"rehabilitation" poems
i'm not a slave of compliments.
I won't overdose on injections of racism.
The only addiction i have it of the melanin in my skin.
My heritage is not a sin.
My womanhood has always been the evidence of excellence.
My faith is not a bad habit I need rehabilitation from.
If discrimination was a drug i would be high every day
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Mahigit pitumpu't limang porsyento
Niyurak ng matinding alon
Walang awa ang haplos
Ang yapos na nakagigimbal
Kinitil hindi lamang ang buhay
Gayundin ang hanapbuhay.
Ni hindi masisid ang perlas
Na ngayong may takip sa ibabaw
Nabibilang ang lumalangoy
Kaawa-awang gambalain
At hablutin sa laot nang walang muang
Ngunit anong siyang magiging sapit?
Kung sila'y hahayaang hindi nakagapos?
At doon sa lambat ay patitiwarakin.
Tinaguriang "No Build Zone"
Ngunit naroon nakatirik ang bawat pundasyon
Walang opsyon, pagkat ang gobyerno
Kaytagal din nang pag-aksyon.
Mula sa libu-libong tirahan sa Tent City
Sila'y lilisan patungong Bunk House
Transitional Shelter kuno
Hanggang sa malipat
At magkaroon ng panibagong tirahan.
Doon sa Tacloban,
May dalawang daan at apatnapu't anim na tirahan
Bagkus ang nakalilim, apat na libong pamilya naman.
Salamat sa mga NGOs
Sa 9181 na Bunk House
Sa gobyernong dapat na kikilos
Kailan ba sisimulan ang pagbabago?
Walong libong pabahay raw ang ginagawa
167 bilyon ang budget,
Saan nga ba napunta?
Ito ba'y binulsa?
Comprehensive Rehabilitation Plan kung tinagurian
Kay bango ng ngalan
Bagkus umaalingasaw ang baho
Ang kasiraan, ang kawalan ng aksyon
Para sa bawat mamamayan.
Sa dakong Guian, Eastern Samar
Tatlong daang permanenteng pabahay raw
Ngunit ni isang pundasyon ng naturang pabahay
Tila naglaho pa rin ni Yolanda
At walang bakas na pasisimulan.
Sabi ni Pnoy, malinaw raw ang target
Pero hanggang target na mga lang ba?
Kailan ba sisimulan ang tuwid na daan?
Baka naman baku-bako na
Wala man lang pasabi sa kinauukulan.
Kung ang hustisya'y hindi matugunan
Sana ang kalamnan ng bawat biktima'y
Syang agapang mapunan
Kaawa-awa silang naghihikahos.
Ang laki ng tulong ng mga karatig-bansa
Ba't tila walang pakialam?
Kayong mga nasa trono,
Tayuan ang posisyon
At serbisyo'y gawin nang totoo.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Your touch closes my eyes
I let your words traumatise my mind
Your breath dampens my skin,
Provoking apocalyptic thoughts from within
The trickle of your touch
Is eating at my mind,
I keep your desires fed,
Thirst and hatred intertwined
Disrupting my insides
My lips escape discordant harmonies,
As in you I confide,
That the truth's foreign to my eyes
You remain my fixation
A sinister hallucination
Occurrences of formination
Are my self-rehabilitation
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Laying in bed,
she told me
all about her
most recent lover;
how he had broken
her like a clock.
“You see, I can’t move
anymore,” she said,
“You see, I can’t feel
anymore,” she said.
Her hands shook
and she got so pale
simply at the thought
of it all.
I rolled over,
—I am no superhero,
sweetheart—
Don’t believe I will save you,
Don’t believe I will kiss you,
I will not hold you hand.
“This isn't your rebound,
sweetheart,
it is your rehabilitation,”
I told her.
This is your rehabilitation
for all the times
you fell in love
and couldn't get back
up,
for all the men
that seemed so sweet
but never delivered.
Don’t believe I will save you,
Don’t believe I will fix you,
“This isn't your resolution
,
sweetheart, it is your retribution,"
I told her.
This is your retribution,
so **** me
like all the men
who ****** you over,
like all the men
who broke you down.
**** me like
a woman with no heart
and one day you will
realize it may not
be
pretend anymore.
—I'm no superhero,
sweetheart—
But I will sure as hell
play the villain,
because most of
the time
that is all you truly
need.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
Toned, muscular, powerful beasts.
This is the way the world chooses to see.
Outraged, aggression, and dangerous too.
Scared one day, they might bite you.
Not even a second, by the looks, instant fear.
This so called 'reputation' makes us tear.
Continue to breed,
Continue to Buy.
Opt. to put them on a chain so tight.
Opt. to make them fight.
Judging them, at just first sight.
Not bad dogs, just bad owners.
When will the world see the light?
Toned, masculine, powerful features.
Beautiful and intelligent creatures.
Ever so loving, ever so loyal.
So goofy, and eager to please.
Eager to love, Eager for affection.
This is the way the world should see.
A family dog, a protector.
A comedian in ways.
A runway model with natural beauty.
A visitor, for those in pain and lonely.
A caregiver for rehabilitation.
A simple, lasting smile,
A kind that sparks and stays for awhile.
A partner against crime.
A team mate whose there all the time.
A worker, a player to love you at best.
A companion beyond special.
A dog, beyond the rest.
A love, in life, with whatever is next.
A best friend, to say the least.
A Staffies not A beast.
Staffies are the best.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
.
The more I think, and reflect about life, the more it strikes how little we need to survive.
.
But then the question of my life itself baffles me still.
In the name of
Cups and Wands
and Swords and Pentacles.
How does one figure out
how one wants to ease into the world—
in what manner
what face
what costume
what identity
shall we assume
in this theatrical muse of mass-scale rehabilitation.
Searching,
for the right attire
in a tolerable personality.
To eventualize, to officiate, to become
A masterpiece—
by the hands of time
and the wheels of fortune.
So that we may be made worthy
Maybe, if you were dealt with luck.
Fortune's Fool—
How do we know which
is the correct way to go
sᴉ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʎɐʍ oʇ oɓ·
in hindsight.
To hunt for a halo in the robes of glee
while you dwindle in time
Abject, at sea.
Cut the chase.
Bleed. Heal.
Await the haemorhage and its evanescence.
And when you approach the Great Finale,
Be free.
.
At any moment of time, we have one foot in the abyss while the other lapses into ecstasy.
.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
The intimate connection
A closeness
where proximity
is never the issue
words caught from mouth to mouth
like a French kiss of communication
Seductive cognitive stimulation
Tingling understanding
from ear to heart to mind
As soon as the first word uttered
first glance in flight
it's as if
loneliness was never known
The lighthearted playful connection
Laughter released roaring from
the core
A dream fostered by two
to champion the fantastical
adventurous night of
spontaneity and the birth of a different self
Veins, blood, cheeks chuckling
A direct line of yellow energy
from one being to the other
spreading like unconscious permission
allowing comic relief
and free-spirited flight of
words, song, dance
It's as if
consequence of action
never existed
The healing connection
Rage and pain
spouted out of a
heartbroken hose
A desperate hope for rehabilitation
And then another enters the space
Alas, another enters the suffocating space
and pumps oxygen back into the room
for hurled haughty words
and salted wounds
No need to choose a side
the center of the bed, saved for you
to curl and cry and become lost in
another's blanket embrace
Holding exhaustion for you
It's as if you had four shoulders
to hold that world of yours
instead of two
The forbidden connection
Two beings
owned by another
through
rings
or promises
or time
The universe, introducing them
The light accidental brush of a hand
Longing iris to iris
Lust permeating the senses
Logic and sequence futile
Crimson licking up breath,
movement, muscles
It's as if for an instant
a wish thrown out to the stars
to be an article of clothing
hugging crevice, curve, skin
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Though it is such a beautiful pristine night, puffy fluffy sky
a pelican had soaked spaghetti like limbs mangled and dangled
thrusting thyself forward to comfortably drown in wet frozen crystals
[I am a life I am blinking] Your feathers were flapping frosted and numbed
Oh I bet the water was stinging yet pleasing - 656 55 3-4 the elderly woman said
her kind soul with a phone number for SPCA wildlife rescue and rehabilitation
the pelican is near death, I divulged with envy for that wave drowning you in warmth
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
*A window frames
a brushy scene
but she asks:
does the sea reside
on the other side..
On quiet evenings
waves of healing
she hears them
breaking
on her Shore..
Rehabilitation
this her lot..
Remembered pain
the surgeon's stitches
a promised gain..
New movement
she is told
gifts transport
to her sea
again..
Yet for her
for this while
another transport
to her Sea..
Midst her life
of quiet prayer
By her window
her Seashore
She is there…
for Sister Barbara*
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
I remember what we used to be
Swinging and climbing up every tree
That time when everyone would go outside just to play tag
Now all we got is 8 year old kids complaining about too much lag
And all those ballin' teenagers saying 'We got so much swag'
Now one of the only things you see
Is teen girls selling out virginity
25$ at one time you could've almost caught a taxi ride from here to Tennessee
I feel sorry for the next generation
Swag ballin' COD players running this nation
Now just give me one second of concentration
heavy intake of breath
Sorry, all the violence in the world has sent my mind through so much rehabilitation
I realized everything we thought was right was wrong
Simple math, it shouldn't have taken us this long
But it doesn't matter cause everyone's taking a hit from the nearest ****
These geniuses go and call others ********
Thanks, we're all mentally unstable and needed an excuse to be carted
To the nearest funeral home
Cause no one ever put us under loves dome
Ding ding ding we have a winner
Obviously the one without a ring on their finger
Forever alone because others see them as a sinner
When all they're trying to do is get another night's dinner
22 years from now we'll all be middle aged
Stuck in a job wanting to be uncaged
The worlds resources steadily going down the drain
An we're all stuck on a one way train
To hell or up above
That's when you wish you'd just been born a dove
Life's quite tough don't be late
It seems today is quite an important date
Though you've already come so far
One day you'll be crying in a bar
Thinking about your past when it was so easy
Every day the wind was cool and breezy
And you were swinging and climbing up every tree
I remember what it used to be
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
I am dying to be by you, at your bedside
Mon amour, I yearn every second to be by your side
To soothe the pain, to give you a good massage
To mesmerize you and to send the right message
To your body, to your soul and to your enduring heart
Darling, going forward, you and I should never be apart.
I am dying to be with you at night and day
Throughout your rehabilitation and your stay
At any medical facilities. I miss you very bad
I miss you all the time. I am both sad and mad
That I am not with you right now and today
I’m craving and dying to be by your side right away.
I will see you soon. I will be with you all the time
I will be the sweet healer who will happily rhyme
For you. I had been waiting for the perfect occasion
To come. I am eager to see you smile and laugh again
I am dying to be sitting and standing at your bed side
Sweetheart, I miss you like a sad lover, like a poor child.
Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
Well, what a week, full of revelation
Enough to stir this talk of revolution
Makes your hackles turn on end
Then send you round the bend
The southern gentry have found oil
Right beneath their derriere boil
Now most of us on this golden isle
Need not worry about this pile
Those who wear weekend country tweed,
Built their fortunes from housing greed
Have already decided
That it will be one sided
They’ll say it’s theirs, by rights
And if we argue, will read our last rites
The South will declare independence
In certainty of their full ascendance
Over the outer reaches of this nation
They pounded into servitude, by taxation
And if we have the nerve to debate, I’ll be bound
They’ll leave it horded in the ground,
Then blame the anti frackin’ hound
Now I may need a political re - education
In a 1984 establishment for rehabilitation
But I can see it coming a five-nation island
Southland, Wales, Scotland, N. Ireland,
And the Detritus
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Joe without his legs
Wheelchair, bedside G.I.
At a meeting
Ruminating and feeling
It’s like A.A.
Rehabilitation games
The system plays War
Craft with missing halves
PTSD R e s p e c t
That ain’t the half
Of the stink and the taint
Sniffing glue
Replacing chipped paint
Joe only worries
If there’s somewheres
To be
After rehab
Need a Lyft Uber quick
Downtown a ton to do
Joe worries arriving in 12 steps
Sponsor anonymously
Befriend responsibly
Joe worries
Like long time buds
His legs
That they won’t work
Like they did back when
He got laid
And was paid
By way of Vietnam
And ****** Uncle Sam.
Joe worries
Of wheelchair accesses
His favorite places without
Doors he’d like to
Fit in
And go on
Normally
Accepted
To be loved like a brother
That no one knew
And no one seems or cares to
Joe feels like
A third wheel
A phantom limb
Who’s bucket list is to
“Invest in the Google”
“Learn how to use
The cloud”
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
His best friend was his subconscious
To request an audience with his accomplice
Loneliness he had to accept, alone he was,
I digress. Nevertheless, he kept his pain in silence
Feeling trapped in his own head, like a mental asylum
Instead of unconcealing the sorrow
He kept things unsaid, so his state of mind would remain unread
And would embed the notion that life has stopped dead
And would endlessly pray for a better tomorrow
If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
If not, is a lonesome man who is crying in pain not exist because no one is around?
The thought of waking up to another day of isolation
Drowning in his misery, he needs help to breathe
Rehabilitation would be as simple as love and attention
To help give this man a life where he can believe
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
(n.)
a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that has been loved and then lost
January //
Your smile makes flowers grow in my lungs and I'm too busy taking care of the garden, pulling the weeds out for the flowers to live and bloom, I forget I need to breathe too
February //
They say addiction is a habit; kisses are drugs but your lips are rehabilitation and I keep coming back for more sessions because I need it; you're my "personal brand of ******
March //
I write symphonies about the way a single touch from you defines the revolution of the Earth but I was wrong; it actually defines the whole galaxy
April //
My eyes are the same hue of empty, vacant, while the ocean is trapped in your eyes; there are more than meet those chocolate orbs, so let me explore every depth of the waters with you
May //
Your voice is the sound of the soft pitter-patter of the falling rain on the window pane after a storm, and the clouds don't hide the sun anymore
June //
I love the smell of books and coffee, especially with extra teaspoons of sugar and a story about looking for a place to call home as I long for the scent of belonging I only get from having you wrapped in my arms
July //
I fell in love with the way every novel I read has pages with traces of your footprints, your mark imprinted in my heart like how one is drawn to TFIOS; heartbreaking and tear-filled but it was true and the love is real, sort of like you and I; I like to think of it like that — you are Hazel and I am Augustus
August //
I don't believe in full-stops, I don't believe there could be an end to this love we have like how there is an end to a sentence; you might not have noticed that there is not a single full-stop here because our story is not ending, I'm not saying goodbye yet, and Augustus has not died yet; please do not leave me
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
I breathe in the smell of you,
And lose sense of place and time.
A drug that sold me into rehabilitation.
I know you're not what I need,
And you're not what I want.
A square peg for a rounded hole,
You don't fit my new form.
I wish you did.
I wish you would.
Intoxicated by the aroma of the past,
Incensed in innocence,
We both thought we needed to save each other.
Or were we just hallucinating?
Were we getting high on the fumes,
From our little hearts smoldering?
Or did it not hurt you,
When the flames began to spread?
I'm sick because I love that smell,
A smell that can ****
And I wanted it to.
Breathe in,
Forget the tears that put it out.
Breathe out,
Remember her glow in the light.
Breathe in,
Forget your new identity
Breath out,
Remember her touch in the dark.
I breathe in the smell of you,
And lose sense of me and mine.
My drug that opens all the wrong doors,
And shuts all the right ones.
So I'll take another drag if you want me to,
And you can watch how I writhe.
I don't mind being on fire,
Just go to hell with me.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
A different kind of cold settled
in them as they poured through the door
into the bleak grandiosity of the lobby.
A group of grievers:
Her ashen husband and their two daughters, 12 and 20,
Her two sisters dressed in black fleece
and Her mother with freshly bruised knees.
The night was agonizingly short once they arrived.
Prayer and hope for rehabilitation
between questions about resuscitation.
Her mother clung to the cruel Almighty
While Her husband clenched his fists at the chaplain.
A Stroke of an instant induced a transformation of lives
as Hers ended beneath the blinding fluorescence.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 4:03 AM UTC
When I was a child, I was told the story of my Grandfathers mother she was a refugee from mother Russia.
He told me that we were no longer considered white that is a luxury.
And we have become subhuman in most places.
We were either locked behind iron walls to be kept in or out.
He told me how they sacked and burned our villages.
Then they proceeded to chase us on horseback, with swords pointed too the distant future.
She was led to the nearest boat, headed towards The Land Of Opportunity.
At the island she was locked away for Tuberculose and possibly Lice
When leaving she refused to put an X for her name for obvious reasons.
So she signed ****
Years later I found out, she had opened a pawn shop down south.
In what now is the forth most segregated area in the states.
She sat outside with a shotgun in a rocking chair and windows barred.
when there King died.
Sadly, the last thing remembered by my Papa's mother including my family is a fist fight.
In Santa Barbra.
I saw the look of panic and pain on her despondent face.
At this point that look was a common occurrence in my day to day life.
Hence, the reason I wasn't allowed at the funeral.
I was locked away at another rehabilitation center.
For crimes I had of course never committed
Since then I have not laid any tulips or morning prayers.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
aggression must be denied.
****** Pol *** The Duke,
Kim Jong, Mugabe, Fidel Castro,
Saparmurat Niyazov,
the living bad the dead.
XiJinping
proudly announces in
November 2013,
the year of our lord,
they are doing away with
labor camps in China.
******** total,
renamed them
drug rehabilitation centers.
evil must be refuted.
who will call them out?
not us.
coming home from the opera,
some big **** SUV,
played chicken
with me.
I refused to let
him cut in the line.
He followed me
for ten blocks,
honking his *******
till he quit,
cause I would not give
the satisfaction of letting him
spit and sputter.
Took the woman home.
Went out looking for him.
searched hundred blocks.
found him, took out my jack.
(trust me I did not key his car).
when he saw what I had done,
I quoted him Verdi's Rigoletto:
He is crime, I am punishment.
you see opera ain't for *******
aggression must be denied
locally, before it becomes
a national treasure.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
"Papa. Read my the four little pigs and the BIG BAD POUF." With emphasis on the big bad "POUF", we begin the fascinating journey of the pigs and the rehabilitation of the "Pouf".
My granddaughter (age 2) loves the story and when ever we come to the Big Bad she says the "POUF" part. It rather sounds like a French pastry.
The fourth pig, as everyone knows, is Momma pig, she sent the defenseless little pigs out the door with a warning, "the BIG BAD "POUF" likes to eat little pigs." Seems to be a common malady of "Poufs" and Humans.
The BIG BAD "POUF", we are told, watched from the top of the hill where he lived. He was a considerate "Pouf"... letting the little pigs build their straw, sticks and bricks houses before offering to be a building inspector to test the strength of straw and sticks. The "Pouf" condemned the first two houses... huffing and puffing and all of that. All the hair on the little pigs chin could not stop the tinsel strength test performed by the Big Bad "Pouf".
Everyone knows that brick is stronger than straw and sticks but we have a Big Bad "POUF" that begs to differ. Consequently, he ends up in hot water, much like Humans who make bad decisions. Not the brightest and smartest choices made in Pig/"Pouf" Land. At least this pig did not put the lid on the *** and have "POUF" for lunch.
The "POUF" became a reformed "Pouf" staying on his hill top. No more Big Bad for him. Kind and gentle. A NEW "POUF"!
Now 60 years ago the Building Inspector in this story got into hot water and became the lunch of the brick house pig. The other two pigs became lunch of the "POUF" but I suppose I will not be telling that to my two year old any time soon.
There are many versions of the story. Things have changed over the years. The Three Little Pigs live happily ever after and the "Pouf" now stays up on the hill and is a GOOD BOY. Getting into hot water can be a life changing moment... provided the lid is NOT put on the kettle. Moral to this story... stay away from pigs who carry hammers, trowels and squares. Or. Don't be a blow hard.
(c) 02/14/2012 by John Stevens
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
Hi, my name is Black Rose
And I'm an addict.
I'm not here for rehabilitation
I have no fancy to cure my obsession.
I yield willingly to this terminal fixation
I brandish it brazenly for all humanity to bear witness.
I voluntarily surrender
To this sweet, seductive habit
I'm hopeless
But need no extrication.
Oh yes,
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******
My mind and
body cannot function
Without my daily fix
I live by having a drag
Every second
Day by day
My need goes stronger
I'm permanently light-headed
From the cloudy ecstacy
Constantly surrounding me
I'm in total delight
I'm in pure luxury
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******
I'm addicted to your love.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
If I was fine I wouldn't be going to the hospital 2 or 3 times a week,
If I was fine I wouldn't be going to physiotherapy,
If I was fine I wouldn't have hearing loss,
If I was fine I wouldn't have to wear on eyepatch every night,
If I was fine I would be able to concentrate for longer,
If I was fine my memory wouldn't let me down,
If I was fine it wouldn't take me twice as long to write work for college as it used to,
If I was fine tears wouldn't flow from just one eye,
If I was fine I wouldn't be going to rehabilitation,
If I was fine I would be living life like I used to but I'm not.
Stop saying I'm fine.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
Stick straight trees line hills, their arrangement phony
less than 5,000 feet in elevation but elevating humanity for over
sixty thousand.
For more than sixty thousand human beings,
think of fish stuck, are stampeded by shiny black
blocks of detonation.
Explosion for extraction, and teeny tiny port-o-potties
sit, enjoying relaxation where an ecosystem once
enjoyed rehabilitation after March.
We Marched on, up a gravel hill where wind
blew but we bolted our boots to the soil.
Sunglass-clad woman concealed her hurt eyes,
but her voice hurt enough to inspire a kind of
throat retching sensation.
***** up that black, ooey-gooey you old, weathered mountain top.
Explosives like a firm finger shoved down the throat
denote a rock spew; regurgitate and repeat a dozen times over.
Flatten and deform, never to reform
the water-giving, life-renewing, shady shelter, stable
stool, magic majesty of my mountain.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
I did not change my day in anyway because of God or any other sod who poked his nose into my business
I got more or less but usually ****** all from sanctities sat in some easy chairs in hardship hall and telling me how to behave,
or pointing me in some direction expecting rehabilitation and perfection.
I changed because of you alone and how you changed me,
how could one man be so blind with blinkered eyes and not see kindness,love and honesty, that shone from you and into me.
Oh
how simple it now seems when dreams come true and you are here
how easy to slip off that coat of nonchalance and fear and wrap my arms around the arms that wrap around a man like me.
This could be the reason why I want to fly,to float,to sing and shout and wave my hands about
this could be my making and I am yours,here for the taking,take me now and show me how to love you true,to be at one with you and we could be that harmony.
I was imprisoned but now I'm free
and now I see,
the plan designed for me
included you
and you
alone.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC