"metabolism" poems
Midnight
criminal metabolism of guilt forest
Rattlesnakes whistles castanets
Remove me from this hall of mirrors
This filthy glass
Are you her
Do you look like that
How could you be when
no one ever could
~~~
Poet of the call-girl storm
She left a note on the bedroom door.
“If I’m out, bring me to.”
~~~
I dropped by to see you
late last night
But you were out
like a light
Your head was on the floor
& rats played pool w/your eyes
Death is a good disguise
for late at night
Wrapping all games in its calm garden
But what happens
when the guests return
& all unmask
& you are asked
to leave
for want of a smile
I’ll still take you then
But I’m your friend
16.8k
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
Jade sauna
just over body temperature
to increase metabolism
smooth blood flow
and sweat out toxins
my hair is up
there are no lines on my pale smooth face
I'm happy and peaceful
I look so serene
and so skinny
"'scuse me you speak Russian?"
it's one of the cute foreigners
I've had my eye on
flirtations ensued
and it was nice
to be looked at
with fascination
with cute wonder
getting complimented
through broken english
as he ran his hands through his hair
smiling abashedly
trying to make sense of my words
as I did the same for his--
we were up all night talking
"no halloween in Russia,
but if had, you be Queen"
he knew nothing of me
just this peaceful calm side
that smiled and giggled
and carried a conversation
like a feather on the wind
he saw a girl he could smile at
and say
"you are very beautiful"
"you have lovely smile"
I'll never see him again in my life
but what a wonderful memory to have of someone
nothing but kind words
and laughter
and peace
serenity
a few of the things
I treasure most,
yes,
what a lovely memory
of Annex the smiling Russian boy
who drank tea with me
at the Jeju Spa
until the sun rose
and the lights came back on.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
Just because she's thin it...
Doesn't mean she has nothing to eat.
Doesn't mean she's anorexic.
Doesn't mean she's terminally ill.
She has fast metabolism, that's why.
And you have no right...
to judge her, just because you're normal
to make her feel like she's different
because your body's great.
You made her feel worthless,
By calling her, "flat"
"skeleton"
"malnourished"
Thanks to you and your
filthy attitude, bodyshamer.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes
the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me
Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me
I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
So here I am.
Sitting on my couch
and eating potato chips
and thinking about you
and what might have been.
Wallowing in self-pity
and artificial flavors
and carbohydrates.
The only things comforting me
are my fast metabolism
and the hum of the air conditioning.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
peeling off labels is like peeling off skin of a 3rd degree sunburn
i hate how it looks
and it's gonna hurt like hell
but i don't want the evidence there
why do i even care so much?
dear society
rip
i am not "anorexic"
tear
i have metabolism issues
the stickiness gums up
i didn't ask for this
shred
i'm not "antisocial"
strip
but i like being alone
stab
i'm not teen angst
hack
i'm growing up
stop telling me
i have problems
scratch
i know i have problems
i'm not canned vegetables
why do you need to know my contents?
pick
i'm not yours to scrutinize
stop staring at my body
stop trying to get into my head
stop slapping **** on me
and expecting me to fit into the little labeled box
i'm not
your labels
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Magnetizing physics
Magnetic chemistry
Precise mathematics
Bubbling biology
Histrionic history
Attired economics
Refined fine arts
Electrifying looks
Electronic vision
Scintillating psychology
Ventilating physiology
Tantalizing mechanics
Tranquilizing metabolism
Dynamic damsel
Oh! What a scientific disposition?
Kudos to the Big-Bang Beautician.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
As you get older, you come to understand the economics of age.
You go through a cycle you see.
When you were new , you had energy,
You developed, a state of Growth.
You reached your prime,
Your life was booming, a state of Prosperity.
- You were young
But eventually as time goes by,
Your hair begins to go, a Recession.
You're upset a lot, a Depression.
Your metabolism slows down,
Your stomach, It's bloated,
You're experiencing high levels of inflation.
- You are old.
And finally you understand that you were just a loan that the world took out from the Banks of Life.
All loans must be repaid.
- You are going to die.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC
anxiety: my heart wakes me up, tattooing irregular beats against
my ribs, pulse racing, breath shaking. i cannot tell
if this is real or psychosomatic. these days,
i think about death all the time,
no longer by suicide. now, i am
an accident waiting to happen,
fragile from years of misuse &
neglect. the shallow inhales
of my lungs tell me
i am not okay.
depression: this is a gray day. i swallow my meds even though
they take away my mania. so i drink black coffee until my mind
races itself in circles, chasing its tail like a rabid dog.
i keep the razors hidden in my sock drawer,
just in case.
anorexia: my ribs ****** forward from my skin again, the sharp
protrusion of my bones beginning to show through. i am eating
but drinking my weight in water
& mainlining caffeine to keep my metabolism high & my weight
low. i am still child-sized & i don't want to grow.
they lift me easily with their arms & marvel
at my featherweight body.
the compliments i get only make me
eat less.
self-harm: on the days when i am low, i trace
the silver stretch of scars scattered over my skin
with a yearning for a blade between my fingers
just one last time. i swear to you, the bleeding is over,
but i need to know
i am still brave
enough
to hold a sharp edge against my flesh
& press down,
hard.
addiction: a month ago,
i downed four adderall in one sitting,
luxuriating in the heady rush & lack of pain,
the quiet & the calm.
when i lived at home, i stole
my mother's vicodin & took the whole bottle.
i'm not sorry.
when the boy who only cared about ******* me
offered mdma for free,
i accepted, but i shouldn't have trusted him
to keep me safe,
blacking out on his kitchen
floor.
drink red wine to forget
my insecurity, inhale
thick, sweet smoke to feel
some semblance of happy,
drag on cigarettes
down to their filters
until i feel properly
alive.
all i want is to be better, but
where to begin?
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
*two bottles of 70cl whiskey later and a few beers, popping sleeping pills for an actual effect worked with (it's ten past five p.m., i'm already mentioning ~ eleven minutes to midnight, so wait)... you get the shovel and broom ushering the ***** drinkers from a town centre in Leicester or Norwich; or you implant a hope to live in Scandinavia; you're basically laughing with a russian at that point: 'eh eh, where's lithuania?' 'ah **** it's next to yuri reciting poetry on the laika satellite.' 'thought so.' german started from monkeys, sent one into space... slavs started with dogs... like all good people, i would too have kept the cats grounded in atmosphere; well, the oedipal riddle began with a sphinx, so i'm more than ready for the cerberus.*
i'm not going to repent for
my alcoholic metabolism,
i'll wait till you turn into ostriches
ostricizing vegans for anaemia
and bulimia and the london fashion show;
bullseye market that cares for
diaphragms and diabetes; sure the arabs
are alcohol free, but diabetic
looking into the sand dunes like looking
at dunes of sugar.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
I’m standing there. Looking in the mirror.
Trying to reconcile the fact
I will never be as beautiful as a fish.
Words are hard.
Make up is harder.
I’m attempting to apply eyeliner. Straight.
My eyes are growing big and my skin is
turning scaly, making it near impossible for an even foundation.
I forget about the eyeliner.
**** it.
You had said something about being the right shade of blue.
You and Karen talked about it in front of the infinite binary tree.
You tried to explain to me the concept,
shades of blue defining us
colors that blend, people that blend
what shade are you?
I didn’t get it.
Still don’t.
I have a slow metabolism.
I look down at my dress.
It’s something like cerulean.
I wonder if it’s an acceptable hue.
Now it’s royal,
robin’s egg.
Suddenly, fuscia.
The fabric feels like water,
it ripples up my torso.
Back to the fish thing-
my neck is turning gilled.
The waves are getting bigger now.
Maybe I’ll go under soon,
fully under water,
be beautiful enough for a trout.
I can hear the ocean in the pipes.
I am ugly land bound.
I am diving down my faucet.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
I don't know much about things and life. I'm not a business man who has ideas as to how to multiply a dollar into two. I think of value in time. And I may not have lived long enough to say I'm an expert. I claim none of that. I do know for the past decades of my consciousness I have been a human. I have had a steady pulse and oxygen flowing through my lungs. I can feel myself and know cogito ergo sum. My life has not led me to any absurd epiphanies. In fact, I only have one request of my cells so long as they thrive. I wish for them to resonate with the thump thump of another's vivacious metabolism; dissect my cardiac walls and place an individual cell of mine near yours and I would need no Buddhist teaching to tell me i have achieved nirvana when I see that molecular aspect of me sync with you. I could not ask of you to do the same; a point that would **** you to make but I trust in my blood enough to know we share the same vitality and that if I am one with you, you've accepted my aura into you.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Magnetising physics
Magnetic chemistry
Precise mathematics
Bubbling biology
Histrionic history
Attired economics
Refined fine arts
Electrifying looks
Electronic vision
Scintillating psychology
Ventilating physiology
Tantalizing mechanics
Tranquilizing metabolism
Dynamic damsel
Oh! What a scientific disposition?
Kudos to the Big-Bang Beautician.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
The spaces between their thighs
signified
the act of vomiting and starvation,
or just really good metabolism
a small appetite
genes
but
considering that their instagram
has no photos of food
but filled with selfies
of their thin legs donning patterns
maybe they have that problem.
But they are beautiful-
I suppose.
I draw them without clothes.
Confidence in a pose.
and I, with my curves,
wouldn't mind to appear like them,
sans *****
So I eat
and I work.
And I stare in the mirror,
and see the tiniest space
right below my womanhood,
and muscles
closing in
I guess it's healthy,
just not thin.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
after years of being told how good my body was
i went through puberty.
after years of being asked how much time i spent at the gym
i grew hips
and disconcerting looks from grown men who thought my fifteen year old thighs were too thick to be sexualized.
after years of wearing sundresses
and being applauded for being the first girl in my grade to grow *****
my metabolism slowed down
and i was made to feel like a cowbell in the least practical sense of the word.
i was thirteen and hunched over a porcelain toilet bowl when i told my friend i had purged and she called me gross as if it wasn't because of feeling "gross" that i was there to begin with.
and i'd grown used to my good-gened friends with their tiny waists and size 32 jeans telling me they wanted to join a gym in hopes i'd run along and lose some weight.
because when i was 13 and weighed little enough to turn heads i felt empty while looking whole.
and when you're fat you can't have an eating disorder, because illness can be seen so how good of a job my ana was doing depended solely on how faint i felt by midday.
in a world where nobody buys magazines it's easy to pretend we don't care for skinny bodies anymore, but when every smartphone is linked to an instagram page and every newsfeed is filled with "slim thick baddies" you can't help but wonder.
if i were to feel physically full why am i so empty?
i cheated myself.
she probably went and cheated on me because my body wasn't slim-thick enough to eat.
and it's easy to say this doesn't apply to me when you see the pictures on the beach but you don't see me scrolling through pinterest at 2 in the morning looking at "How To Lose 10 kgs in 3 Days" posts.
if i were so lucky i'd be a success story and could probably post before and after pictures of my body but you can not hear the ache in my belly screaming at me that it'd rather just be cut off.
when i was fourteen i could no longer wear shorts in public because grown men with wives would turn and watch my thighs clip-clap together as i walked with my dad.
i was asking for it.
i resented summer and the fact that i'd run out of clean pairs of jeans to sweat in.
but if i dare love myself, what then? do i apologise to the girlfriends of the boys who visit me for coffee? do i drink coke light with my whiskey? do i start writing poetry?
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
Metabolism consumes the wood, tree, mountain, slope.
Breath is the smoke of their togetherness.
Where can I rest myself?
Surrounded by the slow, wooden eaters of time.
Heated cedar smells sweeter than bread.
Our hearth devours the cold of separation.
Built around it are the grey boards of house.
The tree knits into the earth to hold a mountain in place.
A leaf rises from the petrified core.
So many to occupy the bald, everlasting slope,
I think I'll pause to press one into a book.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
*nocturnal habits
diurnal metabolism
a waning candle*
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
A woman at the airport
Blamed her excess weight
On her metabolism
Not, on what she ate
I gave her the once over
Which wasn't really nice
Because of all the space she took
I had to do it twice
She complained it was her body
That played this trick on her
she giggled as she said it
acting quite demure
Her chin reached to her cleavage
And her cleavage reached her knees
She was sitting drinking soda
And eating hamburgers in threes
She had a super sandwich
Some chicken and a pop
It seemed that once she started
This woman couldn't stop
Then my mind turned inward
I truly understood what she had said
The answer to her problem
Was truly in MY head
She blamed metabolism
She meant Met-a-bowl-ism...psych!!
It was then I thought she'd never
Met - A - Bowl..she didn't like!
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Troglodytism. get betwixt thy cave **** rats. amass!!! beyond the wooded canvas of life.
and lay beside thy corpse of agony
in the pits of all foul'd demon beknownst to thou's angst.
there lay the chalice of life.
Oh to lay in the darkness'
o' to bask in the decadence of no light.
Anti heat
forth go ye unto distraction.
To over sensual
to photopic cancer
all bio centric failure that reveals itself in the concord of vestige
only one
only one who's skin, brines to salt. Only one who's writhed on the depth of the cave
sub terrain.
Becoming convoluted
with ulcers. In the brain.
Stomach
esophagus.
Till veins squelch the blood from oxygen as gills. Sea water.
till muscle over sinews, Myomeres.
till acts of mycotic deprecations elude your own grey. Destruction.
And sap what is left
the bends corrode all health.
You eek out a full metabolism.
You finish all hopes with each loathsome meal intake.
death.
Oysters take over.
They create their home
shell of man.
Disabled to a merman, made, morose.
Barnacles infest recesses,
chasms that held mountains of bountiful moral.
Filled till bursting in the case fit for a brain,
but these ocean vermin walk the tightropes of this goblins neural bag.
Tearing each synapse.
Like the innards of a necrotic recluse.
I am the dying vagabond of the ocean.
Finally succumbing to its ethereal pitch covered floor,
where no reflections mourn for me
and ghost wail me no remorse,
as I metamorphose.
Into, detritus.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
i love how after 70cl of whiskey my
metabolism is up and running -
i know, egoistical self-indulgent crap,
but it works! i get to say **** you
to 99 people and say: come on in
to 1 - but that doesn't even
matter, given the circumstance
of the 1 being a schizophrenic;
but hey! i grew a beard
after all, being post-25 years of age,
so a fully grow Amazon on my cheeks
and chin, a welcome reminder of:
the Aztecs played football too,
but it was more like
****** of San Francisco mixed
with golf mixed with netball
mixed with the ailing N.H.S.
chanting: god save our bed-shitting queen,
god save our precious artefacts from
Hindustan. and Gobi the cabby from
new Delhi -
god save our... a round of pints for the lot
of us! way-hey! charging into crusades with
a jaguar export from Germany under
the slogan: Vein Diesel biceps-flexed:
too fast, and two of each:
that'll be a pistachio - say it as meaning
lime green, go on - oi! ******
who's that Russian hooligan with pistaccio?!
one keg-pouch over here must have minded
the safety-belt limit
prior to a heart-attack and you're giving me
all Abba lip-sarge and surging...
gimme gimme a man at half time...
two pints and a burger in and i'll be
juicing up a saxophone for a crescendo better than
this one...
well... it was lovely to meet you, send my
best regards to your mother, a sincerely;
i swear to god, when i'm done, the only
person you'll be phoning will be your mother.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
I read once that sleep helps the brain regulate the metabolism. I never paid much attention to informational possible life changing books; I guess that’s why I have the lungs of an 80 year old nicotine addict. It’s 1/16/14, 6:56 pm. My mother used to tell me that whatever bad habits I did, would affect my future greatly, I guess that’s why I can’t last two laps on the track without breathing heavily. I guess that’s why I’m afraid to approach people face to face because I’m scared my tobacco scented breathe will push them away. When I was growing up I wasn’t always aware of problem solving methods, so I wouldn’t over think and wouldn’t care about it, now I do, things were better back then. I should stop smoking cigarettes, it’s affecting my running.
It is now 5/18/14, I still run like I’m a 5 year old uncontrollable child
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Apple cider vinegar boosts your metabolism and reduces hunger
I didn’t realize I had an appetite anymore
The feeling of food makes you sick when you can only imagine it coming back up
Spilling word ***** onto nice freshly cleaned carpets
Teeth stained, hospital gowns
I Need some mouthwash
If nobody knows about the problem that means it doesn’t exist right?
If no one can see your face, hallowed then you don’t take up space right?
Wrong, “you’re too fat, you’re too fat” You scream into the mirror
Haunching over the toilet, trying, crying to stand back up but no words come out and your legs won’t move for help
My illness is hard not to hate somedays when your throat is sore from five times of binging and purging today
Six rounds each
Maybe more if you can stomach it
Your nose will smell it and you’ll gag up more
Your mind is the worst weapon you can use against yourself
Counting every calorie as a new way to punish yourself for existing
You’re so afraid of taking up space that you will resort to slicing your belly in half in order to achieve inner peace
Baby, it doesn’t work that way
Listen I know that somedays you look to see your pretty skinny friends
And you feel bad about your body and how one of your thighs could barely fit through the head of her skintight t-shirt
But I have been there, I have seen **** you couldn’t even imagine
Girls who want to become bulimic or anorexic, get ready for your teeth to wear down and chip from the acid from below your belly
Rumbling with the force of regret, the food you just ate but didn't want the weight
Get ready for the hole in your throat right next to your tongue down your esophagus
That burned its way coming up as it did down
Get ready to see your mom or your dad walk in to see you on your knees praying to the gods above as below anything over the throne,
Get ready for the disappointment, the extra eyes, get ready for the tears the fears
Why can’t you just eat? The rehab, The relapse
Get ready for hating your body, lack of control
The spiral
Get ready because ana and mia don’t give a **** if you were happy before
Because they just want to be skinny
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 10:43 PM UTC
you took my ****** rags and smeared them with your spit-- taped naked pictures to the wall of that dungeon until all he could see was your body, and your body alone. you loaded the pistol and shot yourself in the foot, when I noticed the bleeding you said it was just a flesh-wound. he finally fizzled your toes from out of your shoe, a dark cinderella-meets-the-prince-in-the-dark, and I saw that the wound was so open and gangrenous that little spritz of dried blood had formed faces and tears on the soles of your torn-and-tumbled canvas shoes.
you tried to say sorry. you pleaded and pleaded and said you'd take pistol-to-head or pistol-to-heart to be rid of the pain of my gargled and gutted reaction. you cried and you cried, our hearts sunk to the bottom of plastic-now stomachs.. but forgiveness is no microwave. forgiveness is a ballpark in steep Illinois summer heat where you drink to stay hydrated, think to stay sane, and write to the titter of tears on your chest.
Now heal your wound, antibiotic the gangrene. Just better the soles of your feet.
I'm already walking and walking and walking 'til my face meets obliterate sun.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC