"nursing" poems
Sexting Texting What a mess! Texting sexting Do you wanna have *** Flirting How about that ***** Taking naked pictures galore? How can I compete With all that meat That’s got you hooked On a fishing reel Pulling you in So you can spill All over them All the time While you’re here On my dime Resurfacing What’s going on On your phone Am I the only one you’re surfing? I think not! I doubt it a lot! No wonder I didn’t get it. Rehearsing I need a shot! For what I got, Is not enough! Working On this thing, Give me a swing, Stuck in a child. Nursing Or did you not **** the breast Big and full On your mama’s chest? Churching What happened to that spot? Not enough. You got a lot. Cursing Sexting texting Guess I’ll join the game. Texting sexting Maybe this will bring me fame. Or will I proclaim Your name?
Listen to the poetry podcast for more inspiration:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/12801/101854-sexting-and-texting-episode-of-relationship-rock-building-relationships-that-last
or listen to “Sexting and Texting” on iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/relationship-rock-shirah-chante/id670836453#
Watch "Sexting and Texting" on YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=AQmw9N1rrKE&video;_referrer=watch
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Excuses, excuses - they'll come in a flood,
When you realize your actions have pushed me away.
Imagine! That I once considered you blood!
But I've had quite enough of the games that you play.
The switch came in stages, a gradual thing,
I first didn't notice; it wasn't too clear.
My perspective grew sharper with distance between,
Felt your backhanded words as they pin-pricked my ears.
You thought I wouldn't notice, would let it slip by,
Never gave me much credit, and that was your fault.
Wrapped your insults in jokes, like arsenic on rye,
And you thought all this time that you wouldn't be caught.
I don't know where you get it - this self-righteous act,
It's not as endearing as you think it to be.
You might take what you want, and then leave it at that,
But I'm telling you now: you'll get no more from me.
I don't know what has prompted you picking this fight.
They're pathetic, yet hurtful, these things that you say.
And I don't know where you think you've gotten the right
To take it out on me when you don't get your way.
For years, it's been happening - don't know how I missed
All the ways you controlled me; I answered to you.
Always did what you wanted, I'm realizing this;
The extent of the selfishness you put me through.
But it changed not too long ago, didn't it, dear?
Oh yes, I grew a spine, and things started to change.
And, oh, you didn't like what you started to hear.
My defying your wants nearly made you deranged.
People grow and they change; it's especially true
For me ever since I was finally free.
So how sad to discover it's not true for you,
You're the same as you were, and as you'll always be.
That's the person you are, who you've been since we met
And it never caused issues until days of late.
The things that you've said are things you will regret,
Because I have no room for your envy-fueled hate.
You've become quite the mean one - I'm sorry, it's true.
You're no longer the person to whom I could turn.
It's a shame (it's a **** shame), but yes, we are through.
And it will not be me who is nursing the burn.
Maybe one day you'll change, and we might reunite.
I'm not getting my hopes up - there's danger in that.
Until then, I hope you learn to treat people right,
Because no one desires to stand by a brat.
Maybe I am the first to address how you are,
But I won't be the last, and this, I can assure.
Your poignant self-righteousness won't get you far,
And I'm sorry - for your case, there isn't a cure.
So remember me now; you'll remember me then,
When you lose all those who used to stand at your side.
You'll remember the disrespect you showed your friend,
For alas, she won't be there, holding you as you cry.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
A desolate town
Broken windows
Dusty roads
Rusted gates
Dead front lawns
Under a porch half rotted away
You'll find...
