"remission" poems
I am sewing a dress
with the thread of strength,
And knots of ambitions,
And when it’s ready,
Then will iron it
with the remission,
I am sewing my broken soul!
By: Nida Mahmoed.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 6:47 AM UTC
I suffer from a disease
making me
never want to have ***********
with another man again.
Remission
is my love's last name.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC
I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.
I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.
I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.
I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.
I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.
I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.
I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
There are parts of you that make you who you are,
And parts that don’t.
Parts of you, that without them,
You don’t feel like you belong to the group you
Once associated with.
Having my ******* removed in order to enter remission
And beat breast cancer
Feels like my womanhood has been lost.
Flat chested takes on an entirely different meaning.
It’s crazy how I hear women
Wishing that their ******* weren’t so small
But they don’t know what it’s like
To have no ******* at all.
Or that they wish their hair was longer
When mine is the length of the guard
On an electric razor that my husband uses.
How does a man begin to love a woman
That has scars where her ******* should be?
The hair on my head has yet to grow back, even a little bit.
Reminding me only that I’m still a woman
Is the gift Mother Nature sends each month.
The cramps in my abdomen seem ten times less
Compared to heaving an empty stomach
Into a pan or toilet bowl next to me
After the chemicals have entered my system.
Throwing up from morning sickness
As my unborn child has just started to live
Told me that I was indeed a woman.
But now after she has grown and must
Watch her mother battle cancer,
Lose her hair, throw up nothing but emptiness,
And she still tells me that I’m the
Most beautiful woman on the planet.
How do I tell her that I feel like
An alien from Mars?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot
Pepsi
Virginia Slim
Three Musketeer
Long thick hair
Blue eyes
And a beautiful soul
Seven months had gone by
About 214 days
175 sick
The rest not to bad
Chemo took it's toll
Ran her down
Had her drained
Never wondered why me
Always kept a smile
Even when the battle was for her life
She been through so much
It's no surprise she never gave up
None of us knew
This was new to us
We took remission as a win
Fight over
No rematch
Mom raise your hands
A proven champion
Back to life
How it use to be
All smiles making plans
Had a follow up late November
Still remember her deep cleaning the day before
Not a spot untouched
No ***** clothes
Dinner cooked for two nights
Never one to have a purse so I remember thinking
Why is she carrying a bag
I never asked but I think she knew
The beast came back to life
Showing no mercy
Ran rapid through her body
Before I could ask
Her look gave me my answer
Chemo wasn't a option
Neither was praying to a God
Natural medicine and marijuana were useless
We all stood around confused and just as useless
She made it back home early December
Took a week but made her list
First year she didn't go so we went searching
Seen the hurt when she couldn't get out of bed on Christmas
Held on to see the year 2k
Ninety six hours later she closed her eyes one last time
My hasn't been dry since
Shorts
T-shirt
Flip flops or barefoot...
I love you mom
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
The melody of the strings of life
a substitution for the institution
take my arm, let it reach a far
in creativity and sensitivity
beats bouncing the zombies
from the graves of impotency
created by mundane manipulation
mutilations of the happiness we long
as we capture the tides of everyday
The harmony of the universal love
screaming with a tantalizing mission
a remission from the decay of the society
sugar coated with lengthy dices of lies
then iced with laces of illusionary secretions
tis' me who embrace the skin you wear
as we seek a new phase of revolution
solutions that are delusional and waking
rising through ever dense curved valley
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Snapchat me at 11 pm
Are you drunk for courage or for remission?
"I like you"
"You're beautiful"
"I want to **** you"
You say, "call me" and we talk until 3am because I think I like you too and mostly because I know, we know, we're both so lonely.
It seems like you only talk to me when you're drunk but my mind tells me it's better than being ignored, like after Halloween when you couldn’t look me in the eyes. I thought it was the kiss and I still don't know if you remember or if you just pretended to forget. I remember, because you don't forget cinnamon liquor - like your skin, warm and bright.
