a shame or some kind of regret
if they just brush it aside, don't reflect on it and then try hard to forget.
________
Written in 2016.
Aztec Warrior Aug 2016
Radiation Burn**

Cancer is a mother;
snap, crackle, pop,
yet they zip, zap
and radiate me.
They won’t allow a
glow in the dark blush,
or allow some super powers;
no Spiderman,
not even the Hulk- sheeesh!
But they did suggest perhaps
Wonder Woman instead
since their hormone therapy
is medically castrating me-
all in the name of science
and to be cancer free!!
Yippee and yahoo
not to mention
radiation burns!!!
+++
I guess there is always a price,
a “trade off” they say.
So move over Superman,
Wonder Woman is in the house!
Oh, and by the way,
could I borrow some red lipstick,
I already have a magical whip
and I’m looking for
a heavy date Friday night!!

Aztec Warrior/redzone 7.28.16
Note: if you can’t laugh at what life
throws at you and also yourself,
cancer will eat you alive...
thanks for reading... and here is a link to some music:  from R.E.M.
"Everybody Hurts"
https://youtu.be/5rOiW_xY-kc
Sam Apr 2017
Rushing down the halls,
Grabbing the keys
Go.

Eyes burning, arms shaking,
Inability to concentrate on the road
Faster, ******.

He can barely breathe,
My little brown eyes
Hang in there buddy, come on.

Little body quivering,
Puppy eyes stare at me in fright
Its okay, lil' brown eyes, we love you.

Car slams on the breaks,
Doors rush open, full sprint inside
Stay with us boy, don't leave us.

Taken away, medically examined
Clock ticks by, slower..slower..
How long, How long does it take?

Doctors come and go
Paper work after paper work
I don't care, let me see my baby.

Little Puppy, comes back with delight
Medication given, and thankfully taken
You did it bud bud, you're still here.

Life is taken for granted
Once tugged at, we hold on tight
*We love you, patches, thank you for staying.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
symphony arrangement for poetry - personae distinctions of hidden violins and woodwinds, somewhere along the way brass - leaving Cabaret Voltaire (Zurich), moving to the Beat Hotel (9 Rue Gît-le-Cœur, Paris), ending up on the Cowgate (Edinburgh).

when you read newspapers you realise that dinosaurs roam
the land, the fortress of printing press, unlike the printing press
(which was taken seriously from the word go!)
the internet has been largely squandered; you read these
things in newspapers, the evolutionary reaction - ensuring that
among these dinosaurs are also opinion pieces, dinosaurs write accounts of what's happening, batrachotoxin amphibians write
opinions: i.e. what isn't happening: opinions go forward unchecked
and undisputed, added that there are many potions in the cauldron
it's hard to pick one out and dig deeper until both parties are in no position to hold such and such opinion, given the missing
muscle of implementing change or the skeleton to keep
the status quo - but this is a slight deviation from what i
was intending to convey - the old guard of printing is worried
sick that it might be usurped in the long run - it prints damaging
reports about the existence of the internet, looking at it as not
a niche environment, which it technically is - but cats, ****, cats,
****, apparently we all log on to meow and moan -
as a tool of entertainment it's the least thrilling source of
the desired "entertainment", the unscripted nature of this niche environment is what's actually good about it, in that a single
person can become both writer, editor and publisher -
but indeed, the internet has been squandered,
although it improved from what used to be a wholly anonymous
environment peppered with dangers of random encounters -
the infamous chat rooms changed even more to infamous
phone-books: you heard it, stories of cyber bullying - the internet
has been squandered, by all means, trying to save it is a bit like
trying to save the world, or as one Tao principle suggested to me
early on forged in me: the best way you can aid the world
is to forget the world, and let the world forget you.
a film director would say, well, i'm stuck in the house,
i'm thinking of shooting a biopic of Lawrence of Arabia...
i see a desert, a man riding a camel through it...
but you have to then start muling over the facts: you'll have to get funding, get the casting right,  but no one likes shooting in
the desert, you have to get  the catering sorted, you start shooting,
but the camera track ruins the desert, so you have to move
to another part of the desert that's pristine with wind parallel
ridges in the sand, then the studio calls you and says you're
spending too much money, then peter o'toole stumbles
out from the trailer hungover almost everyday; sure, you need inspiration and ideas, but that's only 1% or the whole,
99% is working with people - as a director you're not actually
playing god, you're helping other people, De Niro preferred
mumbling something prior to a scene, but Seymour Hoffman
went into a scene like a crocodile quickly snapping
to the shout of cut! and the clapperboard.
i suppose poetry could be like that too,
99% being the audience and the necessary oration,
that would work - unless of course you'd do the same with
painting - but whereas with painting you're invited to critical
thinking, see an artist next to his painting elaborating on
the themes and use of colours? i don't want to assert common sense
wisdom from one profession and apply the same wisdom
                                      to another with a trans-occupational
relativism: that red           is relative to               crimson -
              but we'll have to do away with lighting,
              darkening and what not, so yes,
red is relative to crimson insofar as we forget lighting
and Edward Hopper. anyone can appreciate the
lazy approach, but i took to some mammoths without the help
of audio books, a reasoning man, not a mob gob emotive conjurer worth a tonne of heckles and haggles - but i guess the dream
through this gamble would be the monetary reward...
you know... after so many years writing for peanuts i have lost
all appetite for spending money beyond what i consider
to be a workable cure for insomnia - i don't have to buy music
any more since i can stream it, i have more privacy without
a mobile phone, all i have is this little brick wall that's stationary
in this virtual jungle on which i scribble - with the radius from
this point being anything ranging from 1 to 6 sensible miles,
beyond 6 and we're talking blisters on feet; can you imagine what
our predecessors could endure in terms of walking? they had hoofs
instead of feet, while we have skin as smooth as a baby's buttock
cheeks on the soles of our feet. the strangeness of modernity:
1. a man drives a car with with a bicycle on the roof, just so he can    
    peddle down a scenic route...
2. the volume of skimmed milk bottle is the same as full fat milk,
    but if you bought full fat milk and added water to it the volume
    would triple (via semi, so yes, triple)...
3. healthy diets - 350% increase in vegan population
   in Britain over the past 10 years - the protein problem
   (once it was the fat problem, low fat yoghurt came about,
    turned everything into a sugar problem), i.e. women aged
    between 19 & 24 requiring to hit the 58 gram daily
    recommendation of protein would have to eat:

everyday foods
chicken breast (251g = 276Kcal)
eggs x4 (460g = 658Kcal)
salmon fillet (291g = 533Kcal)                                 v.

clean-eating foods
quinoa (1,318g = 1,582Kcal)
chia seeds (371g = 1,818Kcal)
                              goji berries (405g = 1,504Kcal)
                              kimchi (3,222g = 863Kcal)
                              tofu (707g = 70Kcal)
                              ******* (384g = 632Kcal)
                              coconut yoghurt (3,422g = 6,844Kcal)
almond milk (14,500ml = 3,625Kcal)
avocado (2,900g = 4,843Kcal)

  as healthy as stuffing turkeys for Thanksgiving, can you imagine
  drinking fourteen, fourteen litres of almond milk?! i don't even
  have to imagine drinking 700ml of whiskey to get the point
  and reach the threshold of the effectiveness of sleeping pills...
  no alcohol, no sleeping pills, better sit it out than take so near  
  ineffective buggers; although as a warning: you might end up
  sleeping for *12 hours
- variations on the BMI and previous habits
  of drinking - socially? not so much, medically? primarily -
  not in favour of the anti-alcohol lobby being part of the "safety"  
  guidelines given to the public...
4. charities' costs eat up 78% of donations,
    another 21st century anomaly, effectively dismissed
    by the church's alms giving history depicted in Sistine opulence,
    so no wonder whether in cardinal robes or suited and booted for
    the near-invisible secular religiosity, such poverty of symbolism
    compared with the predecessors, at least back then you'd
    know who to send to the guillotine - and this is how Louis XIV
    treated his courtesans, he made a certain type of clothing
    mandatory, a Versailles school uniform as it were,
    most the the courtesans went bankrupt having to buy the
    clothes, some pieces would be equivalent of a sports car,
    they went bankrupt to remain in the club,
    so they borrowed monkey from Louis, and so Louis kept
    them in his pocket: poor rich people, or necessary
    leeches (as once used in medicine, Louis' absolutism
    being the sole malady, abuse of power necessitates
    paranoia); or to quote Lisolette about the royal *******
    'mouse droppings in pepper.' Philippe (Duc d'Orléans)
    was the transvestite who charged into battle
    and conquered the Dutch, much to his brother's
    shame at having only made conquests in the bed - well
money here, money there, shoving a piano into a concert hall accompanied by an orchestra, something Chopin would never
do not wishing to leave the comforts of salons - although
Metallica dared to.
                                                             ­           welcome to
the age of silica and chameleons (cha cha cha champ a camcorder anyone? well, imagine what scrutiny Narcissus would pay a photograph, imagine giving a photograph to Narcissus and
wonder would he change his behaviour), get fooled by
the adverts once, second time you'll eventually see needing to feed
a charity's bureaucracy rather than an African, hence the migrant
                                                                                                    crisis...
sometimes there are no surprises as to where certain things
originate, Marxism and England, zenith of the empire,
or as historians claim, the decadence of the Romans was their fascination with food prior to the end: ready-meals and
microwaves among cooking shows, currently the daily program
of channels, esp. that of 4 is culinary and horse racing,
all the interesting programs are broadcast when everyone
is about to fall asleep... Saville bankrupted the B.B.C.
posthumously: a game show, "jackpot" of one grand.
- advertisement didn't expect live T.V., the mute button,
the pause button and the fast forward button...
but in a 100 years time if not more they'll look back at us as
having finally exhausted Groundhog Day (starring Bill Murray) -
sure, the technological breakthroughs were great, magical,
but the content? 20th century most probably,
the ideal time of fluid and at ease plagiarism - obviously
exceptions were made, but this walking nightmare
of the exhausted second half of the 20th century caught up
in the 21st century - dialogue replaced by visuals,
clash of the titans (1981) v. clash of the titans (2010) -
the only good bit of the latter is the inclusion of Hades -
it's beautiful, i'm nostalgic to a history i was born in and
belonged to, i'm not a nostalgic Nietzsche or Hölderlin
bumming about singing praises of the Ancient Greeks -
you see, it's close-at-heart nostalgia because i belonged to it,
the infant of it - a peculiar circumstance to be in; or coming
to terms with the first signs of decay: cartoon network's
cow & chicken with i r baboon - have you seen the horrors
of modern cartoons compared with computer graphics?
readies them to  pick up gaming soon after,
given gaming graphics. in summary - some say sitting behind
a computer screen is a sign of a lack of self-assurance,
or confidence, self- anything you want to suffix with, well,
that could be true, but you have a photograph included,
and the days of the typewriter are over - but i could also say
the same about certain brands or shops, are they too lacking
self-confidence to stop their existence on  the high street?
the royal mail delivers junk, you might get 100 junk envelopes
and a christmas  card... o.k. make that 1000 to 10,000 envelopes
of junk and one letter directly addressing you that hasn't been
written using an analogue like

dear mr. / mrs. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

we would like to inform you that your insurance
claim has expired.            etc.

the infancy of this century is what's deceptive, the greatest
deception i can think of - the great health scares and subsequent
over-usage of antibiotics breeding super-bugs in hospitals
anything and everything under the sun - including
that damnable idea that the planet Mars employs people whom
it's attracting into its orbit - earthly geologists must be bewildered
that the only subject of learning from all of man's
capacity to send into space is geology: and on the return flight
home we realised that we'd only be bringing back some arenite
(sandstone); that quote about about painting being 50 years
ahead of writing, the same is true with science fiction and
actual science.
Mike Essig Oct 2015
The Universe is compelled to Upgrade!
Stars, Nebula, even Black Holes must be Improved!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Sis Boom Bah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Sis Boom Bah!


It is risen! It is risen! It is Risen!

Most marvelous, miraculous divine device!

Forget turning water into wine... Lame!
Forget Muhammed moving that mountain... Lame!
Let Lazarus flop back into the tomb... Lame!

This is Miracle as it was meant to be!

Oh grand glorious God of International Capitalism!

The triumphant product of American Genius manifest
in the work of many skilled primates' foreign hands.

Truly an event of Startling Global Significance!

And you have stood like a lemming on methamphetamine
many long hours in the rain to be possessed by its majesty
and now it is yours, yours, yours, yours alone
for only $649 dollars plus a few hundred monthly.

Let all the bells be rung! Let high Hosannas be sung!

A phone so smart it was beta tested on the lobotomized
and made them look like slightly scarred Steven Hawings!

The apps that are available will explode your existence!

They can provide *******, wipe your ***, ******* you.
Yes! Imagine Siri willingly kneeling between your legs!

Oh, but what to do about that first important call or text?
It must be equal in loftiness to this Digital Masterpiece!

Perhaps command it to call Obama and implore him to gain weight,
or Alexander Putin to tell him a Polar Bear needs wrestling,
or perhaps God to tell him he is no longer necessary.

No, all of these are far too paltry for that first message.

Instead, tell Siri to search for the nearest Lunatic Asylum
and book as many cells as possible for self-obsessed consumers.

That way they can text and call in medically supervised bliss,
undisturbed until Apple provides them with the next Transfiguration.

It will probably only be six months from now... **Suckers.
A little AM whimsy...
Maytin Paige Apr 2015
I'm told you've been in a crash and now in the hospital.
I fish for facts, to know what's going on.
I hear you were stuck head-on on your side, that you have broken bones and a brain injury, that you're in a medically induced coma.
My heart pauses.
I can't think.
I don't believe it.
Then the news story pops up on our local paper's website.
Your friend turned in front of another car which struck you, and your sister in the backseat. The two of you have serious injuries, you're critical. But the two drivers have walked away uninjured.
I just want you to wake up.
Could it have been avoided?
I can't let you leave, I need you here with me.
I need you to push through.
I need God to prevail.
I want to sit by your bedside and demand you wake up but I know that won't help.
I've slipped into a mind coma. I can't smile. I feel numb.
I just want you to wake up.
I just want you to wake up so we can both leave this coma.
Love you Ells. I need you here. We need you here. We'll all be waiting for you when you wake up. <3
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2015
Those clock face braids,
Twelve, three, six and nine
Oh! How lovely they shine,
I love and hate them at the same time

The smell of the coconut oil from my hair
made my eyes water,
But, my scalp stay healthy and oily
that's been  all that matters to me
plus the warmth of her gentle hands

My aching back this pounding headache
Make me think of grandma’s hands,
but to think of her hands,
I had to think about her golden brown ***** cakes,
or those hands that soothe my aches and pain,
When I was a medically fragile child,


She would put a soft cheesy two layer of
Cheesecloth, melted onions, two banana leaves
Between the cloths, she would gentle placed it
  on my congested chest, and spoke to us as if
Vick vapor tropical cream, was minty ice-cream
Grandma’s hands, always had that added plus
She named her thick brown belt
“Do as I say, not as you do”
Because Nana might have to disciplined  you,

I held on to Grandma’s hand so tight,
until I was about twelve ,
It was sad day for me when
she passed on to another world
Nana if you can hear me,
I am still holding, and holding tight
To those wonderful memories we once shared.
Elfriede A.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
pop a balloon will you, they think i'm a Jehovah's witness not wanting to celebrate this ******* farce... last time i popped a balloon was on Guy Fawkes' night, i went into fireworks shop and asked for a firework, got turned away, walked into another shop that sold balloons, bought a packed, went back to the fireworks shop with the balloon pufferfish... the ****** didn't pop with a smack of the hand, it had some additive in it to strengthen the membrane... a clown parade came after.

i'm 30 today, got a call from my grandparents
wishing me a: hoo ha what not, encore encore,
health and more health -
conversation with grandmother was fine,
but then my grandfather got me depressed,
the lecture about how he'd have been
working 15 years to date my year in passing,
post-war veteran, he was the one asking
for candy from the ᛋᛋ men - *herr, bite bonbon
,
i spent many years with him, walking, talking,
the graveyard was our oyster, our pearl,
we became hyenas of the graves -
but on this day i got hit by a steam-train knuckle,
started thinking about getting ****** right away:
'look, i live in a society where poetry is
under-appreciated, even un-, there are no
rewards in this field, what was the point of educating
myself if all this poetry is, quiet literally state
sponsored? it's pathetic! i would love to come and
see you but i will not use your money to get over
there, i have an addiction to pursue, including
a quasi-career. poetry has been hijacked by
oompa-loompas, the kids they own the internet,
i guess because that's the easiest way to describe
any germination, in poetry you can't be a Mozart
boasting about your genius aged 8...
Mozart was a trained monkey, poetry requires
experience, heartbreak, the gritty bits & bobs,
sure, you can learn all the techniques, write
technical poetry, but from such poetry i'll be
reduced to an english student, spotting poetic
techniques like a statistician spotting trends,
ball-breaking expressions.'
and with that i realised, i wanted to be a bohemian,
but bohemian also means urban, means
other people's company... i can't do that,
i'm purposively lodged in outer suburbia,
there's too much Wordsworth in me to claim
bohemian blue / cool; leave me with deer foxes
hedgehogs and a Noah's ark array of birds...
i can't do the stink, the claustrophobic coagulation
of human sweat... or as i once suggested:
better celibate than mere piston and ******
                                                        "i­mmaturity"...
i **** like crossing the street, look two times each
way and mind the heart...
i can drink a 70cl bottle of whiskey a day...
only because i'm alone, in company the mood is
quiet different, you're not suggesting alcohol as having
calories, you use it as an inhibitor of social insecurities,
medically speaking from my perspective?
sedative... sedative... sedative... i don't know
any barbiturates pharmacist Nietzsche didn't leave
any clues in his writing, what a shame, back
when writing had to be printed and had to have all
kinds of mannerisms of respectability - what ponce.
by the way... you're not actually getting fooled
for those illiterate scraps of the Nag Hammadi library?
word of goat more like... look around you!
the large majority of us are literate, you don't actually
think the Nag Hammadi library is sacred?
even Bruce... ah ****, Caitlyn is having second thoughts
about the "wisdom" implied by St. Thomas' Gospel...
but yeah... 30... ooh... time to bite my nails...
career not off the ground... ooh... what to do what to do...
have a drink and reiterate:
                                               can't do bohemian,
can only do rustic (suits me)...             civilising wieśniactwo -
bo jestem z miasta... ah... bo jestem z miasta...
to widać i słychać i czuć...
                                                alter! hey **, dawaj alter!
bo jestem ze wsi...                         niby widać
i            słychać              i czuć (na grzbiecie mam a pigglet)!
            ah then piękny mish-mash duo-baritone, sz,
                   no no, prawie Tuwim Opera!

hey! don't come running to me, a 12 year old immigrant
said that the majority of polish migrants in england
create a village atmosphere... now that's masochistic
racism - last night i was laughing during a televised
geography lesson... doesn't get better than that in terms
of birthday presents.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~

Jan 31, 2014

Victuals Victim


There is a contest this day,
that does not involve my P.S.F.
(Preferred Sport Franchise)

truly, don't give a good ****** who wins,
but that is no excuse to deny me
my victim status,
my Sir Sore Loser demeanor,
so poorly,
in season's long suffering
earned,
so richly,
undeserved.

A triumvirate of
Doctor, G.F. and battery
of medically intrusive tests,
have ruled on the field,
that but once a year,
a conjugal visit permitted,
tween my arteries and chicken wings,
is legally permissive.

there will pigs in blankets
oinking, demanding attention,
sliders and mini right sized,
bite sized potato knishes
(at least in New York City)
cole slaw juices,  
even a
foreign dignitary,
Sayyid Cous-Cous,
all lining up along side
the quarterback  
who will be slinging
'winging' honey and spicy passes
to his favorite receiver,
this couch coach
and today's impartial line judge.

This is my Super Sunday fare,
antithesis of a pre-Day of Atonement fasting meal.
where gluttony
is deemed
less than kosher

If insufficiently highbrow,
for all you poetic aesthetes,
have no fear,
this athlete gastronomic,,
victim of his victuals,
will prepare mentally
to reverse course afterwards,
by hanging out
with King Lear yet once more,
sharing a verbal tasting menu fare,
a recollection of a prior years repast,
this King,
an unrepentant Manchester man-fan,
who knew me too well,
and once condemned me,
after an historic NY Giants Super Bowl celebratory,
sadly,
all too many years ago,
as follows:

"A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats;
a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave;
a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting slave;
one that wouldst be a bawd,
in way of good service, and art nothing but
the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel *****:
one whom I
will beat into clamorous whining,
if thou deniest
the least syllable of thy addition.”


― William Shakespeare, King Lear

~~~

Feb. 2, 2014

My leash is on,
I am to be walked


ad melius parare hominem,
to better prepare man,
before the coma of wings and a super sized
spectacle
tackles, invades and overtakes,
his nation's soul.


by the East River
will I be perambulated,
following 
each lying-down,
pedestrian drawning of a chalk figure,
directing the course
of a river walk
drawn and quartered
just for me.

chatting to the gulls
re the river's latest delicacies,

comparing my upcoming menu
for overlapping interest,
while praying the bicyclists,
on my body,
have tender mercies.

because I will,
all the walking while
be silently recording poems,

to tribute the international nation
of poets and the
global sport of
poetry,
that knows no leagues,
or geographic
delineations.

~~~

Feb 5, 2014

leftover chicken wings and other love nonsense

the woman disregards
what's best for me,
instead, gives me with the
kindest of disregards,
what's best for me,
for this is the kindness
that hallmark stamps
upon the softened heart,
the long lasting kind
of kind

before your childlike
tap tap attention away-wains,
bring you this,
a treatise,
on leftover chicken wings
and other nonsensical
finger food additions,
purposed
to inspire, to find innovation,
in expressing, reclaiming and newly exclaiming
that miscreant four letter word,
£0V€
that appears in those unsilent majority,
99% of them, other entrants
the Bohème poèmes,
residing in our Mr. Roger's neighborhood

in some poem writ recent,
poet pontificated,
that the most overused words, yes,
those abused three,
(duh, I love you)
degraded by overuse,
lost their poetic juice
thru constant repetition,
almost being nearly boringly indecent,
even when
boldly italicized

the impact upon the reader
lives in the lies in the realm of
"oh yeah, that's nice"

far, far better
to be best in show,
deduce how renewed,
to meaty demonstrate
rather than
insistently remonstrate,
in newer ways,
every day
that grade A choice
sentiment

to say, par example,
that serving day old chicken wings means,
well,
you know what...

Some get tea and oranges,
me, I get cherished
when our repast is
twice recast,
when she feeds me
leftover chicken wings,
both kinds,
spiced and honey
that come all the way
from her heart

so, now do you know why
Silly
has two L's?

Correct.
(answer: lucky in love)

for the luck-river-runs
lie just neath
the silliness currents swirling,
where kissing knuckles unexpectedly,
******* the exhausted,
tucking them in,
going out for emergency ice cream
in the midst of a
polar vortex,
recording the game to wee hour watch later,
so she may hang with the notorious outlaw
"Downtown Abbey Gang,"
watching at the
proper English place and time,
leaving the celebrating of life's  leftovers,
for the morrow sup,
with chicken wings and 0
other things
reheated,
and other heartfelt,
but unhealthy,
warm heartening
food additions

that folks,
is how you write
a poem in deed,
one that will be returned to you
sevenfold
in reads

when you want to explain how,
you can, truly, sigh,
you know,
love another...
employing with decoying,
sinful, leftover chicken  wings
then you too be mastering,
the poetic life
of sonnet and song

~~~
all three posted here on the specified dates and modestly edited,
on this day,
in anticipation of a winged revival
this hallowed eve of
two seven sixteen
Kitty Prr Dec 2013
Poem a day, number 22*

How much of my choices are my own?
Physiological compulsions
Societal pressures.

How much of my choices are my own
I muse, as I grab another sugary treat.
My own personal addiction.

It's not respected as an addiction
People smirk,
Or quip 'Oh yeah I have a sweet tooth too'

'No, no' I say
'It's medically proven
To have the same reaction in the brain as *******'

I can see them thinking
'Yeah right' as they smile and say
'Oh really?'

But the pressure to partake
'Just this once won't hurt'
Really?  Do you say that to alcoholics too?

Are people quitting smoking
Expected to smoke for a day or two,
Because it's Christmas, Easter, Birthdays...

How much of my choices are my own?
When you can't actually live without
Some sort of sugar.

In a society where anything with a hint of processing
Is likely to have some refined sugar
And the more convenience the higher the risk.

How much is my choice?
When managing my addiction is more about
Keeping sugar to a bearable level.

An addiction that can't be cut out completely
As my hand starts to shake at the mere thought of
Having to 'quit' again.
I am a writer. A writer that cannot find the words to write down this emotion. A writer out of many. I am not unique or special. I don't stand out. I'm just a writer with a head full of words and a soul full of feeling. I'm your everyday human.

Medically, i'm boring.
Socially, I'm entertaining.

I write while others sleep or fill their lungs with love.
I think while others talk.
I laugh while others cry.
I breathe while most stop.
I'm alive, weather it feels like it or not.

But, least importantly, i'm just a writer.
A writer with a head full of jumbled words and a soul filled with both love and hate. A body that feels numb and a heart for a home with a draft coming in due to little insulation. I'm a tad bit bitter, but aren't we all? I'm far from joyful, but most are now a days.

People change and so does this world.
People are at war with themselves.
People are disgusting.
But i'm a writer, not a person.
I'm a human, not a number.
But to most, i'm just there. Nearly the background music to their lives.

To me, I am a wall. No one gets in and no one can break it down. People have tried, but never succeeded.
I am damaged.
I am a writer.

To some, I am a friend.
To others, a stranger.
To very little, a lover.
To one, a hate.

But I am not any of those things.

I am flesh. Bare to the whole world.
Bare *****.
Take a peek inside, you'll see.

People say they're a lot of things. But realistically, in the end of it all, we're all dust intertwining in eachothers specks.
Holding hands as the ship goes under.
All claiming we're the captain.
Where'd the individuals go?

Well, i'm right here. Standing alone. Waiting for something that is actually nothing.
To me, I am an individual.
To others, I am everything else.
To the world, i'm almost non-existant.

I don't search for anything.


But for now, I walk this Earth like many others.
I am just your average person.
Just another writer.
I am just bones and flesh, covered by a sickening disguise.

People say beauty is everywhere, but that's only to the naked eye. Take a look around, you'll see.
Take a look around in me.
Beauty can't be seen by anything.
It's hidden beneathe the depths of the oceans and the heart of the world.
It's hidden within everything.
Beauty is out of reach.
The world is too covered to see it.
We made it this way.
We made this world ugly.

But what do I know?

I am just a writer.
Your average joe stranger.
I am your sleepless dream.
I am your weakness.
Your strength.
Your hate.
Your love.
Your entertainment.
But I am not yours.
I am not anybody.
I am me.

I am an individual and this is why I stand alone.
I am content.
I will manage.
The world will still spin round, once i'm gone.
Aswell as once we're all gone, because the world waits for no one.
©SeanaseaWallen 2010
H Aug 2014
I feel sorry that some people think

They
Weren't
Born
Whole.

So they go out searching,
Waiting,
Abating,
For somebody to complete their soul.

At a young age I was blessed to be broken
Got to put the pieces back together myself.
No man, no prince, no shining bright knight.
Just me and my sutures
Disinfecting alcohol on the shelf.

I don't need a healer
So no human need bother
I fixed what was broken
Saved you your wine-and-dine dollar

Spend it on a damsel
Who's been tricked into thinking she's distressed
Because I'm having none of that **** here
I'm the latest model of me and it's simply the best.

See medically speaking,
Scars won't ever leave
But they can always be replaced
By smaller ones chosen at your knives' reprieve

So I've built myself a brand new me
As whole and together
As possibly could be.

Patched up nicely with sutures
Tied ever so tight
Keloids like embedded trophies
Many a victorious fight.

And while one might go searching
Like a pollinating human bee.
I know my self worth.

I'll never depend on thee.
Be your own ******* hero.
Jesse Belcher Sep 2013
You know them nights, when so much is on your mind and you don't know where to begin.
You start to type, then back space again and again.
The words don't flow, the thought is gone.
The next sentence is wrote, but it just feels wrong.

You can stare at the screen and look for hours.
Type a hundred words, yet their not ripe, much more sour.
I'm having that night, with this aggravation and pain.
Even though the last week, was smiles and gain.

The last couple days and nights has ripped through my mind and body.
My body feels under a earthquake and my mind is a tsunami.
Quitting the benzo's and antidepressants that started 3 1/2 years ago
Going cold turkey, I wasn't going to wing it and just go slow.

At a point in your life, you will sometimes make rash decisions.
It can lead you into a tranquility, or it can cut you...incision after incision.
The beginning of the week, I found peace and that tranquility.
As I longed for better and wanted rid of the iniquity.

I began to read the bible and put faith in it's print.
and now I feel under attack, a demon the Devil has sent.

But that's not the case, I chose this myself.
I can beat this, write about it, then put it on a shelf.

My mind is too muddled to go on much more,
My body is shaking, and my fingers are sore.

This shall pass, as God will get me through.
Then I will be back, to bore some of you.

I long for a natural sleep not medically induced.
For it's been 13 years, that's when the pills happened. I began to use.
Just for sleep not to get high.
Just for dreams: standing on a mountain side.

So goodnight, and may you dream the most wonderful dream.
May you feel the embrace of the moonlight beam.

Before you drift off and dance with your love beside the sea.
Will you say a prayer? So something beautiful comes to me.

GOODNIGHT AND MAY YOUR DREAMS BE PERFECT.
Marcella Barnes Feb 2012
Black is the color of my “true” love’s hair.
His nose a beak,
His chin, and aspects of his character, weak.
Why then, do I bother?
Well, I read once, that, “there are places in the heart that do not exist;
Suffering has to enter for them to come to be.”
And I’ve always been told to be wholehearted.

My blue eyed-devil suffered
From different variations of the same flaw
Or did I suffer him?
Or did I suffer, and in suffering, bring new flawed places to life?
If that is the case, then I should be called creator
God. Almighty in my abilities to generate where nothing was before.
And if I am so bold, so audacious, then wholehearted isn’t he?

I read again once, once again
That each time a heart breaks
There is more pain than the time before.
Medically this doesn’t make sense—
Shouldn’t the fractures be slightly more vulnerable, easier
To crack? Or is it that new compounds emerge—fresh and sharp
while ghost aches, echoes, and wind still haunt their ancestry?

Perhaps it is neither.
Perhaps, instead, it is not even a matter of the living and the dead,
But of the young and the elder,
And these wounded heart bones
Are simultaneously living new aches and old pains.
After all, I’ve also heard, that, “time is a white
man’s construct,” only serving as the bleached skeletal frame for our selves.

Picture that then,
The hollow-eyed skull of the universe
Watching as we give bits of ourselves away to time
So that we may under and stand existence—
Create those “new” places with the patches and sewing
Of our old hurts, and the stretching and tearing of new.
We become wholehearted.
Harmony Sapphire May 2016
Mail order groom.
I want to know you.
The sound of your voice.
The smell of your perfume.
Your handwriting.
Your habits.
Favorite food.
Your favorite place.
Hobbies.
Your flaws.
Your goals.
The things you like
Things you hate.
Who you love.
What makes you happy.
What makes you mad.
What you spend money and time on.
Who you love.
Who you hate.
Your favorite color.
Your biggest fear.
Your worst nightmare.
Your dreams.
Your beliefs.
Your qualities.
Your favorite games, books, movies or TV shows.
What size ring you wear.
What size shoe you wear.
Your favorite toothpaste, shampoo, & soap.
What's your most prized possession?
What are your skills?
Your allergies?
Do you have patience?
Respect?
Admiration?
Confidence?
Knowledge?
Intelligenc­e?
Greed?
Are you generous?
Charming?
Or do you make trouble?
Are you careful?
Or careless?
Are you sentimental?
Are you spoiled?
Do you brag?
Do you gossip?
Can you keep secrets?
Do you have shame?
Are you shy?
Are you a private person?
Does anything you do offend anyone?
Do you insult or compliment?
Do you glance or stare?
Do you tip?
Are you kind of mean?
Do you have manners?
What do you eat?
Are you a neat freak?
Or sloppy or neat?
Clean or *****?
Do you swear?
What do you have wear?
Do you sleep naked?
Do you lie, cheat or steal?
Are you honest and dependable? Trustworthy, helpful, and considerate?
Obnoxious?
Sober?
Drunk?
Do you cook?
Are you hard working?
Or lazy?
Do you eat meat?
Brush and wash daily?
Wash your own clothes?
Shop yourself?
Drive?
Mow your own lawn?
Vacuum?
Wash dishes?
Are you a licensed driver?
Do you have a car and health insurance?
Do you own property?
What are your assets?
Do you work full time?
Are you educated?
Do you respect women?
Do you like children & pets?
Are you mature?
Do you own a car?
Do you rent or own?
Do you exercise?
Are you fat?
Do you smoke?
Are you a handyman?
Can you fix cars?
Plumbing?
Paint?
Are you creative or an artist?
Are you nosy?
Do you read a lot?
What are you know that you
Do you mind your business?
Do you have a temper or anger management problems?
Are you violent & controlling?
Are you obsessed with *** or *******?
Are you a pervert?
Are you sane?
Are you busy?
Do you have a lot of free time?
Are you religious?
Do you vote?
Are you a loner?
A mama's boy?
An alcoholic?
Obsessive compulsive?
Do you speed?
Do you use sarcasm?
Are you a good driver?
Are you a lawbreaker?
Do you kiss and tell?
Are you a tattle tell?
Are you selfish?
Are you a rebel?
Are you conceited or ******?
Are you desperate or needy?
Are you nice and fun?
Are you bitter, creepy, scary, nervous, impatient, cruel, hateful, abusive, or sick?
Do you collect anything?
Are you well-dressed?
Well-spoken?
Do you make wise investments?
Are you an overachiever?
Are you responsible?
Convincing?
Do you like to argue?
Are you positive?
Or pessimistic?
Are you adventurous?
Or reserved?
Do you like to be the center of attention?
Or a Wallflower?
Do you blame others for your problems? Do you admit to fault ?
Do you need help financially, medically,  physically, mentally or sexually?
Do you like to have *** with the lights on and off?
Do you bathe or shower alone?
Do you shave, trim your nails, wear clean socks  & underwear?
Do you open other peoples mail?
Do you dig through the trash?
Do you always flush the toilet?
Do you snore?
Do you use deodorant, toothpaste,
Do have tattoos?
How do you wear your hair?
Do your clothes have holes, stains, or tears?
Do you need glasses, hearing aids, crutches, wheelchairs, walkers, braces or insulin?
Are you at are you obese, scizo, diabetic?
Do you have bad credit?
Do you have any injuries or surgeries?
Do you color your hair or tan?
Do you moisturize?
Floss?
Do you check the oil?
Do you barbecue?
Do you ****, burp, or pick your nose?
Do you cut in line?
Have you ever been arrested?
Are you a Penny Pincher?
Coupon Clipper?
Are you cheap?
Do you complain a lot?
Do you call people names?
Have you ever done anything to trick or con someone?
Are you understanding & forgiving?
Are you a cheater?
Have you ever been arrested?
Have you ever treated anyone cruly?
Are you rude or brutal?
Do you have any abnormal fetishes?
Are you flirty, friendly, persistent, or immoral?
Are you ambitious, determined, motivated, & successful?
Are you confused, depressed, anxious, poor, angry, or unemployed?
What are your values, concerns, goals and plans?
OnlyEggy Jun 2011
To the doctors in the room
   I'm a mental cased, half-crazed Insomniac
      on three days of possibly self inflicted mind space
         who can't decide on medically induced comas or Prozac
To the supervisors in the room
   I'm a potential hazard, a walking disaster
      bird-brained enough to end as scrambled gizzards
         who potentially could be as useful as worthless shinplaster
To the women in the room
   I'm a useless ***, nearly morbid
      too tired to mow the lawn in the mid-morning sun
          and too lazy to help with laundry, cooking, or raising kids
To the friends in the room
   I'm a constant joke, a hilarious prank
      mumbling non-sense with little need to be provoked
         laughing hysterically as they watch as my mind goes blank
To the voices in the room
   I'm a genius, an exasperated visionary
       I've have debated the complexities of owning a *****
          and the movements of my thumb is extremely revolutionary
Another Insomniac Poem

Going on three days of no sleep...
- Jun 2018
She asked for my symptoms, kindly this time,
A disgrace, illness written across my face -
'I have a case of the twenty-first century lace,
A tightening around my neck so sublime,'

'Oh dear,' she made the effort to reply,
And I feared for a terrible fatality nigh,
I needed to update my status before two.
She smiled, 'it really does suit you,'
Thomas W Case Jan 2021
Her name was
Amy, she was
18 and I was 21.
We met the
summer after my
Mom died.
She had a scholarship
to Iowa State for
swimming.
We didn't have
air conditioning, and it was
a brutally hot summer.
I got sick, and couldn't
work; pretty soon
I couldn't get
off the couch.
I had my brother run
to the corner and
use the payphone to call
the ambulance.
It turned out I had
double pneumonia.
They also realized I was
drinking a lot and would
need help medically to
d-tox.

Amy visited me in
the hospital.
She snuck my kitten in.
We made out in my bed.
She was beautiful.
I felt so alive when
I was with her.
The kitten got loose and
ran down the hall.
The nurses laughed.

I got out of the
hospital and began
drinking again immediately.
Amy broke up with me.
She said, "I can't be with
an alcoholic."
I was sad, but I still had
the kitten, until it
got smashed by
a car one sweltering
July night.
Mom
Amy
the kitten--all gone.
Then, I really started
drinking.
Untamed self control my own worst enemy I can be
I can not be the poison and the remedy
The voices I hear are not in my head
I hear the words as if they’ve been said.
Horrific thoughts I must endure
Collective voices worse than before
The madness escalates, reducing me to an unbalanced state
A break mentally so much others can not relate
Psychotic attack or psychotic illusion
Is it reality or is it a delusion?
Derogatory constant running commentary
Over thinking causing chaos; corrupting my mind
No escape nor shred of peace can I find
The voices I hear don’t stop they don’t give in,
Continuously ranting of dishonourable sin
I attempt to deter from mental confusions
Medically my thoughts are seen as delusions
At the time I'm not convinced I'm deluded
Convinced by distorted reality I've concluded
Distorted assumptions that I have concocted -now real
Escalated with time a darkness clouds how I feel
Negativity takes over positive thoughts
Hearing uttering of endless hurtful talk
Resulting in what I hear as being true
Suspicions conspire then conclusions are drew

Hateful words; closer louder unable to ignore
Detachment from any logical thought
From the derogatory talk I hear is believed
Its how I am seen its how I am perceived
Over thinking causing chaos corrupting my mind
Peace & positivity I can not find
Voices persecuting me to such an extent
Relentless and nasty horrid content….
Like on repeat although the night
I hear them talking but there out of sight
Surely they must tyre of slagging me off
Nasty unimaginative hateful lot

Voices of those that I know and those I am close too;
My mental state decreases concluding its true
Every emotion dark with dread and fear
Panic derived from all that I hear
I cant shut it out all of the time I take it all in
Persecuted of every action I do, I cant win
Unable to recall past psychotic occurrences
No deterrent from the cognitive disturbances

The voices never stop they don’t go away
With given time I’ll believe what they say
Whether it be a regrettable act or gossips fabricated lies
All of my self worth and confidence dies

Auditory hallucinations not willing to stop
All reasoning fact and logic forgot
Blinds my judgement and ability to see
harrowing Paranoia descends to reality
Hearing the conversations and ruthless content
Persecuting me to such an extent
Medically my thoughts are seen as delusions
I attempt to deter from mental confusions

Panic, detached irrational thought assumptions
Loss of control and distraught
When the worst of the worst is easing
Confusion remains
I question was it real or am I insane
I know now what I thought was deluded
I cant believe what I've previously concluded
At the time what I thought was real
Inability to control how I feel
Disbelief descends when delusions ease
relief then comes from what I previously perceived.
I suffer from schizophrenia this is a detailed poem with what i experience.
Stephanie Lynn Mar 2014
Watching someone die in a hospital is not as glamorous as they make it seem in the movies
It is gut wrenching
It is awful
We are medically trained to know exactly whats happening,
making it worse
(Yes it hurts the heart of the nurse)
Watching the body shut down
***** by *****
system by system
Watching someone struggle to walk
an struggle to stand
They can't no longer eat because they have lost ability to swallow
and may still be hungry
A face gone so hollow that at one time was lovely
They struggle so hard to breathe we now put them on oxygen
Sit them upright, and say it's okay
We give them drugs to ease the pain
And now they are blinking and unaware
The eyes wander but there's nobody there
And the gasping for hope is the last function left
And we hold their hands as they take their last breath
And we are left to hand them to the families that don't know what to do

then we go back to the nurse's station because we need to cry too
Lost a patient today and it wasn't an easy death to witness.

(C) Maxwell 2014
Kelle Apr 2012
The first of thirty and the first time I've ever comitted to something I find very important.

Beneath my chest are two parachutes
On a daily basis the expand themselves,
with each breath.

Moving in a synchronized fashion, togther
they support the same body.
Never does one think of the consequence,
often embracing the heat of a cigarette
or the medically created air of an inhaler

My lungs
They make the best parachutes

Capillary kite strings,
perfect precision of movement
between the fine lines of the atmosphere

Kite strings that are often and only severed by a blunt force trauma
that, waking up feeling of getting hit by a truck
too many cigarettes between nervous conversations with a ghost

or the constant reassurance between inhalations that sometime soon,
my heart will beat again like it used too
for something that matters
instead of something that should matter

My lungs make the best parachutes
never ceasing to stop their rhythm
constantly supporting the downfalls.
It seems my body succumbed to all these feelings,
Helpless but breathing.
I shake and **** -
Made everyone confused,
Then I struggled to reach,
Not even able to get a drink.
What they said was seizures.

Seizures usually stop though:
It's day 34 now.
Next I wasn't able to walk,
Do you know what it feels like
For your body to just give up?
Collapsing is now regular,
Sometimes my whole body won't move
And currently as I write this,
Sitting up is a joke too.

Psychological seizures -
Last longer than usual
Yet can mimic epilepsy.
All the tests back normal,
Except from the ones which take weeks.
In my head, really?
That's basically what they said.

Now at a specialist talking therapy session,
For 'exactly what I have'
They told me:
You can't separate the mind and body.
The thing I like that they said most
Is that the physical symptoms are real,
That I'm NOT making them up.

However, I still don't appreciate when they tell me "this is good".
You see, they act like because it's not caused physiologically:
It's much easier to fix.
At the hospital: "I'm confident this will just stop
And probably won't come back."
Here I am still counting days,
I was in hospital for 3,
The 34 does not include the first week of milder ones,
One month till my exams
And actually it's just under that,
I count the minutes I can attempt to revise for.
I recognise the month I missed when I finally became productive,
Now I don't have a choice.
The teachers compliment how well I'm doing,
But they don't see me
Lying on the floor at home,
Pushing and willing my muscles to set me back up,
Whilst going
Absolutely nowhere.

My great Granny is way more capable than me.
Do you understand how embarrassing and berating it is,
When the paramedics come for the second time within a week or two,
Just to tell you quite simply:
"There is nothing medically wrong with you"?
"You're breathing is perfect,
Oxygen 100%"
"Does she have social anxiety"
-One of the first things that he said.
Can you guess how many anxiety attacks I've had?
Enough to be sure I'd recognise them by now.
"I wasn't anxious" I told them,
Desperate to be heard,
But as soon as they know about your mental health,
Nothing ever matters.

It's true that you take independence for granted,
Until it's taken away from you.
I don't think I've ever wanted to leave the house so much,
Than when I physically couldn't exit for
Just about a month.
I don't like burdening my family and friends,
It doesn't matter how they assure me
Either way I'm still dependently relying on them.

Although this does have one benefit
And some of it does make sense;
There are things I haven't been wanting to do,
By this it means that I can't do them.
Putting this open and honestly:
It's a potential get out of jail free card.
This way not doing it wouldn't be my fault,
Because I am physically unable.
That makes sense that it's psychological.
Another thing I tried to disprove it with was that,
"I've been better lately"
Which yesterday I finally got that explained,
The symptoms come on when you're relaxed,
As they are finally given the chance.
My body's saying no,
And sometimes I partly agree.

What doesn't help me is the:
"Therapy is how we treat this"
"It's good you don't have a physical cause."
Right, yeah, okay then.
So look me in the eye again
And tell me that it's fine.
Tell me how I recover from this debilitating illness
By doing what I've been doing for two years,
If that was going to work surely it would have been prevented?
People with a physical diagnosis receive physical help.
But what about me,
Do I just fall through the system's gap?
What happens when I can't walk,
When I fall off my bed from lying flat?
If I had a broken leg they'd give me crutches,
I get an "it will go away soon but it's impossible for us to say when".

If there's anything you take away from this,
Then it should be that:
One. It isn't just in my head.
Two. I am not in control of what's happening.
Three. It may be a conversion disorder but it's no less real.
Four. The last point states the fact that it causes PHYSICAL symptoms.

If I want to tell the whole truth then I have:
Non-Epileptic Attack Disorder,
A movement disorder causing seizures often looking like epileptic fits.
The truth I will give (probably) most people:
I have seizures which are not caused by epilepsy,
Which makes me shake and collapse
And if I'm feeling generous I might add another symptom on,
Because the longer this has lasted,
The more there are that come.

— The End —