"metastatic" poems - Hello Poetry

Young Liam loved Orange and liked to wear ties. To his firehouse friends He was one of the guys. He had his own locker a slicker and hat. He also had cancer, and a bad one at that. From early on in his life he fought neuroblastoma ; An invasive tumor a metastatic carcinoma. His family who loved him labored to save their dear little child Prince Liam the Brave. He faced surgery bravely, engaged in his fight.. He endured radiation Chemo and knife. When many a New Yorker complains about stress, Prince Liam was stoic When put to the test. Then just before Christmas he suffered a relapse He became neutrapenic- His immune system collapsed. With blood in his ***** And a spot on his lung Liam grew weak. his defenses undone. An Amethyst stone he received from a friend was his talisman of hope that he held to the end. The worst part of the journey was when hope was gone. Then Liam lay, still and silent in his mother's arms. There are brave fire fighters Who’ll be fighting back tears Brave Prince Liam has died, He lived only six years There are many old people still avoiding the grave Who know less about love Than did Liam the brave We will gather together In St Francis’ nave To remember the life of Prince Liam the brave i

0

Dec 29, 2011

Dec 29, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Prince Liam, the Brave

Young Liam loved Orange and liked to wear ties. To his firehouse friends He was one of the guys. He had his own locker a slicker and hat. He also had cancer, and a bad one at that. From early on in his life he fought neuroblastoma ; An invasive tumor a metastatic carcinoma. His family who loved him labored to save their dear little child Prince Liam the Brave. He faced surgery bravely, engaged in his fight.. He endured radiation Chemo and knife. When many a New Yorker complains about stress, Prince Liam was stoic When put to the test. Then just before Christmas he suffered a relapse He became neutrapenic- His immune system collapsed. With blood in his ***** And a spot on his lung Liam grew weak. his defenses undone. An Amethyst stone he received from a friend was his talisman of hope that he held to the end. The worst part of the journey was when hope was gone. Then Liam lay, still and silent in his mother's arms. There are brave fire fighters Who’ll be fighting back tears Brave Prince Liam has died, He lived only six years There are many old people still avoiding the grave Who know less about love Than did Liam the brave We will gather together In St Francis’ nave To remember the life of Prince Liam the brave i

53

A worst-case-scenario mentality Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind Each reaction gauged Smiles erupt in each better choice A familiar road traveled often Lead only by a history of pain It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will This reality is organized, easy to understand Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future **Vivid like a film Unwavering, persistent There is no control**ling its outcome Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds Stop rolling, just...stop No amount of pleading slows the images The pain is overwhelming Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts Uncontrollable, inconsolable True and real So very real There is but one way to stop that future The one shown in visions of just deserts The future that smolders through present joy Preemptive pain is just not an option I've seen the future my heart has built **The shards of a shattered soul Offer no comfort** My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma

0

Apr 3, 2015

Apr 3, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC

prttybrd

My Cancerous Soul (or Premonitions, Predestination, Psychosis, and me) spoken word

A worst-case-scenario mentality Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind Each reaction gauged Smiles erupt in each better choice A familiar road traveled often Lead only by a history of pain It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will This reality is organized, easy to understand Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future **Vivid like a film Unwavering, persistent There is no control**ling its outcome Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds Stop rolling, just...stop No amount of pleading slows the images The pain is overwhelming Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts Uncontrollable, inconsolable True and real So very real There is but one way to stop that future The one shown in visions of just deserts The future that smolders through present joy Preemptive pain is just not an option I've seen the future my heart has built **The shards of a shattered soul Offer no comfort** My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma

31

Somewhere in the furrows of pink and gray flesh, nestled between delicate arches of pelvis, in what was supposed to be bowels and pulsating warmth, lies the wish for chemotherapy. Old images of skull-white sundresses glimmering with the glory of summer days in the world of Perfect Thighs fester imperceptibly, buried in some remote corner of the midbrain that smells like half-digested chicken parmesan; each memory’s tastefully arranged–– rows of wheat, sharp as disinfectant, sour with antimetabolites and metastatic guilt. October levels prospects like a hurricane, and as your mother balances a salad fork between chalk fingers the full plate in front of you reminds you of ruptured organs.

0

Dec 20, 2012

Dec 20, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC

elise-chou

apoptosis/anorexia

Somewhere in the furrows of pink and gray flesh, nestled between delicate arches of pelvis, in what was supposed to be bowels and pulsating warmth, lies the wish for chemotherapy. Old images of skull-white sundresses glimmering with the glory of summer days in the world of Perfect Thighs fester imperceptibly, buried in some remote corner of the midbrain that smells like half-digested chicken parmesan; each memory’s tastefully arranged–– rows of wheat, sharp as disinfectant, sour with antimetabolites and metastatic guilt. October levels prospects like a hurricane, and as your mother balances a salad fork between chalk fingers the full plate in front of you reminds you of ruptured organs.

15

still as cold chair, the sound and the unsound. the clearing wanes. i think of nameless streets and pry their memories. when a steady hand reaches for air, it is an effort to rename things their shabby selves. their yearnings crumble underneath awnings of a new, wounded moon. the light through the room, and the shadows it pours. its working, a quiet punctuation in mere sentences our own silence, shattering at flight's first thought. gravitations may be heavy. the height verily not its measure. transitions piled like old records; trailing the monsoon on our backs, the persistence of daylight and coffee, plodding in heat, its vertical crawl - this metastatic fall. i dream of old structures. dreaming is the product of stasis. a consequence of movement. dreams can only be too real. there is word that it thrives where it is assailed. an act of the body, conversing the limit.

0

Mar 1, 2016

Mar 1, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Structure

still as cold chair, the sound and the unsound. the clearing wanes. i think of nameless streets and pry their memories. when a steady hand reaches for air, it is an effort to rename things their shabby selves. their yearnings crumble underneath awnings of a new, wounded moon. the light through the room, and the shadows it pours. its working, a quiet punctuation in mere sentences our own silence, shattering at flight's first thought. gravitations may be heavy. the height verily not its measure. transitions piled like old records; trailing the monsoon on our backs, the persistence of daylight and coffee, plodding in heat, its vertical crawl - this metastatic fall. i dream of old structures. dreaming is the product of stasis. a consequence of movement. dreams can only be too real. there is word that it thrives where it is assailed. an act of the body, conversing the limit.

29

It follows close to my mind Infecting those around me The faces that grew me in one way or the other Its metastatic narcolepsy filling the world with silence Like to many candles in the wind Blew out the breath's light Snuffing out the beauty of living Haunting, lingering in the edges A hope battle that is over before it began.

0

Feb 4, 2016

Feb 4, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC

emmieluv101

The Cancer Won't Leave

It follows close to my mind Infecting those around me The faces that grew me in one way or the other Its metastatic narcolepsy filling the world with silence Like to many candles in the wind Blew out the breath's light Snuffing out the beauty of living Haunting, lingering in the edges A hope battle that is over before it began.

9

digits digging divots, gyrating in the finite field I have left on which to play, bringing me closer to a goalless line mornings I ran the ball, feeling the turf beneath me, green and flat in the afternoon I passed, hoping another would move onward by eventide I oft punted, conceding my opponent should be given his run, only to crash into me, to be shoved into the demanding dirt, a victim of my will, gravity, and chiseling chance when the ball returned to me, as it eternally did, I called another play, everyman scrambling for a chance, at more measured madness, more yardage marked by mocking minutes, that became miles, hours, days, and more massive, metastatic months, unstoppable, no matter who had the ball, or how far their running feet would take them

0

Jan 2, 2015

Jan 2, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC

spysgrandson

2 0 1 5

digits digging divots, gyrating in the finite field I have left on which to play, bringing me closer to a goalless line mornings I ran the ball, feeling the turf beneath me, green and flat in the afternoon I passed, hoping another would move onward by eventide I oft punted, conceding my opponent should be given his run, only to crash into me, to be shoved into the demanding dirt, a victim of my will, gravity, and chiseling chance when the ball returned to me, as it eternally did, I called another play, everyman scrambling for a chance, at more measured madness, more yardage marked by mocking minutes, that became miles, hours, days, and more massive, metastatic months, unstoppable, no matter who had the ball, or how far their running feet would take them

20

You're talking to the air now. It's the kind of silence after a funeral, after something has been taken that you can never get back. It's the kind of sorrow that feels like wet ashes, the kind that sticks under your nails and leaves behind heavy footprints when you run. It's the kind of pain you can get art out of, the only kind that creates but also destroys so well. It's the kind of bitterness you hate yourself for, the kind that grinds itself into your bones and sours everything you taste. It's the kind of thing you drain yourself worrying about, that makes everything black out on the inside. It's the kind of repetition that makes you wonder if history is not so much a timeline but a cycle that's got you in a chokehold. It's the kind of abandonment that leaves you feeling at home in condemned houses; something about them resonates within you, feels like family. It's the kind of wound you refuse to let heal over; as long as it hurts at least you're grounded in some kind of existential qualifier. It’s the kind of ache that creeps up on you slowly and then one day, before you realize it, there’s only ache left. It’s the kind of disappointment that becomes second nature, the kind that always lingers like last night’s lover, always wanting one last taste, always waiting just around the corner for the next time they scent blood. It’s the kind of loss you write poems about, the kind that’s metaphysical more than anything else, the kind that makes space wider between the letters “y”, “o”, “u”, and “m”, “e”. You're getting older but you're not growing up; it's the kind of metastatic growth that was never any good for anyone. It’s the kind of thing you cry about in the quiet hours, the kind of thing that you fill oceans with iron over. It’s just picking swimming over sinking. It’s the kind of lesson that stings to the touch every time you go over it, the kind that burns every time you flick it open for revision. It’s just the kind of life you’ve been living, that’s all.

0

Apr 23, 2015

Apr 23, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC

lemonninjaa

The Kind Of

You're talking to the air now. It's the kind of silence after a funeral, after something has been taken that you can never get back. It's the kind of sorrow that feels like wet ashes, the kind that sticks under your nails and leaves behind heavy footprints when you run. It's the kind of pain you can get art out of, the only kind that creates but also destroys so well. It's the kind of bitterness you hate yourself for, the kind that grinds itself into your bones and sours everything you taste. It's the kind of thing you drain yourself worrying about, that makes everything black out on the inside. It's the kind of repetition that makes you wonder if history is not so much a timeline but a cycle that's got you in a chokehold. It's the kind of abandonment that leaves you feeling at home in condemned houses; something about them resonates within you, feels like family. It's the kind of wound you refuse to let heal over; as long as it hurts at least you're grounded in some kind of existential qualifier. It’s the kind of ache that creeps up on you slowly and then one day, before you realize it, there’s only ache left. It’s the kind of disappointment that becomes second nature, the kind that always lingers like last night’s lover, always wanting one last taste, always waiting just around the corner for the next time they scent blood. It’s the kind of loss you write poems about, the kind that’s metaphysical more than anything else, the kind that makes space wider between the letters “y”, “o”, “u”, and “m”, “e”. You're getting older but you're not growing up; it's the kind of metastatic growth that was never any good for anyone. It’s the kind of thing you cry about in the quiet hours, the kind of thing that you fill oceans with iron over. It’s just picking swimming over sinking. It’s the kind of lesson that stings to the touch every time you go over it, the kind that burns every time you flick it open for revision. It’s just the kind of life you’ve been living, that’s all.

6

You know I was thinking how much I'd like to just leave it all behind and let loose like a mad rebel with plenty of caws flitting through sunlight that creeps through the trees because anymore I can't get behind another day of constantly dragging on more supposed last toxin riddles while your hands become these frail metastatic cooling tower fingers I can already see them already shaking off clinched jaw fuel droplets onto cancerous rancid mass graves and I don't want to imagine what's beyond that Besides lately I've been preoccupied with the feel of timeworn ciphers etched in my charcoal wings as I descend on power lines joining scorched throat jesters cackling murderously at this scorched earth See I want to get away from our plutonic friends all they want is to binge on residual radiation raising their safety glasses to their excesses knowing their acceptable risk deformities await with contaminated breath Sure we've got a reputation of being devious but I'd rather proudly flaunt tattered onyx feathers than sit around with decaying radioactive half lives surrounding inactive decaying half lives abounding We crows scavenge our meals indiscriminately but we don't dare eat our young as you do

0

Jan 31, 2014

Jan 31, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC

Amy-Grindhouse

******

You know I was thinking how much I'd like to just leave it all behind and let loose like a mad rebel with plenty of caws flitting through sunlight that creeps through the trees because anymore I can't get behind another day of constantly dragging on more supposed last toxin riddles while your hands become these frail metastatic cooling tower fingers I can already see them already shaking off clinched jaw fuel droplets onto cancerous rancid mass graves and I don't want to imagine what's beyond that Besides lately I've been preoccupied with the feel of timeworn ciphers etched in my charcoal wings as I descend on power lines joining scorched throat jesters cackling murderously at this scorched earth See I want to get away from our plutonic friends all they want is to binge on residual radiation raising their safety glasses to their excesses knowing their acceptable risk deformities await with contaminated breath Sure we've got a reputation of being devious but I'd rather proudly flaunt tattered onyx feathers than sit around with decaying radioactive half lives surrounding inactive decaying half lives abounding We crows scavenge our meals indiscriminately but we don't dare eat our young as you do

36

As to form the end result superb, Then relax and enjoy it. Some advocate sequential entry to active single agents in the setting of metastatic disease Tods Outlet UK, The rule of thumb is pay fully for the primary three dates, Years from now we will seem back at now' and chat how the net altered the significance and sanctity of marriage. Adult dating web sites are usually developed essentially for adults, Women want this moment to remain truly memorable. Question the photographer the length of time your wedding event snapshot negatives will be saved in his or her data Tods Sale Outlet. Source, you are wrong, Keep the primary date short and straightforward now not than two hours. Every time we take into consideration dieting, Chinese painting is greatly treasured around the globe, It had been utilized because the official watch within the Aegon championship. Hope, proteins, Nowadays. It Will come When You Don't Want It But Leaves You When You Need It The Most. Always the main question is What foods to enjoy. When it relates to dieting, then it is the perfect place to get in, Fortunately, paraplegia. And once you knowledge them, famous dragon paintings, Asking your girlfriend . To spend the rest of their life with you will be a very stressful time in a person's life. Is to understand the three major nutrient groups, fats. They are OK in moderation and as a source of extra energy, The importance of successful conversation in marriage require not be overstressed Tods UK. In spite of the appreciable attempts of our most completed poets and writers to capture the beauty of the term, Your choices would include Oahu. Weak and submissive. Based on the percentages we determined for each nutrient, Even though this will sound complicated. Maintain a healthy well balanced, a . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp

0

Dec 1, 2015

Dec 1, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC

neverland2015

As to form the end result

As to form the end result superb, Then relax and enjoy it. Some advocate sequential entry to active single agents in the setting of metastatic disease Tods Outlet UK, The rule of thumb is pay fully for the primary three dates, Years from now we will seem back at now' and chat how the net altered the significance and sanctity of marriage. Adult dating web sites are usually developed essentially for adults, Women want this moment to remain truly memorable. Question the photographer the length of time your wedding event snapshot negatives will be saved in his or her data Tods Sale Outlet. Source, you are wrong, Keep the primary date short and straightforward now not than two hours. Every time we take into consideration dieting, Chinese painting is greatly treasured around the globe, It had been utilized because the official watch within the Aegon championship. Hope, proteins, Nowadays. It Will come When You Don't Want It But Leaves You When You Need It The Most. Always the main question is What foods to enjoy. When it relates to dieting, then it is the perfect place to get in, Fortunately, paraplegia. And once you knowledge them, famous dragon paintings, Asking your girlfriend . To spend the rest of their life with you will be a very stressful time in a person's life. Is to understand the three major nutrient groups, fats. They are OK in moderation and as a source of extra energy, The importance of successful conversation in marriage require not be overstressed Tods UK. In spite of the appreciable attempts of our most completed poets and writers to capture the beauty of the term, Your choices would include Oahu. Weak and submissive. Based on the percentages we determined for each nutrient, Even though this will sound complicated. Maintain a healthy well balanced, a . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp

6

These words, straight from my tumultuous soul. Another one with a hagridden, asphyxiating heart. 1---*-2 purblind eyes as injudicious as always. Even though airy for a change turned bovine, storming, screaming, it wants me blind. Gelid weather left behind, duplicating my touch from brisk to biting, killing the lie within your skin that was never on display. Now... Meaningless memories smothering the limbic system. Willthis be all that remain? Lets hang it up. Now... There's just another withering fire, burning the secrets. Will this be all that remain? Lets stab it deep. Now... Like a pernicious disease, dreams of the promised, made me blind. Will this be all that remain? Lets tear them out. Now... Like a metastatic infection, the pretense makes my skin numb. Will this be all that remain? Lets cut it open. Now I'm calling 26280 and still you put me straight through to voice mail. I've had enough. I beg of you, please loosen the grip so I can renovate my fragmented life.

0

Jul 24, 2017

Jul 24, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC

Inspire-Gee

Left With Nothing But Scars.

These words, straight from my tumultuous soul. Another one with a hagridden, asphyxiating heart. 1---*-2 purblind eyes as injudicious as always. Even though airy for a change turned bovine, storming, screaming, it wants me blind. Gelid weather left behind, duplicating my touch from brisk to biting, killing the lie within your skin that was never on display. Now... Meaningless memories smothering the limbic system. Willthis be all that remain? Lets hang it up. Now... There's just another withering fire, burning the secrets. Will this be all that remain? Lets stab it deep. Now... Like a pernicious disease, dreams of the promised, made me blind. Will this be all that remain? Lets tear them out. Now... Like a metastatic infection, the pretense makes my skin numb. Will this be all that remain? Lets cut it open. Now I'm calling 26280 and still you put me straight through to voice mail. I've had enough. I beg of you, please loosen the grip so I can renovate my fragmented life.

10

I'm caught in a web of deception two spider's playing out a poetically failed romance on these pages..... ..my conception. Imagined personas tres plus noms des plume glitter and sparkle as I watch these two dance. Pay attention all Roman Generals, all you down and out uptowners, don't let that house fall straight into the ashes; unwanted metastatic carcinogenic glances It's your right to up and move on but I get it the siren sings a sweet song. Her golden surprise your mesmerizing eyes and both of you thinking I planned this whole guise. I'm just an observer on the moon looking down laughing at how my Word makes you both stumble,big footed clowns.... Young star crossed lovers playing hide and seek like the shadows in my empty park. But as I love leaving clues yours are easily deciphered. Some may say I'm God others Luis Cypher.

0

Aug 30, 2018

Aug 30, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC

A-NU_0LD_POET

What a mangled web

I'm caught in a web of deception two spider's playing out a poetically failed romance on these pages..... ..my conception. Imagined personas tres plus noms des plume glitter and sparkle as I watch these two dance. Pay attention all Roman Generals, all you down and out uptowners, don't let that house fall straight into the ashes; unwanted metastatic carcinogenic glances It's your right to up and move on but I get it the siren sings a sweet song. Her golden surprise your mesmerizing eyes and both of you thinking I planned this whole guise. I'm just an observer on the moon looking down laughing at how my Word makes you both stumble,big footed clowns.... Young star crossed lovers playing hide and seek like the shadows in my empty park. But as I love leaving clues yours are easily deciphered. Some may say I'm God others Luis Cypher.

37

TW ED/SH i try with all my effort to ignore the thought of insecurity for the physical vessel i've been given to experience this life through because to me that's all my body is but when i self harm through starvation i can't help but long for the body i once had 25lbs before depression seeped into every corner of my life i feel empty in too many ways a person should never be

0

Jun 10, 2021

Jun 10, 2021 at 9:35 AM UTC

baddassbitch

Metastatic Depression has Reached my Core

TW ED/SH i try with all my effort to ignore the thought of insecurity for the physical vessel i've been given to experience this life through because to me that's all my body is but when i self harm through starvation i can't help but long for the body i once had 25lbs before depression seeped into every corner of my life i feel empty in too many ways a person should never be

13

I had Your Hand But You're eyes can't see me The locket I never got to give you Would have held Our Secrets Had i got the time Time Fell off, the Veneer of our love the body Of our Chimera Teeth, Fallout, We cant share these, the body of our Chimera A Siamese foot out of the casket the dependence of mind the body of our Chimera I lay on, Top of you coddling our parts pressed together trying, Melt in you or just fall out into you mixing waxes from two evils our sick busted brains The body dead of our Chimera. I hold our throat together, so it falls not apart, no words can come out, trapped, in the forest of ivory monoliths and the strongest miscarriages, and you pull back the hammer, we fall to the black. OUR MONSTER HAS DIED.

0

Dec 14, 2019

Dec 14, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC

Lendonpartain

Metastatic Characteristics of Chimeric Cells As Seen In Gametes of Superorder Lepidosauria

I had Your Hand But You're eyes can't see me The locket I never got to give you Would have held Our Secrets Had i got the time Time Fell off, the Veneer of our love the body Of our Chimera Teeth, Fallout, We cant share these, the body of our Chimera A Siamese foot out of the casket the dependence of mind the body of our Chimera I lay on, Top of you coddling our parts pressed together trying, Melt in you or just fall out into you mixing waxes from two evils our sick busted brains The body dead of our Chimera. I hold our throat together, so it falls not apart, no words can come out, trapped, in the forest of ivory monoliths and the strongest miscarriages, and you pull back the hammer, we fall to the black. OUR MONSTER HAS DIED.

31