I left town last week and you snapchatted me saying you missed me, at 3am again, in my new bed. You're leaving in August and I'm scared. Because I'll miss you too.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:36 AM UTC
Crawl crawl
Burning through
Obsessions
Rotten stew
Crawl crawl
Through the pain
Remission
Is a joke
And life was a game
But is a remainder
of screwups and screwdowns
Crawl Crawl
Burning through
Possessions
Deadbeat crew
Crawl crawl
Forgotten stains
Permission
Is always denied
And rebuttals dumped
In trash cans full
of screwups and screwdowns
Drilling a hole
Finding geodes where a core was
Cold and dark and empty
Drilling a hole
Finding loneliness inside
It is who you are
Extinguished supernovae
Could have contained
And still the darkness would have stayed
Crawl crawl
burning through
your house of cards
melting all definitions
You're a screwup
Still alive
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
When Ebola’s fever begins to rage,
The prognosis isn’t nice,
Monoclonal antibodies
are needed from three mice.
The mice must first become exposed
to a weakened viral strain.
Their antibodies harvested
and combined with those of man.
Strangely the proteins that we need
are grown best in a ****
A modified tobacco plant
will do the job indeed.
The serum, that derives from plants,
had not had human trials.
(but eight of ten young chimpanzees
endorse what’s in that vial.)
Our missionaries, sick unto death
were clearly in no position
to refuse to try the medicine
that might provide remission.
Their rebound was miraculous.
To Atlanta now they fly.
Man finds himself in debt to a mouse.
“Good job, little guy!”
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
When will this suspicion
Go into remission?
Splitting like nuclear fission
Is their miserable mission
So they poke and ****
Claiming I'm a fraud
Thinking they're my god
Which seems kind of odd
Because they know so little
And I know so much
I play them like a fiddle
Then eat them for lunch
For when it comes to raging rhetoric
I prove myself to be the better *****
They turn suspicious
So I become vicious
And treat them like *******
Because all of their wishes
Are of being capable witches
So they can morph me into a frog
Maybe then I'll hope on their log
And live the limited life they want
But they'll always tease and taunt
So my sensitive secrets I'll flaunt
To disarm their negative notions
Yet that's a never ending ocean
We live in a world of suspicion
With a hatred ignition
We live in a world that's a prison
A world that's sad to envision
Where everyone's a guard
And everyone is charred
By the judge
Who throws sludge
At the fragile mirror
To make hatred clearer
We must break the lawyers' locks
And sell their suspicious stocks
For when we fear one another
We don't hear one another
Communication goes
Suspicion grows
That's the flow
While we sit in our vaults
Hoping that this halts
But it never stops
In a world of cops
A world that's continually turning
While suspicion keeps burning
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 4:47 AM UTC
Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.
Stage One.
The first time you appeared,
you filled my brain with affection,
that felt as if it were like oxygen,
a necessity for my survival.
You came on to me,
fast and overpowering,
feelings I hadn’t felt before,
you and only you is what I grasp onto.
I can’t eat but slowly you consume me.
Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.
Stage Two.
I like turns into I love,
my affection for you is growing like a sponge,
soaking up every bit you can give to me.
Little did I know you were a poisonous being,
embedding yourself into my brain you ***** wretch,
clouding my emotions by threading my prefrontal cortex with detrimental lies.
Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.
Stage Three.
The symptoms are there,
yelling loud and clear like an angry father,
when curfew wasn’t met.
My reality becomes evident when I see your hand in hers,
I become trapped in an ache that I can internally feel,
and that others can physically see in my figure.
I decide to cut you out like a surgeon
and try to mend the pieces that are severed.
Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.
Stage Four.
I try to heal but it seems to be no use,
the ache persists not only in my head,
but has spread to my heart.
My body is conquered by chemical reactions like chemotherapy,
trying to wipe out the memories we have created and disease you are to me.
But still my body, my soul is weak and fragile
like a dry leaf in autumn,
crumbling,
only after time will it be able to remise.
Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.
Remission.
You are vacant from me,
but you will always linger.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart.
a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission.
he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking.
his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back.
any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled.
he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts.
his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
I've felt the pain, I've held it in my hands.
I've wished it all away, I've prayed for life and death.
I've caressed the bruising, the bleeding, the burning inside.
Sometimes I wish for dying, other I'd give anything to feel alive.
Breathing in becomes a chore, is there something wrong with not wanting to be in pain anymore?
Leukiemia. You are the monster under my bed. You're the evil voices that echo in my head. You're the scraped knee that just won't heal, the love I cannot feel.
You've torn me down. You've made me question my faith. But there's something you didn't know, you've also made me better. You've made me stronger. To feel the pain of a human being is a ************* honor! You try to destroy me, inside and out, one strike, two strike, I'm out. What you don't know leukemia, is I have no plans to let you win, you entered my body when I didn't want to let you in, but I'll fight until you're out, every day if I must. Remission isn't an option. It's a must.
Riah
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Marooned in the island of loneliness
Shadows of delusion confront her
In a stormy sea, she got ship wrecked
And the sea had robbed everything from her
What unanticipated change comes over
When people let one down
What shocking realization it is
To know that there is nobody to care
She is now a drying brook
That has once been a river in spate
A deflated balloon, unable to soar high
A blind bird that cannot see a dawn
Nor sing a song to wake the sleeping world
She bears scars like deep cuts
On an ill maintained tarmac road
Vacantly she looks into the far horizon
When broken shards of moonlight
Paint pictures of dark demons around her
She screams in silence for someone
To come to her rescue, to lift her up
As a bird that with nightfall returns
To a tree to call out its solitude to the stars
She sits there alone, terribly alone,
Not knowing to whom she should call out!
Will the stars keep her company?
Tomorrow when another day of uncertainty breaks out
She wonders if she should wake up and greet the dawn
With the hope that her pain would go into remission
And her frozen inside would thaw by itself in time
Or end her life as soundless, as inconsequential
As a droplet let down from a blade of grass!
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC
***looking for my savior to undo me
under the rubble of victims remission
my chained heart nailed to a cross
lust'd sheets beneath the ***** streets
crucify myself lookin' for imprinted adoration
little earthquakes of my soul unload'd
save me from myself and these blood tears
my heart thunders like a roller coaster ride,
struggle to captivate your poetic prowess
never good enough to leave my impassioned stain
severe'd connections in feeble breath's wake
washed away in torrents within ocean's depth
castles crumble in the chaos of my mindless muse***
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
Lighten this part
With the brighter visions
Call on healing
Pain into remission
What you could gain
Strikes hope into
The heart of the sun
This boat
Once a ship of sorrow
Will land on a beach tomorrow
And it's vacation
Hopes creation
Those tears of solitude, you thought
to sink your boat
But instead you cried off the deck
So they kept you afloat
And the sun above, caressing your face...
Enveloping love, shining embrace
As angels cut their wings
We see them fall with a purpose
They wish not to fly any longer
But to swim alongside you on this journey
Because in school, I was taught
To care
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
a
malignant cancer grows inside this test
tube today in longing abundance escaping
with our humanity equally adherent to this
cause of death in ***** where theater
diametrically opposed will cherish it again
with leprosy approx sort of this vacation
that's well in remission with heredity again.
.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
drinking the red wine bottle
that you had forgot and left behind.
my olfactory bulb at an aglow
you’re
the Edison of my sense,
a Tesla to my mind’s currents.
a solemn sacrament
and communion of us.
remembrance and remission
of our deeds, with
the transfusion of you
into me
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Now I lay me down to sleep. It is near 2:00 P.M,Pacific time.
I pray the Lord my sleep to keep. Been tossing and turning a lot lately.
If I should Dream before I wake. No March Hares if you please.
I pray the lord my twitch to take. Restless leg syndrome.
Goodnight Insomniacs.
Late night surfers.
Medicated Jitterbugs.
Jet-lagged Travelers.
Partners of snoring bed mates. With or without earplugs.
Late night ruminators.
Wanna be fornicators.
See ya later Nocturnal alligators.
Inspiration is but a breath away.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
The fragility of the heart is the closest certainty I know
I used to think a broken heart was a hyperbola
give a description of your remission
the loudest sound of all love unspoken
yet we always hear the sound of love broken
and if you repair something broken
it is never the same even if the flaws are never seen
the more it breaks the harder it will be to pawn off as being in perfect condition
if you sew up an incision you will most likely see a scar
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
*springtime colours to come sliding in soon
do psyched answers lie in tea-leaves or spider’s crawl?*
stacked flood-gates may render sight unwaxed
running headlong with rib-cage open . . .
*perhaps remission lands on tattoo’d bravado
inverse-faced yields paxity . . . dolce-lento*
S T, wens-day 28 aug
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
Amid the morning traversal
Isolated movement in peripheral optics
Flashing visions caught my attention
and passed so fast, then behind my back
This contrast casts playful blasts
Wondrous attacks upon question
But the sights ****** with me,
in a scarring way
like cutting into me
these incisions intent
Almost as if she's demanding me to prefigure
to anticipate her resolve in steps ready
Trap and trace her shadowy inhibition
An illusory female in swift glided mission
She wouldn't be paying me attention
If she didn't want me to see her
in an apparitions condition
Back and forth between ups and downs
Omission transmits imagination,
on repeat
As she comes and goes
Appears and disappears
In a childlike hide and seek
Transition to remission
My jaunting disposition was put to shame
While trying to chase and catch
This, her silhouetted composition
All the silent while
I cursed blame on my beloved,
for coming so close to smell her
but not letting me hold her
But in real time
She kept reclusive
in a remote wood...
So many days without
I would long and ache
While her abilities are endlessly innate
As determination continues to persevere
She is alive, just away
out there
This figure I imagine is only that
My need to see her presence is a desperate one
Creating her graceful body in modes of bliss
Any way shape or form these divine bits
Her transparency I am offered
Only it's the tangible I am wanting
Her actual body and hair and hillside profile
My style is my struggle
As is this continual desire
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
(Aye.., I wanna be free3)..I (wanna be free2)..I wanna be free,..(aye..I wanna be freed 2)..(Aye ..I wanna live free2)..(I wanna be freed, 3) from all of this pain mane..(Aye I wanna be free2)..mane this world is insane,..(Aye I wanna live free3)..from all of the grieve mane..(Aye I wanna be freed3), emancipated,... Aye,Man
How does it feels to be free,.Aye, I wanna know How does it feels to live free, Aye I wanna be free..Aye, How does it feels to be free,.Aye,..I wanna know How does it feels to live free, Could somebody answer me please.., Instead of passing by me mane,..Aye,They just keep on ignoring me, & Its so annoying to me,..because they are the ones that need my help the most,They need me more than I need them mane,..Aye..How does it feels to be free,.Aye,.I wanna know How does it feels to live free, can yall please stop walking over me mane,..I wanna know How does it feels to be free,.Aye,,
Can somebody please tell me How does it feels to live free,. Because I really wanna know mane..How does it feels to be free,.Aye,How does it feels to live free mane I guess I can only get the best answer from my king Jah ,..Aye
How does it feels to be free,.Aye,How does it feels to live free,Yo that's a good question that would probably never be answered because we all are under mind control by the CIA ,..MK ULTRA, Aye
If I can't be freed then Imma start alot of chaos mane..
If I can't be freed then Imma start madness right away..If I can't be freed then Imma just lead the way for the next generation..Aye,..If I can't be freed then Imma just emancipate myself mane,..It's time to Prison Break,..Aye I wanna be free..(from all the hate2)..(I wanna live free,2)..(from all this pain2)..I wanna be free Prison Break..(I wanna be free..I wanna be freed2)..no matter how many lustful thoughts enter my mind mane, no I won't let these demons confuse me, No way..
Imma stay having hope..Imma stay having faith..Imma stay praying above mane for changes to come into effect in this evil sick crazy world mane,..I can't let the thoughts of not having what I want curropt me, I won't let all of my depression upset me,..I'm sailing all of my pain away,..I'm sailing all of my anger out too mane,..I'm breaking free from every single generational cursed that Satan has place on my me & family,..I'm being me, myself , & I & I'm breaking free, Aye...
I know that the government has been chasing me, but noo I ain't afraid of a good challenge mane..The Illuminati can't have my soul Noo way, These jeaslous people can't have my body..Noo,Noo, mane.. I'm playing a solo game, aye, & I'm steady finding my way, Aye..I'm in the dark homie, but I'm using my spirit to see, Yeah my spirit shines so bright in me,..I think that's just the Holy spirit mane, I always gotta give my praises up to the Heavenly,.. & stump down on Satan mane,
I'm on a mission, I'm emissioning all of this realness, To remission all of the darkness, Aye, no Batman No part time, Noo I won't clock out..I'm saving all of my brothers & sisters that's soul less, Yeah They can & will get their souls back because Imma fight & Imma make sure of that,..Aye,..can somebody please let me know something.., before I start shooting,. Aye..
Young Ston Poet, I wanna be freed mane..
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
I had coffee at my lips
And good intentions with you
You had passion as fingertips
And a slow withering heart
I'm falling in love with you
Life is setting the punchline
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC