"sicknesses" poems
PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
Tied up because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of ****** or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think
any
more'
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Your fingers are on my throat
the world is rocking like a boat
an ocean
is unbearable
because it never seems to end
and all I can do is float
Your lips are rosebuds that never stop moving
and somehow I find my own disgust soothing
my fingertips
are numb
whenever I lose myself to the waves
but you're deaf so I'm unsure what I'm proving
Your move was the deadly spawn of knight
I sacrificed my pawn, paralyzed by fright
we will protect
the king
from sicknesses like you, *******
Checkmate. I never lose a single fight.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
I'm like a pill,
Because if you swallow my well-being,
You will be relieved of your worries, sicknesses, and ailments,
But too much of anything isn't beneficial for any of us,
And too much of me
Could leave your tongue escaping from your mouth,
And the irises of your eyes attempting to meet your brain,
Which is why you should take me
Within considerate reason,
And not take me for granted.
Swallow me whole,
Wash away your pride,
Feelings of me running deep inside you.
I swallow you,
I swallow you whole,
I swallow you down.
You are the perfect pill for my ills.
I can see the comely contents of your character
Labeled on a container,
And as soon as it becomes empty,
You will see me rushing
To get a refill of your grace.
Ever since you were prescribed to me on May 13th,
I've never listened to my doctors
Who assume to know
What is best for me.
I consume that dear, special, deep word
Like a space cadet of an overdose.
I need you within my reach,
I need your relief,
I need your reassurance,
I need you to care..
But what I need the most of from you,
Is your affection.
Originally written 7/2/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
XVI. TO ASCLEPIUS (5 lines)
(ll. 1-4) I begin to sing of Asclepius, son of Apollo and healer
of sicknesses. In the Dotian plain fair Coronis, daughter of
King Phlegyas, bare him, a great joy to men, a soother of cruel
pangs.
(l. 5) And so hail to you, lord: in my song I make my prayer to
thee!
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Do you realize that races are overrated,
since God is no respecter of persons?
Colored perceptions of hatred and bigotry
may ultimately destroy our existence.
Who needs people that:
• Lack brotherly love and respect for others
• Lust for power, wealth and **********
• Lack vision and purpose
• Lack maturity and wisdom
• Have attitudes of superiority
• Are poor in spirit
• Lack discipline and self-control
Colored attitudes, regarding skin tones and hues,
pale in contrast to uncontrolled emotions.
Without responsibility and accountability,
people get themselves in trouble rather quickly.
Who really wants or needs:
• Red’s lustful, passion for someone other than your spouse?
• or Green’s destructional envy of others’ wealth or possessions?
• or Yellow’s fear, smelling of ***** from peeing ourselves?
• or White’s collection of powdered deaths?
• or Blue’s inner sadness or coldness towards others?
• or Brown’s poverty, shame and overall uncleanness?
• or Orange steadfastness for a Godless life?
• or Purple’s smugness from a self-conceived ideal of royalty?
• or Black’s foreboding sicknesses and death?
Our human collective needs to find real commonality,
within this brotherhood of man, as planetary stewards.
Under girded with a genuineness of concern and love,
true understanding can lead to harmonious relationships.
We all have the ability to commune with God’s Spirit;
however, we each must have a desire to do so.
Utopia may be unattainable, unlike… unity of community.
And yes, I forgive you, for thinking I might be racist.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Acts 10: 34; Gal 2: 6; Deut 10: 17; 1 Pet 1: 17
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http: //www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC
It's always good to be a rock
Incapable of being influenced by anything you might
Encounter and shy away from only to explore later on
From all the sicknesses and worries that plague so many
Minds at present
But so-called rocks are liars.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
*Their voices echo along the threads of time
I read their works on tattered pages
They say their words did but rhyme
Their's were for inspiration,not wages
They told stories like real witnesses
Of agonizing times and sicknesses
The soldiers of their sweet narrations
They say rode on horses of generations
Triumphant over the trend, glorious
Shooting arrows past lineages,like warriors
They fought against pride and Prejudice
Across boundaries, winged like Pegasus
They flew to bring merit of words and lines
And stood the test of time like wild pines
They used sharp words instead of swords
Only received rejection ,sometimes nods
Walked long distances,endured perspiration
Sleepless ,so to cultivate some inspiration
They were young but with mature souls
Their relentless effort vividly like Moles
Burrowed through even hardened hearts
And with needles of kindness stitched cuts
Finely weaved justice on paper like Mats
And spread it for the world,across all parts
When speech was hated and persecuted
They stood strong and instead recruited
The course of changes threatened to slay
Erosion corroded letters worse than clay
Their beautiful hearts where kindness lay
Were battered and butchered causing hope to decay
A season came when all was but a lost cause
And were tales of how once upon a time it was
Yet again like a phoenix someday they rose
From the ashes of history, how? Nobody knows
They were stronger and mightier than mortals
And travelled through un fathomed portals
They built a very powerful mental kingdom
Above the prestigious tower of wisdom
Where they reigned like the fires on doom at Mordor
Freed so many prisoners of their situations
Across the entire universe and her nations
Gave them keys so they unlock more doors
Stanzas crawled like maggots across all avenues
With mixed feelings the world received the news
Though were skewed to embracing the return
Because for once they saw a flame of peace burn
Their tears were wiped by every piece they read
Poets let them realize war wasn't only in their head
Reason flowed like waters in fountains and streams
Readers believed once again in their dreams
And like poetry and poets they didn't sit back and cry
Every poem they read,sad or not told them to get up and try
And when they finally got victory over their inner strife
Not even once did they forget poems changed their life*
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poor:
With thee
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did begin:
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst so punish sin,
That I became
Most thin.
With thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victory:
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
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"Although
many of us consider black to be a color, black is actually
defined as the absence of color, hence, Darkness is a place which is the
absence of the FATHER's Light." - Peter R Farley - Where Were You
Before The Tree Of Life - The True History of The Darkness and The Light
It is close to being headless, to be without a father
and how and where do we investigate who or what the responsible force
is?...
It is simply a recurring method, divide and rule
Here in the matrix you have black, brown, white and yellow races
in some places not made famous you have orange and red and blue races
So what is colour? The texture of light perhaps
So then, what is black?
Nothing, void. So then how does one refer to a whole race as nothing?
it's really simple, where there is nothing there has to be something
so the something is revered and valued as significant
and what about the nothing? Well the nothing will be made to serve the
something
But was is not from the void that worlds were created? From thought, now
thought an important factor for the nothing would be denigrated to such
an extent as to not be able to think
so from this comes an inferior race and a supercilious race
Not to blame the supercilious race for it too was manipulated into
having high esteem -
so where are the parents?
You find a black and a white wrestling unconcious of the fact that they
could consciously be cousins
In simple terms, if we are all Light then we stem from the same tree
however with polarization or dualty find we lower degree
and this state imprisons us to hate one another for one reason or the
other
And it is within memory that black and white races have been fighting
for millenia
With this, both races would boast a pride and a willingness to defend
one's culture at all costs
But then as children when do we grow and gather the gods in one room to
hear their views and differences?
When will we rise above demographics to save the human race?
and beyond other races being exploited throughout the galaxies
What would we learn if these members of Councils and Houses were
gathered in one room?
Would we learn that this universe is not perfect?
But then what is perfection?
Hyperthetically, an idea of supremacy and completeness which sets the
standards that all things and people should conform to... That is, as
far as the powers define
It is a responsibility to search within our hearts for what is true and eternal
It is a choice we make to be continually affected by the sicknesses of society
It is a voluntary action to uplift the houses that govern however sincere and well-meaning they may appear
however promises are never kept and human beings taken for granted
It is a soul's obligation to yearn for its liberty such that we too, as Ascended Masters, can graduate and become Renaissance Man.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Roadways have flayed greyed arteries
Into the greenaries of the land.
A kingdom of metallic cities,
An empire built upon shifting sands.
And bombs stain the badlands
In dusty countries far ashore.
It is a time for distractive actions
And a constant state of war.
But what a dull reality!
To focus on the undulations,
The consequences of being free,
The purge of the weaker nations.
For life can be easy
If you live through glossy pages.
The life and lies of a celebrity;
The superficial ages.
A sorry state for families
Who talk only about the weather
And other temporal pleasantries,
On their proud suites made of leather.
Oh, what a poor affair!
Caring more for the clouds above,
Than the climates of our world-weary hearts,
and for all the ones we love.
And lo, we're careless and carefree
for all that does not appear on screen.
They'd gush over some royal baby,
But not pine over the unseen.
Our modern sicknesses
Are conjured and conceited too.
For what value is there in compassion,
If oneself is feeling blue?
Does charity begin at home?
You once said it does nothing at all.
But is home solely what you own,
In a world so close and so small?
These questions are silent,
But they are asked in the thousands.
By all those that are used to deaf ears,
Across all oceans and lands.
To the soft-hearted I call thee,
To not be so stilled and so dampened.
By the weight of the majority,
the crowds of the minds unopened.
And to myself I hope,
That we shall meet dear reader.
Above your recitation of my words,
To something more real,
To something much clearer.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
White Interceptors illuminate, cry, and leave ribbons of red and blue,
accelerating north on Featherbed. Streetlamps hang like midnight ornaments.
It starts to rain, turning the tar streets into slick mirrors.
I can see my lights lead me, sweeping the asphalt.
Kent is still too dangerous to gentrify. The trashcans are spilling
cereal boxes and empty two liters. I imagine a two-thousand year-old
mountain of trash, corroding and forming this neighborhood.
Barefoot children walk around aluminum cakes, reaching for the rain.
Skinny cats trot across the street, green and yellow eyes,
leaking through the dark. I name them after sicknesses.
The humming of my Camry grows louder as I squeeze by
dripping, patting hands. I now recognize the moon.
Buildings swoosh by faster and faster. Minutes go by and I
find myself on the outskirts; the trees sway, dodging rain.
My phone rings like a frenzied roach. Picking it up,
'Hello.'
'Sure. Yeah, I'll be right there.
'Nowhere.
'I'm going nowhere.'
The phone bounces on the grey seat. A screeching.
Coming to a stop; my chest almost touching the center
of the steering wheel. All becomes still.
A buck with velvet antlers stands in the rain.
It runs into the dancing forest. Much like me.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
We are who we are, because of what they are.
The need to be perfect. The need to be thin, skinny, beautiful and popular. The need to be in control. Self-destruction our only friend. Anorexia, bulimia, and ednos, our sicknesses. Self harm - the only way we know how to control our pain. Suicide... The the only way we see as a means to escape. **** molestation and abuse filled our sick childhoods and now we all pay the price for it. We pay with the blood from our veins, the ***** from our stomach's, the tears from our eyes... We pay for their crimes until we are empty and can not give any more.
We are what we are, because of what they are. And we scream out for help. We cry for forgiveness. We do anything we can to beg for mercy and yet, no one answers. So we cut, and we starve, and we purge until we have withered away to nothing but scarred up bones. Just empty shells of the kids we used to be... And still they don't notice. So we try to **** the pain inside... Over dose. Hanging. Gunshot. Slit wrists.
And then... they notice... But for us, it's already too late. They made us who we are. Whether or not we succeeded, we are already dead inside.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
i have so much love in me and around me
it is impossible to bathe in anything else like
a ****** resentment or an unlimited reservation of sadness
even though those sicknesses are okay and are always curable,
i feel too alive and sure of myself to cough up a loogie of ill-peace
how can I not be okay - right now?
is there a way to prove myself otherwise?
always - we are
HERE
and nowhere else
if only we'd just take a step back and take a look at the illusions
of past or future we've been rolling around in
those are just stories!
and the essence of who we are is not replicated from any external judgement
because a judgement is just another illusional story
that pries into our belief that we will not make it through another day.
but you can, and i can
and you deserve love and i deserve love
and if you take a step back and really look at where you are,
you will see that
you are okay right now too.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
I used to believe that we couldn't get any closer
than a doctor - patient relationship
Cause everytime you'd come to me
you'd always ask for a diagnosis
I'd ask for your symptoms, check your pulse
your temperature, even your recent meals
then you'd tell me about your recent pains
your heartaches, cramps, and muscle strains
Little did you know than I wanted more
than stories about sicknesses that deters you
Like your favorite color, favorite fruit
favorite band... stories you never told me
I hoped to be more than just your doctor
a person that just cares for your well being
I care more than the sicknesses that bother you
I wish you could trust me more
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
When I gave up, I pretty much just stopped, like two feet firmly planted into quicksand. I just stopped.
When I could no longer take a step, I just let my arms fall down to my side, fingers spread and just sighed.
Chin tucked to my chest, an even breath, then a scream that only echoed on the inside.
When I stopped screaming, I was still sinking and the crushing absence of movement made me bold. I struggled and I flailed but to no avail did I become free from the quicksands hold.
Within reach of my fingertips was a ghostly branch, from a tree that had weathered sicknesses untold. But still that tree reached out for me and as I took hold of it's ghastly brittle fingers, and even now in my mind it lingers, I took that tree out by the roots to sink in cahoots beside me, lingering in this quicksand.
I immediately apologised profusely to the tree that now sinks beside me.
The tree answered back, no, please it was I that lacked the fortitude to save thee.
Oh no! I thought, it was my troubled mind that led me to sink so deep, it was me who should weep quicksand tears for the tree who fell for me so blindly!
So me, and the tree, used each other, you see, one to stay afloat and the other to lay down finally,
to hold another up kindly.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
We should have learned
I can get hurt to
I am not immune to these waves of emotion
Utterly lost self control
A simple text
I was taken
Now I have an ex
An O is left in my chest
It's the piece you took
And you left me nothing to replace that
Which is in great fact
The reason I love you
And in that reason I've lost you in a pitiful way
Susceptible to the sicknesses
And that's crazy
Baby baby baby
Maybe if I didn't show as much affection
Gave you protection
Or let all things be free
But change this I can do
It hurts because it's real
Or naivety tool me for a spin
Left me in a dizzy spell
Casters magic
To a witch I know wasn't at first wicked
To the naivety you exposed with a condescending nature
I stay and remain to pace around
And its amazing to how I can reference you to everything
It's my fault for not understanding
And your fault for not accepting
Either or this chore was something your effort wasn't given
Or gave up on
That " I love you" isn't for me or anyone
You don't think I know I know what you done
Hearts collect
In a barren basement
The minds making
Where trinkets dangle
And you bare your fangs
So even if the all wasn't enough
My loving apparatus has a crack
Of all the pressure
Where your ghost haunts my memories
With the centipede nest
Followed by the butterfly of death
Or a sheet of white flower
To the relevance of every poem that's to pretty young and dumb
All the words I slew from my lips
And your acid tears
This will of addiction
With your art of rejection
This forever flu
62 cuts at negative two degrees
Is why I still love you
Just not in love with you
Eccentric
Visions
******
Merry Christmas Eve
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
you exhaust me
in the morning
where sunlit window is in
terrible defense
empathy is an open house
come on in, patients
you've got the front door
as sicknesses seep to me
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
1 Who has believed what we have heard?
And who has the arm of the LORD been revealed to?
2 He grew up before Him like a young plant
and like a root out of dry ground.
He didn’t have an impressive form
or majesty that we should look at Him,
no appearance that we should desire Him.
3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of suffering who knew what sickness was.
He was like someone people turned away from;
He was despised, and we didn’t value Him.
4 Yet He Himself bore our sicknesses,
and He carried our pains;
but we in turn regarded Him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
5 But He was pierced because of our transgressions,
crushed because of our iniquities;
punishment for our peace was on Him,
and we are healed by His wounds.
6 We all went astray like sheep;
we all have turned to our own way;
and the LORD has punished Him
for3 the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet He did not open His mouth.
Like a lamb led to the slaughter
and like a sheep silent before her shearers,
He did not open His mouth.
8 He was taken away because of oppression and judgment;
and who considered His fate?
For He was cut off from the land of the living;
He was struck because of my people’s rebellion.
9 They5 made His grave with the wicked
and with a rich man at His death,
although He had done no violence
and had not spoken deceitfully.
10 Yet the LORD was pleased to crush Him severely.
When You make Him a * restitution offering,
He will see His * seed, He will prolong His days,
and by His hand, the LORD’s pleasure will be accomplished.
11 He will see it out of His anguish,
and He will be satisfied with His knowledge.
My righteous Servant will justify many,
and He will carry their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will give Him the many as a portion,
and He will receive the mighty as spoil,
because He submitted Himself to death,
and was counted among the rebels;
yet He bore the sin of many
and interceded for the rebels.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
I came to a place to find you
I came to a place to love you
I came to a place to accept you
My pastor taught your Word
My pastor preached your message
My pastor spoke your revelation
When He spoke…I heard you
I then found you
I came before you in your presence
I came before you and worshipped your name
You healed me of my pain
You healed me of my distress
You healed me of my sicknesses
You’ve gotten me through the test
With you I conquered over Satan
With you I conquered over Evil
With you I conquered darkness in my mind
With you I conquered through it all
Now thanks to you I have a clear and sound mind
I became victorious
I became a conquerer
I became a winner
With a joyful and humble heart
I became a child of God
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 4:29 AM UTC
Another sweet dream stolen from me
the morning bare no sympathy
Each day i awake the same
Not eager at all to play this game
A happy face I'm told to wear
I brush my teeth and comb my hair
Longing to return to my paradise
For Even just one last hour would be safice
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
The past
Such a funny place to pay a visit
Also a scaring Heaven
travelling to it through pictures
Through diaries
Through experiences and conversations.
Wondering if today is that future
We were dreaming,
Planning and sharing
In the past.
An escortion to the past
Take us to the tears
Our unconguerd fears
Promises shared
Love felt
Friends we have left
Lessons failed to learn
And those learned
Mistakes made
Heart breaks
Joy that had faded
Repented pain
Smiles and broken fate
Sicknesses won
Our dead ones, our efforts couldn't save.
The cheers, the quarrels
Broken Commitments and understandings
The peace, the unrest
Sweet dreams, nightmares
Snub, ego and abused meekness
Hymns, dances and sadness
Lies discovered, truth untold
Folks turned foes, treasures sold
Hatred bared, relationships mismanaged
Sins forgiven
And those too hard to be forgotten
Loses and Crisis
Celebration that had ended
Glory that has been blinded
That giant step
That right choice
The chance
That luck
A great victory
records made, glorious history.
The rise, the fall
The frowns, the fun
Dews and twinkling sun
All in all
Travelling to the past
Is an adventure of mix feelings
Sour and sweet memories
Drilling and refreshing
Since it's where we are all coming from
It's a place we can't foregone
A place not too healthy to dwell
But a place we should always go to learn.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC