"trimester" poems
The excursion of a mother commences when she EMBRACES the child as a boon,
A life long relevance emanated from your WOMB..
To enter into this wicked world i took a gap ,
To comprehend the despicable i stayed in your lap....
I ****** her blood, changed her appetite
I was no more than a PARASITE
She supplied me TONES of calcium
All my skeleton , all my FLESH she owns
She ENDURED those mood swings ,
Nausea, vomiting that i brought
He was expecting his heredity, his PRIDE
She was HAPPY that i exist,
She loved me from very start
I stole her breathe , but she embraced my heart......
From 1st trimester, because of her my heart is BEATING
If i didn't love her back that would be a CHEATING
A sense of TRUST that can't be broken ,
A depth of love sometimes UNSPOKEN....
You SACRIFICED yourself to evolve me like our heart as ONE ,,,,
A link that can never be UNDONE...
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 11:43 AM UTC
During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum. My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity. And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
his mother woke up
on the day that she found him
and started her day
with tea and toast
on the first morning
that she went to the doctors
for her first scan
because she felt sick
she had no tea and toast
the first time she
slept at the fathers house
the next morning he made up
tea and toast
the first trimester
her cravings got strong
and she did nothing but ate
tea and toast
the day after birth
she cradled his head
and sang him a song
whilst she ate tea and toast
the day of the crash
his dad stayed overnight
and in the hospital cafe
he ate tea and toast
the day it turned off
father did nothing but cry
so he didnt have time
for tea and toast
as he grew up
his father found out
that he wasnt too fond
of tea and toast
when father lost his senses
he would sit up and wait
every morning and feed him
more tea and toast
the day of the funeral
he was so stuck
the only thing he could do
was eat tea and toast
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Impregnated with uncertainty
Long overdue
Waiting on opportunity
My patience is subdued
Attempted abortions
With 4th trimester distortions
Stillbirth ensues
Screams inside the sirens
Struck with hospitalization
Bedridden doormen
Realization…
The time arrives
With labor pains
And liberation pangs
I cut the umbilical chains
Only a piece of me remains
I feel the guarantee
The time is now
I feel parturiency…
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
I don't need drugs. My brain is drugs.
Maybe it's a side effect of a mother that dropped acid for the first trimester of pregnancy and then some.
Maybe it's a side effect of the abusive step father that told me I would never amount to anything and that I am ********
My brain processes things at about a hundred miles per hour. In conversations I am always three steps ahead of what ever was said last. I make connections in things that are unconnected.
They tell me this is adult ADHD. They tell me I should be proscribed a pill to help my brain focus.
But focus isn't what I want. Nor is the drowsiness that comes with Lorazepam, the fog that goes with Prozac. I have been separately proscribed these things without ever filling the bottles.
But I fear that if I fix all my chemical imbalances, my medical maladies, that I will disappear into a fog.
Who am I without my OCD, without my brain over processing, over loving, over caring. Without the pain in my chest from another panic, my bouncing off the walls and singing to myself.
Maybe I am unwell.
But who am I without my unwellness?
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
so you call yourself pro-life
okay, I guess I can pretend to respect that
which then means that you must also
respect the fact that I am very loudly pro-choice
and thanks to science
I know that a bundle of cells
and a living child are not the same thing
because an actual fetus is not fully formed
until the third trimester
and by fully formed I mean that it is
for all intents and purpose alive
but before that
there is nothing but a group of cells
there is no brain
no heart
not even pearly pink fingernails
so now what, huh?
you’re probably going to keep protesting
Planned Parenthood and harassing the people
that work there, right?
because all that Planned Parenthood does
is condone the vicious and inhumane ******
of defenseless, unborn children, right?
right?
either way, you don’t care about the child
once they’re born
all that you care about is making a woman
and other individuals who have a ******
carry this thing that is literally feeding off of them
and why should a child be brought into this world
if the circumstances through which it was
conceived are non-consensual?
because, if you really did care
if you really were “pro-life”
then you would care about the child
after it is born
or better yet
you could turn your attention and time and money
and anger to all the millions of orphans living
in the US
ya know, the living children?
with no homes?
with no parents?
packed like sardines in orphanages?
what about them?
do they not matter because they are not a group
of cells, and therefore not defenseless?
and therefore they do not matter?
because,
if you only care about that bundle of cells
and because some states actually make women
and those with uteruses
have funerals for the aborted “child”
then by default whenever a man
masturbates and then **********
shouldn’t he be made to have a separate
funeral for each of the thousands of children
that he just killed?
because one of them could have cured cancer, ******
and tell me
when I was still menstruating
should I have said “amen”
over all the potential children that bled out
of my body and into the pad
and the sides of my boxers?
should I have
said “grace” over all the
little pad mummies that I threw away?
should I have cried when I flushed
the ****** toilet paper?
because,
since I have a ******
how dare I want and feel as if I should
be owed control over my own body, right?
how dare I believe that
each and every woman
biological and otherwise
have a say in what they do with their body
how dare I be pro-choice, right?
well, let me knock you down
a few pegs with this closing statement:
if you only care about the “child” when it is
just a group of cells that doesn’t feel a **** thing
and couldn’t care less about it
once it is born
and homeless
or an orphan
or queer
then you are not “pro-life”
what you are
is an *******
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
You always burn me
I never even turned the heat up once
But you kept burning me
Why do you burn me so much?
I never wanted to be the victim of this
I never instigated an Agni Kai match between anyone
But your flames still ignite my soul
Not in the other ways I've experienced
But this is far from the abnormal
Every day i think about why they burn me
I'm never going to stop
Being who i am
For something so meager in statements
I will not be punctual for your cut downs
I will only be punctual for others who deserve it and for myself
This is the next trimester and i'm giving birth to my new breath of fresh air
Go ahead and try to rampage my cities, but you will be sequestered and tranquilized
Sent back into the ocean
Where you belong
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
Joey Comeau
Writes things I sometimes don't understand
They're like little bones in a tiny
Bat skeleton
I don't know what they mean
Or what they do
Or how they fit in the whole scheme of things
But they make me feel powerful
And that's mostly good
Joey writes sentences that start with
"I want to"
And end with things like
"Break into an old lady's house and tell her I am the FBI"
He writes sentences that make me think
Of all the things I want to do
I want to crash my private helicopter
Into the side of a mountain
But escape just in time
I want to write like Joey
Simple sentences that hold the world in their hands
And crush it a little
Just because
Stephen King
Writes books that sometimes scare me
Right back to the second trimester
Right back to fetal position in the womb
But he tells the stories so well
The actions are so true
I believe them all
And I know I'd never be the hero in a horror story
(I'll be dead in the first twenty minutes of the film)
But I get excited at the prospect of reading
Because it requires less running on my part
Stephen wrote of his drug addiction
And his mom's cancer
And his ****** jobs
And his alcoholism
And his multiple failures before his success
And his loving wife
And it made me think
That even though I'm an itty bitty little person
With but one life to give for this universe
Maybe, just maybe
I can make it
In some scheme of things
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
Both parents together, intimate we know,
Delivered the package that started your show.
Millions of visitors, with every shot,
Only one found its way, into the right spot.
Grow and divide, a zygote you be,
Doing it right, someday strong like a tree.
Living inside mom's uterine wall,
Totally dependent, make sure she won't fall.
Placenta forms encasing the egg,
If its a girl, her name will be Peg.
Umbilical cord forms from placenta to me,
A network of vessels carry nutrients to thee.
Things all in place, first trimester is done,
Growing and listening and having some fun!
Learning the sound of moms beating heart,
Already in the family, now playing your part.
Rhythmic and soothing, loving the sound,
Moms gentle voice, you will always be bound.
To answer her call, even late at night,
When her voice is silenced, its a terrible plight.
Amniotic fluid helps you float around,
Spot feels babies presence, you first here his sound.
The water has burst, head against bone,
Mom you ok? I'm hearing you grown.
Stop squeezing my head this is causing me pain!
What's up with this pushing, muscles spasm again.
Turn off the lights, this stimulation can wait,
Getting me warm, this feeling is great.
Hello there new person, I give you my heart,
Hi mother mine, hope we're never apart.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
little yellow teeth
stained by years of coffee and cigarettes
layered like sedimentary rock
wire brush mustache
on a face that betrays his years
a reflection of a potential that went unrealized
such an angry man
even his words are burdened
with equal parts guilt and rage
"do as I say kid"
"because I said so"
he must view himself a tough, strong man
despite being an upper middle aged diabetic
possessing a physique
that calls to mind a woman in her third trimester
his bitterness, his depression, his emptiness
permeated every layer of life
imagine a son
who grew up confused, frightened
not knowing when, how, or why
a display of aggression would occur
wildly disproportionate to whatever perceived transgression
my sins weren't fictional, i needed better representation
a one-by-two
a measurement of lumber
wrapped in athletic tape
an display, a warning readily available
a disciplinary tool for any occasion
when broken across my ***
a lesson was given but rarely learned
we never communicated then
we barely speak now
if only for the lack of something civil to say
should platitudes serve as a father and son bond
then our collective stubbornness is worth a mention
if blame needs placing
and i was taught this behavior
can i learn to forgive and love
such a below average model for God?
right on cue
his catholic upbringing screams in my ear
and my irish rises
an irish familiar to him
the only thing we share
he could have kept that to himself
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
On Tuesdays I dream of moon-soaked swims among bay-big moons
Silver saucered jellyfish that ripple through our hands
Wednesday nights are underground-
Straight whiskey at the Cantab beneath a canopy of Marlboros and Parliaments
(I’m imagining the cigarettes-
I’ve always romanticized death)
I only think of Sunfish on Thursdays,
Just a single sheet and us and the water
And the thought that we are propelled by more
Than the wind and less than physics.
Fridays are midnight walks through Central Square-
That tree on JFK by the metal gate,
The cab I chased after. Your jacket.
I awake early on Saturdays to your blue wall
And freshly made yerba, lectures on nonlinear differentials.
On Sundays we sleep late,
Wrapped in sub-letted sheets
Waiting for your lease to end before Sunday does.
The ground is gone on Mondays, the sidewalk on Sydney street has crumbled
I feel first-trimester-morning-sick
And the sky is dinosaur-ending dark, thick with resentment.
On Tuesdays I dream of moon-soaked swims among bay-big moons
Silver saucered jellyfish that ripple through our hands
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
These days are desperate times.
Persephone wandered too deep into the woods
And the earth has produced only miscarriages in the second trimester.
I’m full-grown curled up in the womb and it’s lost it’s warm.
I’m a child curled up in the womb and the walls are worn.
I swim at the junction of Acheron and Cocytus
Desperately trying to reach the shore,
But the currents far too strong.
Growing furious, I spot my family paying the fare
To board the ferry from Long Island to Connecticut.
I am torn asunder and the pieces dissolved
Into the cold morning air like evaporating dew.
My eyes fall upon a bright red bird, flying in a gyre,
Singing praises to it’s open wings, above a pyre.
The wood burns, carbonizing the soil to start the cycle
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
She came that day
On the verge of tears
Certain,
Something tragic had occurred
I inquired as to the cause
Of her distress
“I told him...and he...”
Oh.
I didn’t have to hear any more.
I responded with sympathy
And let her rant out her emotions
As I considered what angle would be best
To complete my drawing
Considering this project could very well dictate our trimester grade...
Another girl came in the room
And was subject to the same story
She, unlike me, gave her a hug
Now,
You may be wondering
Or shocked
By my callous behavior
But see,
This was nothing new
From two years prior
Since the time we’d known each other
It was like this
She,
Colorful, cheerful, charismatic yet melancholic
Smart as well
Attracting friends to her
Like bees to honey
But...
She also had crushes
Loads of them
At least three to five a year
She cried in eighth grade
In ninth grade she actually went one with one
Then,
They broke up
After a week of neglect
Another guy liked her
But she didn’t like him
Despit confiding in him
Constantly
His emotional tendencies
Grew too much for her
Then she liked another,
But he was gay
So they stayed friends
But apparently she likes him again
No offense,
But I’m currently at the end of my tether
I have things to worry about
And it really makes me wonder,
How can someone feel so deeply each time?
It seems painful
She’s a wonderful person
But, very ephemeral
Her attention flits like a bird
And her attraction is deep
But short
As a friend though she’s great
And I have nothing against her
I think with a sigh as I look out the window
And she heaves a breath
On the verge of tears
Just another day of the symphony between a helpless romantic
And
A
Cynic
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
You never knew your stooges, did you?
Never paid your dues
Never brayed your lone wolf howl
Never even knew which moon to send it to
Sharp of razor not felt
As it cuts meat
Drawing no blood
You should have got to know them
Stooges have a lot to teach
When they wield the blade
To cut meat
The flesh is severed
And the lesson learned
You really should have listened to them
For now the time has come
When the blood becomes vital
The razor selfish, thirsty enough on it's own
All those little pithy ideas that run amok in your brainstormed heart
They do you no good
They cut no meat
The twinkling stars and light bulbs bursting in your imagination
As a new idea is born only to be cast into the furnace
Given up on, no chance
A dud
Third trimester abortion
Tapped it's head just as it poked it's way through the door
No need for another one
Defective products
It only wears you down
******* on the memory of the last one
That proved to be worth a ****
Born 25 years ago, already on it's death bed
But your's
Straight from your soul
Arranged on a plate with a charming garnish of parsley
Soul food from the ghetto
Where hungry mouths don't get fed
You'd think they would devour your gift
As their hunger burns
But rather to learn how to steal
But rather to learn how to fight
Than a single disgusting taste
Of anything you have to offer
From a mind
Soft and cushioned
Spoiled and molding
Too weak to ever understand what it means
To survive
Barely able to get by, this is what it's worth
All it's worth, and no more
Something you might have known
Had you learned something from stooges
How to cut meat
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
I'm miscarrying. I'm losing a Child I could never have.
I expected an abortion and what I got was a second trimester.
I feel like everything beautiful I could ever say to you,
Everything that could truly add up to your worth,
You already know, and I have never even said them...
Except with my eyes. All I want is to have
And to hold.
I feel you have always known me.
Like a little piece of what I am has always been in you
And everything you are has somehow sunk into my
Conscience, my soul. When I am around you,
I feel I have a soul. Remember? An entity. It's really there.
People like you make me hope hope hope TO GOD that there is a Heaven
People like you make me pray pray PRAY to someone I don't KNOW that we, as a species, can finally transcend and become something MORE.
People like you make me BELIEVE that there is a possibility
That humans can be the epitome of goodness, and tenderness, and responsibility, and care, and equality, and pensive, and love.
I'm honest. Everything will be fine for me:
It's fine that I'll cry
It's fine that I'll feel depressed
It's fine that I'll feel unwanted
It's fine that I'll feel neglected
And rejected, and pitied, and inadequate...
Because these are all normal human emotions.
But before this happens, what about...
How long we can gaze at each other?
What about how perfect our skin feels aligned?
What about what those moments made you say?
Remember the contentment? The beauty in us
Just being there?
What about you wanting it more than I did?
What was all this? A precursor to a let-down?
A build-up and a sudden realization of the fact that we are two separate people who feel completely comfortable as a single whole and you can't handle that right now?
Because I could understand that.
And I would still be here for you.
But for the record...
I feel like if this universe were to open up right now
And time melted and disintegrated into dust
And oceans began screaming and violins exploded
And swans sang choruses with choked voices
And volcanoes erupted, and bombs fell, and echos stopped
And all the bells in the world forgot how to ring,
That my last dying wish would be to run as fast as I could
To find you. And then I would hold you.
And I would hold you as this world collapsed.
I would hold you until my hands grafted into your skin
I would hold you until we were but skeletons arm in arm
Splitting into thousands of pieces from shock waves
I would ****** your spine with my fingers until they collided
Until the world split directly in half
I would rewrite constellations to spell your name, PROUDLY
I would cry blood into your soul and you would know what I REALLY FEEL.
I would squeeze you so hard that you would HAVE to understand and tell yourself,
"These are the very last moments I will live."
And, without speaking, my lips would reply,
"SO LIVE THEM WELL."
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 8:51 AM UTC
I was so nervous when I enrolled for college.
The thought of moving out and living on my own terrified me.
So on my first day of class,
There really were butterflies in my stomach.
I walked into class about 10 minutes early.
Better early than late.
Alone I sat in the front row.
Other students trickled in slowly.
There were 17 of us total.
Finally, the professor walked in.
And I was sure glad that he did…
Mr. Professor was no doubt the most attractive man I had ever seen.
He had messy, mousy brown hair that fell loosely over his eyes.
He had a strange, crooked mouth that easily curled up into a smile.
His eyes were strange…
One was a light, minty green-grey.
The other was a brown that was the color of Root-Beer.
And his voice…
It was relatively high for a man.
But it sounded perfect.
When he was reading the class syllabus,
I didn’t comprehend a word he said.
I wanted him to notice me.
So I raised my hand and asked questions.
Questions about the future,
The grading system,
Big projects,
Everything and Anything.
Mr. Professor definitely noticed me.
Mission accomplished.
I literally did everything to get him to like me.
I dressed exceptionally well for class.
All of my homework was done perfectly.
An A+ student.
But at the end of the trimester,
I realized that none of my insane fantasies could come true.
He is my teacher.
But that never stopped me from loving him.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
there's this boy in my class who can move through water like a raindrop through summer air, though his eyes are brown like the ground on which he walks.
he is an ocean with currents and waves and groundswells, all waiting to drag me up and send me crashing into him.
i've always been a good swimmer, was even on a team once, but his water is pushing and pulling and putting its hands on my waist and neck, tangling in my hair, telling me to trust him.
but how do i trust if i've never been in love before?
how do i give myself to someone and expect to get every penny back?
do i have the time (is he worth the time) to count every coin and weigh for counterfeits?
is part of falling in love taking the risk of not getting everything returned?
can i come out of love unchanged?
or is change a part of love?
i know that you took mythology as an elective last trimester because i saw you in the library and was trying not to stare so let me tell you the story of icarus.
he fell.
hard.
he had wings fashioned from wax and feather and did not heed his father's warnings, flying too close to the sun, touching salvation with his fingertips, only to fall into the unforgiving sea.
if i am icarus and you are the sea then who is the sun?
is love personified within the sun in our myth, something that you must fall away from in order to fall into?
is love the enemy or the goal, something to obtain?
is there a reward for the fall?
is the reward love?
do i need to love (or even merely like) in order to meet you face to face somewhere out of school, coffee maybe?
or a movie?
i hear there's a new one out about a girl afraid of love.
to be loved.
to give love.
to accept love.
does seven work for you?
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:17 PM UTC
Yesterday, she told me something I didn’t think that I’d ever hear
That life would be changing, all rearranging, and all of it in less than a year
I thought about my life, staring at my wife, wondering if she felt the same
That’s when she told me, honey come hold me, and lets see if we can think of a name
Today, she showed me something I didn’t think that I’d ever see
A black and white picture, showing the mixture, of love between her and me
She said it’s time don’t you think, to buy something pink, or should we buy something blue?
I then smiled at her, said it didn’t matter, I’d be fine with whatever God wanted to do
Tomorrow, I’ll meet someone that I didn’t think that I’d ever meet
Lying there in the bed, with their pretty head, little hands and tiny feet
I promise with my soul, now that you’ve made us whole, to give you everything I never had
And I can’t wait for the day, when you’re able to say, that you love your mom and dad
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 8:30 PM UTC
embezzle the grey matter underneath a skull overladen with pintrest pins dotted sideways like impact-stars__fallen bricks__ flowers plummet vase-first onto concrete side-world beyond the gardener's balcony__it always takes an angry peasant to make the peasants into serfs__like a bleeding riddle in granite or grass, left to rushed interpretation as the meta-physicists usurp the physicists authority and insist the earth is speaking to avoid a hemorrhaging final trimester in the birth of human omnipotence__instead Mother Nature asks Dr. Neptune for an abortion in the final trimester__Dr. Neptune politely declines and returns to Sean Hannity in the Situation Room__how dry is a planet where it never, ever rains?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
this next few days
are going to be a little stressful.
and it's not because i'm settling
into a new trimester.
it's because i'm thinking
of you
and prom
and how i'm going to ask you.
i'm crossing my fingers.
i hope you say yes.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
—After Sum 41
Through your social distortion of extortion at the
most absurd proportions, I realize I need a doctor
not a proctor for when I test the helicopter you said
you’d never offer to a lowly pauper. You could say it’s my
bad I even tried that so now I cry-laugh in the lilacs while my mom
throws bombs through satcoms to lighten the weather. I should’ve
known better and left the head sever nether that continuously had
me tethered to the emotionally unfettered. I really need to find an
honest man before I enforce a plan of a 1000th trimester abortion.
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
bortion
After all the fat lips you gave me I
realized I’m a matchstick baby and don’t
need your rabies to save me. I don’t think I want
to live in your lair with your despair share stares turning to
a bitter taste once I start to face the human waste
falling on my head when I fall in your bed instead of my
king sized comforter singing trumpeter of a simple time—
childhood confined, morality defined by design until I become
the demons as you free them for freedom until they’re just another
lover to call my brother. The hits to my lips caused a casualty
of me casually even though I was never alive actually. Of
all the fists fighting me, it’s you I’d like to remove from society.
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 4:25 PM UTC
Today I saw a human
That used to be a stranger
Until we realized that through each other
We could dissect our inner angers
So piece by piece
We sat together
& picked my brain apart
Until I found out that it started
During the first trimester
when I evolved & grew a heart
///
(My attempt at describing
the way that I interpret life)
-Imagine the broken plate haiku-
I’ll be the plate
& the world can be the spite
That shattered me on the floor
Just to get me out of sight
Only this time the “sorry”
Actually brings me back to life
But each time a piece is missing
& it’s on repeat for every night.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 2:55 AM UTC