A cat nursing her kittens
New life, new beginnings
A star shines bright
In the dark night sky
© Crystal Erickson
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
******* sawdust
Whiskey and rust
This is the life
This is cloud nine
This used to be a simple alibi
But now it's just a damaged lullaby
It's hard to kiss
Skin that crawls
But in the dark
The weakness falls
Unasked questions
They do rebound
Silent screaming
Rings all around
This used to be a simple alibi
But now it's just a damaged lullaby
Tattoos, perfume
Gasoline fumes
Nursing this poison
cringing, no end
Dysfunctional love
is what we make
just one more hit
It'll be the last I take
This is the life
This is cloud nine
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
I'm chained to this wall,
A belt round my neck,
Tongue tied, cannot call,
My heart's a ship wreck,
Sunken to the soul,
Where no light enters,
Just like this hell hole,
Where insanity centres,
Encaging patients,
Deemed untreatable,
Losing their patience,
With nurses incapable,
Of treating our minds,
The pain in our veins,
Or pain they can't find,
"Hopeless" they claim,
But in this darkness,
Fear is controlling,
Just like the madness,
Existing in the nursing,
And pain turns to death,
As rain turns to tears,
While they take their last breath,
For screams that last years
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
in the somatic nervous system,
acetylcholine (ACh) stimulates skeletal muscle, causing contraction
action potentials
in the 8am physio lecture,
the biggest on campus
crammed with nursing majors,
and health science hankerers,
public health preachers,
OT saints and angels
amino acid NTs: glutamate (+) GABA (-) aspartate (+) glycine (-)
the prof wrote on a distant whiteboard
too many complained about being lost
she made a joke about feeding *******
to mice for her neuroscience research
amines: serotonin (-) dopamine (-/+) norepinephrine (+/-) epinephrine (+)
STEM-dominated
when i'm just looking
to drop my roots
and press that
good earth into
the spaces between
my toes and
under my nails
but the grounds are a garden
of biodiversity from clippings
gathered by migrant habit-clad
founders more than a century ago
the soil is fertile it is temperate
there are water filters in most residences
there is enough here for me
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Anne crutched her way
over the grass
from the nursing home
to the white seats on the lawn
and sat down
in one of the chairs
and threw her crutches
to the ground beside her
I sat in a chair
next to her
she had on a blue skirt
and white blouse
her one leg stuck out
from the end
of her skirt
the other kids played
on the swings and slide
or walked around
avoiding being
near Anne
I wonder
if the nuns have periods?
She said suddenly
I don't know
I said
might explain
their crabbiness some days
she said
I nodded my head
unsure of the topic
periods of what?
I asked
she looked at me
sternly for a moment
you don't know?
I shook my head
gazing at her
it's ************
in real terms
she said
none the wiser
I looked at her
hair dark
and almost shiny
where she’d
brushed it so much
do you know that?
no not heard of it
I said
she sighed
and looked at me deeply
do your parents tell
you nothing?
not about
************ anyway
I said
my old man told me
about the Plague of London
in 1665
and rats and stuff
**** the Plague of 1665
she said
this is real stuff
it may come handy
one day to know
I doubted it
but said nothing
I looked back
at the nursing home
for rescue
do you know anything
about the female cycle?
She said
my friend's sister's cycle
didn't have a cross bar
I said
remembering Jim's sister
and the bicycle
I sometimes rode
no no Kid
not that kind of cycle
her body cycle
I noticed as she moved
on the chair
her leg stump
became visible
when a female
gets to a certain age
her body gets prepared
to put an egg
in a place in her body
ready to be fertilized
ok?
I saw the stump clearly
it looked like the end
of a plump elbow
Kid do you hear
what I am saying?
Yes
I said
good
now if the egg
doesn't get fertilized
by a certain time
her body gets rid of it
in a cycle
and she bleeds
the whole package out
right?
It didn’t sound too good
but I nodded
what kind of egg?
I asked
what do you mean
what kind of egg?
A ****** human egg
what do you think
a ****** hens' egg?
She sighed deeply
and I wondered where
she bought her one shoe
how old are you Kid?
10 nearly 11 years old
I replied
studying her black shoe
and wondering
what she did
with the other shoe
what's fertilization?
I asked
looking up at her
sitting in the chair
her eyes focused on me
go ask the nuns
they'll know
she said snappily
ok
I said
I will
she reached for her crutches
and said
right Kid
let's go to the beach
out of the eyes
of the *******
and their reach
and so I walked
beside her
out the back gate
and onto the path
that led
to the sand and sea
blue skies
white clouds
seagulls
and Anne and me.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Every time I hear of you--
I wonder what went wrong
that you would choose
another over me.
The cogwheels of my brain
would constantly rewind
to the very day we meet;
the nerves I had prior
and the brief good memories.
This bitter nostalgia
reminded me of
my foolish sense of hope
that I was the special one
among many others--
Only when I was told
that I was rejected
did I realise...
I was only a pitiful jester;
dancing and joking
for your fancy
on that very day.
I could not help thinking,
being rejected on a Christmas eve
is a terrible Christmas present,
and also the only Christmas present I had.
They say that it was not His will--
But they also did not know...
Perhaps it was His will
that I spend the dead morning of Christmas
soaking my pillow in tears
while nursing a overactive mind.
And yes, I saw you again on New Years Eve--
from afar, where everyone was celebrating
of their successful association with you
with delirious hopefulness and motivation...
Meanwhile, I was made to
welcome the New Year all alone
with tears in memory of your rejection.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 1:17 AM UTC
My old great-aunt Elaine with her withered hands gave me $200 and beaded handbag
"This your mad money," she told me, as we sat on that nursing home couch, "And it ain't for your purse. This goes in your shirt, where only you know you got it."
The assisted-living nurse chuckled to herself. They got along, my great-aunt and her.
"Why?"
"Cuz if you get angry," she said, in that Marlboro-raspy voice of hers, "And you gotta go, you walk out on your date and you leave 'is *** And then you got your money for a strong drink. And your cab."
The nurse laughed
My aunt re-situated herself on the nursing home couch. Elaine Dauterive. Her mind was going, and so was her health, but she was as regal as a queen on her throne in that moment
her fire-red hair, ungrayed, was her crown
No cape as royal as that sleeping gown.
"Don't you think for once second I can't take care of you, honey," she said in that creole drawl, and I knew what she meant
Because even after she'd gone I would have that mad money
All stuffed in my bra for when I needed it
Because she was older than time, for me, seeing things like
The Great Depression, World War II
What I read in history books
I'd be ****** if I took what she said with even one grain of salt because Auntie-Lane, I'll be ****** if I don't love you
And I know you're on your way out and
I'll buy you whiskey in the afterlife with some of that $200 cash that you busted your *** scrounging up for me
Southern hospitality at its finest
And those liver spots redder than wine adorn you like badges of honor for all of the years you've endured
My elder - creole woman, with a soul as fire-red as her hair, breathing more smoke than air
My old dragon
On a pile of gold: her mad money
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
who is this?
who is she?
who are they?
i don't know this person,
i don't look like that do i?
my arms, my stomach,
my hair, my face, my thighs,
what is it all?
why don't i look okay for once?
it isn't fair,
not fair at all,
i'm fed up of trying to look pretty,
fed up of meeting standards,
my body is keeping my heart beating,
is capable of carrying and nursing a child,
my body is amazing and that'll never change,
even if my clothes are tight,
even if my face doesn't look like theirs,
even if i can't wear the same things,
even if my skin is darker than theirs,
even if i can't pull off the same hair cut they do,
i am me,
i am myself,
i am here to show what i am capable of,
and no-one, no matter how hard they try, will stop me,
i am beautiful,
we are all beautiful.
-lilac
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
I stuck chickens in my baggy tie dye shirt
nuzzled on the couch, coffee in hand.
I enjoyed a deep conversation with a willow tree
and asked how it felt about the other species.
I slid cookies in the back pocket of my tattered jeans
before biking through the morning air.
I smiled at old Ted in the nursing home
with a wink, he smiled back.
I dribbled the basketball with the strong scent
of campfire coming from my backyard.
I danced in the shower
the warm droplets falling on my skin.
I smoked in the sparkling cove
with strangers that became my friends.
I flew off the high rocks
and submerged into cold crystal waters.
I looked into those faded blue eyes,
and chuckled cause' we do that.
I balanced on the fallen limb
and hopped up onto the beautiful stump.
I giggled with my sisters
cause' we made some really mean jokes.
I ate spaghetti with my friends,
and laughed so hard we choked.
I tumbled over tree roots
got back up and kept on trailin'.
I thanked God for this life
and he said you're welcome.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Lay rest your flashing glaze of wishes
Down received for a moment
Breathy bow lifts to hold
and waver across few measures
Sienna and topaz
Sienna and topaz
Singe and simmer
Shine and glimmer against
All the thoughts born and dead
What makes you eager to rise
If it is not sensing gone away stories
or nursing the aches that lunge through anywhere else but here
While you replay and delay all creation
the blossoming goes unseen
She, the maiden is reigning
Une palais à remplir
Une palais à remplir
where she is her own queen
Her oceans made of no time channel open mouths
flooding its spill
She waded into The archer
Downed in his own vessel he mistook himself the pilot of
He, marooned in the surrender of damp and fertile places
where in Death he is still recovering
Soldiering and sullen
Soldiering and sullen
He is choking, and can not stop to see or savor the blossoms rising from his own till
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 9:03 PM UTC
When my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s everyone got really sad,
we couldn’t believe she would forget her family; her husband, me, my dad.
Everything happened so quickly, how could we have known,
that memories were running away from her, there were no signs she had shown.
To indicate that she was leaving us, not in body but in mind,
I didn’t know what was happening until I went to the hospital where she was confined.
Laying there in her hospital bed, with all of us around her,
worried about cooking dinner, she didn’t know where we were.
When I realized what was happening, I just could not believe,
that a few, very short, years later, my grandma would completely leave.
The reason I could not believe this was because she was such a source of love,
I could not understand why she was being punished, by somebody above.
Growing up I had always considered my grandmother to be,
the best woman in the entire world, true love’s epitome.
Every time we would come to the farm, she’d open the door, grinning wide,
and say “I’m so glad to see you all, c’mon let’s go inside!”
The minute you walked through that door, you knew that you were home,
surrounded by love so deep it was tangible and open spaces in which to roam.
The best memories of my childhood center around this place,
and in each one of these memories is my grandma’s smiling face.
Now my grandma sits in a nursing home, unable to respond,
to our pleas for her to come back to us, for her mind has been long gone.
And though this overwhelms me sometimes, because I just don’t think it’s fair,
I know if she was able, she’d tell me not to despair.
For our time together isn’t over, we’ll meet again someday.
Regardless, I know her love for her family will never fade away.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Hellenic days of poetry,
From a land of myth,
In legend dwelled the child of Zeus,
Head of the gods,
Zeus created ******* child in tryst with mortal chick,
Alcemene was the name,
Hera, wife of Zeus got angry at his infidelity,
Alcemene expected two, twin boys were on the way,
One baby conceived of Zeus the other was a mortal's son,
Hera had a consultation with Lithia, goddess of childbirth,
Hera twisted Lithia to prevent the childrens birth,
Alcemene's legs were cross locked to stop the birth ocuring,
Zeus declared in oath, child of house of Perseus born that night,
To become High King in place of heracless,.
Hera made Eurytheus, arrive too soon in premature immaturity,
Athena, half -sister of Heracles,
Protector of Gods, tricked Hera into nursing child,
Known as Alcides,
Real name Heracles,
Hera nursed him out of pity,
Heracles gave Hera pain on suckling,
Milk sprayed the heavens,
Hence there created, The Milky Way.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
I was called a troll today,
I really don't know if I deserved it.
I comment and like but now I feel like ****
She said I'm sure you never thought I would leave your comment up.
I'm doing so , so that every body can see you this far
the *** WIPE YOU REALLY ARE.
So sorry they didn't nominate your *** for the Grand WIZARD
BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME ***** go crawl like a lizard.
Sorry for this old troll who pay me a visit,
I know some of yall saw him...Lord Have Mercy...
Go to the activity room in the nursing home somewhere in Jersey.
Play BINGO OR SOMETHING don't know what gramps problem was
I think they did it to make you think it is someone
you don't know. Stupid *** people need a real woman
I just do not reply back.
Trolls can make themselves any age any ***
I am blessed not to be sick and homeless.
if they really want views all they have to do is ask
will I help out and share their vid...I will do just that!
depends on what they're talking about....Just dont try to combat.
My guess is Trolls are people looking for views and are bighearted
next time you should think before you sound ********
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
"Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Billy Joel lyrics from
"Piano Man"*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when I was very young
I wore Levi jeans and white
Hanes cotton T shirts
my mother bot me,
my feet, Ked clad, red
from the kid's "department" store
on Central Avenue,
the Main Street of my small town
when I was a young lad,
I wore workingman's cargo jeans and
white Hanes cotton T shirts
under red plaid
wooly shirts, itchy affairs,
that I bot for myself
in a real Army Navy store,
desert colored suede boots,
laced up high,
upon my feet
when I was of middling years,
my jeans were khaki pants,
Gap supplied,
and my Gap T shirts,
faded like me,
a non-descript color,
made in a gap of pale pastel colors
from Bangladesh or Vietnam,
pale pastel, like me
so as I slide~decline into
my nursing home years,
I wear unbranded jeans and
white cotton no name T shirts
with matching white disposable slippers,
that the Purchasing Department
bot for me, cause they know,
I like,
a younger man's clothes and
the memories that play all day
lost in day dreaming of a life
well dressed
2:01am
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.
A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.
Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.
Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
The spider Queen, aloofly vain!
She rules a silent ruthless reign,
with black-bead eyes like pearls of rain
that damp the depths of her demesne.
.
.
.
A spider spins, with nimble feet,
a sticky web of grim deceit
that drapes the corners, dark, discreet,
in catacombs of her retreat.
Her jointed legs (in number, eight)
traverse the threads with stilted gait,
but often more she'll lie in wait
within the hub of her estate.
Shy spiders live their lives alone
ensconced within a silky throne;
unless a transient guest comes flown,
their lives bide empty, monotone.
.
.
Well, now and then, a sullen breeze
may twitch the toils, begin to tease –
yet nothing's caught and nothing pleas,
so patience's bid at times like these.
But then again, when stars ignite,
may maunder by a gnat, by night,
be taught a dance, a writhing rite,
within a lace of death, wrapped tight.
Sometimes a spider's in the mood
and waits awhile, whilst being wooed –
and then, to later feed her brood,
the widow slays her mate for food.
In time a spider dies, 'tis true,
bequeathing but a residue
entwined, devoid of retinue,
in fibers decked in silver dew.
.
.
.
One asks "What purpose serves the GNAT –
to feed and make the spider fat?
Well, 'tis perchance just naught but that
within a mindless habitat.
.
.
"Yet, what's the aim?” you may inquire,
“at the heart of MAN's desire.
To which goals should WE aspire
reaching high and reaching higher?"
We've, through the ages, left the mire,
trundling wheels and taming fire,
doing deeds that must inspire,
nursing needy, calming crier, …
Such things as these, most may admire:
- placid dove and war defier
(some are bolder, some are shyer)
- patience (mess-up mollifier);
- humankind (Life's justifier)
- charity (charmed self-denier)
- tolerance (proud pacifier )
- love of Life (folk unifier).
What more could we, as flesh, require?
Needless kneeling neath the spire?
Childish chanting in the choir?
Preaching hell's impending pyre?
No, Death's the only rectifier,
comes the instant we expire,
nothing after, sentience prior.
So, treasure Life and don't deny Her.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
the static has tiptoed across me from my brain into my lungs,
electrifying each and every one of my breaths into
sharp icicles and lightning bolts.
white noise vibrating against my skin as the ice cold
waves
rock me back and forth
as if they are nursing a newborn baby.
the cold trickles down me and makes me shiver
my limbs are blue and my lips are blue and i am floating
floating
floating
somewhere safer.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
Saturday night, offered to read your palm
When I don't even know how to read palms,
It was just an excuse to get to touch you.
And oh, touch you I did,
All over.
Sunday morning, nursing hangovers with scenic strolls,
Holding hands
Until our palms get sweaty and we let go.
And next weekend we'll do this again,
All over.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 9:05 AM UTC
They said just one, and you'll fly,
Free forever, never to die,
A little dust, and into the sky,
Second to the right, straight on all night.
There you'll find freedom, there you'll find life,
Never to age, never to cry.
But all my happy thoughts flew away.
Now I'm just lost,
Still acting like a little boy, still running from pirates.
Know why they call it Neverland?
Because it's never coming back.
It was never there at all,
And it never will be.
Wendy started nursing school,
The Captain died from cancer,
The Boys left town, the pirates retired,
The fun is over, the thrill is gone.
John's a lawyer, Michael's a drunk,
Tinker bell's taking selfies from her new Mercedes,
The crocodile's chewing the fat off tourists in his nature preserve.
You know why they call it Neverland?
Because you never should have left.
Now we're all just shadows.
We grew up, when we swore we'd rather die.
They caught me, now I'm just a shadow.
They made me a man.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
You've seen a mother
Nursing a child,
Giving freely
Of herself.
So altruistic,
She finds maternal pleasure
Through nurturing.
My close friend
Gave his son a kidney.
His very own *****
Putting himself in jeopardy
For his son's prosperity.
The pleasure of altruism
Wasn't lost on me.
Have you seen the picture
Of the man on the cross.
He wears a smile
Behind his blood mask.
He found pleasure
In offering salvation.
No greater gift,
Can be bestowed
From man, woman or god,
Than the innate pleasures
Of self-sacrifice.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Gravity is not my friend.
It forgets from time to time
To do its job and keep my two feet
Planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t seem to get around
Invisible stumbling blocks,
Tripping over my own two feet,
Knocking into things just by
Walking in a straight line.
Gravity is lazy,
Wanting only to do the bare minimum.
It makes my chest feel heavy when
I lay down but if I close my eyes
I feel my own untethered soul
Float up into the ceiling
And hide amongst the water pipes.
Sometimes, I think gravity gets scared
When I wish myself into something
Scattered brain and disconnected
Disassociation, depersonalization,
Derealization—these side effects on the bottle
They’re all taunting gravity
And gravity runs to hide,
Knocking me off balance and
Up the stairs and skinning my knees
And sometimes I don’t even know I’m bleeding
But sometimes gravity fights back
And my feet are stuck to the ground
My limbs can’t seem to move, my
Head feels like a hundred pounds
My body aches until I lay down
And sink into the carpet.
Sometimes I wonder if you feel it too
If gravity and you are on the odds as well
With all your liquid confidence
And substances to keep you happy
And your tales of falling down stairs—
You fall down, I fall up.
We bob together in a sea of regret
And change and past and
Present and future and lust
And hate but most of all love
Nursing our wounds through
Self medication until a very fed up gravity
Pushes us down, down down down.
Sometimes I think if gravity
Were a little more benevolent
We’d never have hit
These bumps in the road.
I could stay grounded,
Feet planted firmly.
You could stay buoyant
Far above the surface.
But no,
Gravity is a very fickle beast.
And as you’re leading me
Back to my room
For one last goodnight kiss
I trip
And float away.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
Gray
Black
Depression strikes
Black
Blue
Nursing my wounds
Blue
Yellow
Pink
A flag of support
Pink
Purple
Colors of my past
Purple
Blue
A transition in progress
Blue
Black
The pain won't leave
Black
Gray
A blanket of sadness
Gray
A muddled state of being
Everything swirled together
Everything separate
Everything me
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC