"unmedicated" poems - Hello Poetry

It’s amazing how one hospital trip can change the rest of your life. Or even lack of one even. He was four. I, three. It was late, I had no idea why I was going to Bridget and John’s house. More importantly, I didn’t know why Zack wasn’t coming with me. 11 pm, I guess that’s pretty late for a three year old. I don’t think at that point I really had any grasp on what was actually happening. That nothing would ever be the same again. Half asleep, trudging to that sliding glass door I’d seen hundreds of times. I went into the house, the aroma of sweet cinnamon and love hung in the air. Burnt toast and peanut butter. That pretty much sums up an entire year of my life. Three years old, and for almost every weekend, which was too many, spent with Bridget and John, sleepless nights and peanut butter toast. There was: late night toast, midnight toast, way too early morning toast, morning toast, breakfast toast, too much toast. I think I was a picky three year old, then again, that isn’t exactly unheard of. I wasn’t very fond of peanut butter or toast, but I still ate it. I yearned for a sweet taste of normality. I craved something routine. Funny, because my life was everything but normal during that year. Funny, because I will never eat peanut butter toast ever, again. Many nights spent waiting for an answer. Wishing to go back, and hoping for everything to be okay. But as the car rolled out of the gravel driveway on that first night, so did an unmedicated future for my brother.

0

May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC

Abigail-Madsen

Burnt Toast & Peanut Butter

It’s amazing how one hospital trip can change the rest of your life. Or even lack of one even. He was four. I, three. It was late, I had no idea why I was going to Bridget and John’s house. More importantly, I didn’t know why Zack wasn’t coming with me. 11 pm, I guess that’s pretty late for a three year old. I don’t think at that point I really had any grasp on what was actually happening. That nothing would ever be the same again. Half asleep, trudging to that sliding glass door I’d seen hundreds of times. I went into the house, the aroma of sweet cinnamon and love hung in the air. Burnt toast and peanut butter. That pretty much sums up an entire year of my life. Three years old, and for almost every weekend, which was too many, spent with Bridget and John, sleepless nights and peanut butter toast. There was: late night toast, midnight toast, way too early morning toast, morning toast, breakfast toast, too much toast. I think I was a picky three year old, then again, that isn’t exactly unheard of. I wasn’t very fond of peanut butter or toast, but I still ate it. I yearned for a sweet taste of normality. I craved something routine. Funny, because my life was everything but normal during that year. Funny, because I will never eat peanut butter toast ever, again. Many nights spent waiting for an answer. Wishing to go back, and hoping for everything to be okay. But as the car rolled out of the gravel driveway on that first night, so did an unmedicated future for my brother.

3

I wrote you a poem Titled it gravity For your lack of it And how that made me want you more Called the scars in your eyes stability Those were the only things that remained I am looking for sand to set my anchor on This is how i just keep sinking But you You were fluidity in motion you were the Once a week reminder that Typhoons hit and people change When my moods were changing tides On the days my speech was so rapid and my eyes so clear it made everyone want me Atleast thats how it appeared to me But for the days when my arms drag me out to sea and you have a hand over these fists begging me to let go of these ******* bricks as you kick Afraid ill drown us both And i would If it werent for the flight in your smle keeping us up Afloat I pray you dont drop me for the wight of us both can be too much for you to carry

0

Nov 25, 2013

Nov 25, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC

odi

Unmedicated

I wrote you a poem Titled it gravity For your lack of it And how that made me want you more Called the scars in your eyes stability Those were the only things that remained I am looking for sand to set my anchor on This is how i just keep sinking But you You were fluidity in motion you were the Once a week reminder that Typhoons hit and people change When my moods were changing tides On the days my speech was so rapid and my eyes so clear it made everyone want me Atleast thats how it appeared to me But for the days when my arms drag me out to sea and you have a hand over these fists begging me to let go of these ******* bricks as you kick Afraid ill drown us both And i would If it werent for the flight in your smle keeping us up Afloat I pray you dont drop me for the wight of us both can be too much for you to carry

21

And I have loved you more than I anyone I have loved before ( How would I know, as there has been no one else ) Perhaps more than I will love anyone, ever ( And I know for sure ) I set up my defences on the outside, but maybe I needed to protect myself from myself ( But what would you have me do ) When you see lightning for the first time, a wonder out of nowhere The way it streaks across the skies, like you often streaked across my mind When every subsequent clash of atoms and eons will never equal the first time Seeing magik marble across your eyelids, a smile adorns your face And you know you will never be the same again ( So what of this pain, will it ever subside ) Perhaps a memory can transform into a throbbing hurt One that comes and goes, like the ebb and the flow of the rushing tide Or triggered by a smell, a perfume, the sound of laughter that could’ve been yours, or the way someone holds onto their fork I never thought it would be you, but now you are a throbbing pain Unmedicated, unattended but a mass of self perpetuating burning questions Like neurons (mis)firing and kneejerk reactions Churning out what if’s and propositions and assumptions and empty dreams You birthed a thousand little cares that linger at the back of my throat Causing me to gag every so often But the mast has been set and this rotting ship will continue to sail Rickety as she is, she searches for replacement parts All the while creating myths and legends and convulated stories This tunnel is long but maybe there is a glimmer of hope at the end of it I can hold out for a breath of fresh air, something must remain ( But what of those questions that still remain ) Maybe I should have tried a little harder Fought a little more, shouted a little louder But you can’t stop the path of a tornado I stood in front of it and was swept off my feet And it pulled wool over my eyes, but I still saw the light Filtered as it was through unravelling strands of thread Pull, pull, pull Until it all comes undone.

0

Jul 6, 2014

Jul 6, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC

e5m

Squalor and Splendour In A Magnificent Shantytown.

And I have loved you more than I anyone I have loved before ( How would I know, as there has been no one else ) Perhaps more than I will love anyone, ever ( And I know for sure ) I set up my defences on the outside, but maybe I needed to protect myself from myself ( But what would you have me do ) When you see lightning for the first time, a wonder out of nowhere The way it streaks across the skies, like you often streaked across my mind When every subsequent clash of atoms and eons will never equal the first time Seeing magik marble across your eyelids, a smile adorns your face And you know you will never be the same again ( So what of this pain, will it ever subside ) Perhaps a memory can transform into a throbbing hurt One that comes and goes, like the ebb and the flow of the rushing tide Or triggered by a smell, a perfume, the sound of laughter that could’ve been yours, or the way someone holds onto their fork I never thought it would be you, but now you are a throbbing pain Unmedicated, unattended but a mass of self perpetuating burning questions Like neurons (mis)firing and kneejerk reactions Churning out what if’s and propositions and assumptions and empty dreams You birthed a thousand little cares that linger at the back of my throat Causing me to gag every so often But the mast has been set and this rotting ship will continue to sail Rickety as she is, she searches for replacement parts All the while creating myths and legends and convulated stories This tunnel is long but maybe there is a glimmer of hope at the end of it I can hold out for a breath of fresh air, something must remain ( But what of those questions that still remain ) Maybe I should have tried a little harder Fought a little more, shouted a little louder But you can’t stop the path of a tornado I stood in front of it and was swept off my feet And it pulled wool over my eyes, but I still saw the light Filtered as it was through unravelling strands of thread Pull, pull, pull Until it all comes undone.

36

Screams of the deranged Into the night, full of fury Black tipped roses arranged Into a vase, ribbon laced Medicated mind, controlled Within the one to be used Experimental abuse, skin cold Sand slips down the time-keep "Do it." whispers the black-tipped petals of roses Whispering thoughts of the ****** Is this love? Yes Ropes tied tighter with a lustful hand Bruises reaching inner soul Soul of a single rose is dropped As a loving plea is softly spoken Fading voice immediately popped Pleasure for the drugged mind "Do it!" chuckles the blackening petals of roses Slowing sands in the time-keep, felled Sobering mind on drugged love Unmedicated reality unveiled Sorrowful hands loosen bands Crows flurry in flight, startled As sobs of hurt fight the drugs worthless blur is fading, unfurled Bodies on the floor of pain Shouts of anger as a soul slipped Was it lust? Was it drugs? Medicated hell was dipped Too far? Too dark? Breath of life gasps, forced "Do it!" hisses the reddening petals of roses Promises are made, real or hoaxed? Liar Was it life saved or life spared? If promise of healing is true Then life has been saved But if the fallacy of the addicted Proves to be too strong to resist Then the sands will flow uncorrected And the roses shall again fade to black.

0

Jan 9, 2011

Jan 9, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC

OnlyEggy

Petals on Black-Tipped Roses

Screams of the deranged Into the night, full of fury Black tipped roses arranged Into a vase, ribbon laced Medicated mind, controlled Within the one to be used Experimental abuse, skin cold Sand slips down the time-keep "Do it." whispers the black-tipped petals of roses Whispering thoughts of the ****** Is this love? Yes Ropes tied tighter with a lustful hand Bruises reaching inner soul Soul of a single rose is dropped As a loving plea is softly spoken Fading voice immediately popped Pleasure for the drugged mind "Do it!" chuckles the blackening petals of roses Slowing sands in the time-keep, felled Sobering mind on drugged love Unmedicated reality unveiled Sorrowful hands loosen bands Crows flurry in flight, startled As sobs of hurt fight the drugs worthless blur is fading, unfurled Bodies on the floor of pain Shouts of anger as a soul slipped Was it lust? Was it drugs? Medicated hell was dipped Too far? Too dark? Breath of life gasps, forced "Do it!" hisses the reddening petals of roses Promises are made, real or hoaxed? Liar Was it life saved or life spared? If promise of healing is true Then life has been saved But if the fallacy of the addicted Proves to be too strong to resist Then the sands will flow uncorrected And the roses shall again fade to black.

41

We are immobilized veins thick with toxins brains saturated with synthetic sensation. Get out of bed pill pundits. Who do you love? There is bliss without a script. Somewhere. Look at yourself ****** harlots. Now look in the mirror. Is it a surprise that the same face didn’t appear? Stand straight, sloppy sippers. Take the flask out of your glove compartment you can’t pregame life. Come clean, nicotine queens. We say we do it because we don’t care when we die but I care if you draw your last shallow breath before mine. We are the machine, **** fiends. We can’t be fueled by ten sacks and melancholic dead dreams. I am envious sober superstars, of your greatest feat, waking in the morning and walking on your own two feet.

0

Aug 1, 2012

Aug 1, 2012 at 3:58 AM UTC

rk

Yearning for a Life, Unmedicated

We are immobilized veins thick with toxins brains saturated with synthetic sensation. Get out of bed pill pundits. Who do you love? There is bliss without a script. Somewhere. Look at yourself ****** harlots. Now look in the mirror. Is it a surprise that the same face didn’t appear? Stand straight, sloppy sippers. Take the flask out of your glove compartment you can’t pregame life. Come clean, nicotine queens. We say we do it because we don’t care when we die but I care if you draw your last shallow breath before mine. We are the machine, **** fiends. We can’t be fueled by ten sacks and melancholic dead dreams. I am envious sober superstars, of your greatest feat, waking in the morning and walking on your own two feet.

39

i'm unmedicated, but when you fell asleep between your glass of Merlot and the outside of my left leg, I was sedated. my bones never enjoyed saturation, or even understood how someone else could experience something similar; they just reflect raindrops like a two-way window pane. now, it all hits me in brief, powerful bursts like a short-range shotgun blast and in long waves like electroconvulsive therapy that gives you painful memories instead of making them go away. i hadn't felt anything in years but even brick walls have soft spots. Even spiders can abandon webs and become kings.* Even someone so full of nothing could feel like the new year wouldn't bring more pills and that love could fly without restricted access areas or delays due to what they claim is the weather but is really pain being drained in the wrong sink, one either too puke-stained or too leaky. i finally realized that color television was a worthy investment. I can recognize how much brighter black and white seemed when you gave me what I perceived to be the inside of your arteries: red, black and blue humming along at a pace that felt synonymous with what I perceived to be equilibrium. i am no longer sedated

0

May 27, 2016

May 27, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC

aheartmovingoutwards

unmedicated

i'm unmedicated, but when you fell asleep between your glass of Merlot and the outside of my left leg, I was sedated. my bones never enjoyed saturation, or even understood how someone else could experience something similar; they just reflect raindrops like a two-way window pane. now, it all hits me in brief, powerful bursts like a short-range shotgun blast and in long waves like electroconvulsive therapy that gives you painful memories instead of making them go away. i hadn't felt anything in years but even brick walls have soft spots. Even spiders can abandon webs and become kings.* Even someone so full of nothing could feel like the new year wouldn't bring more pills and that love could fly without restricted access areas or delays due to what they claim is the weather but is really pain being drained in the wrong sink, one either too puke-stained or too leaky. i finally realized that color television was a worthy investment. I can recognize how much brighter black and white seemed when you gave me what I perceived to be the inside of your arteries: red, black and blue humming along at a pace that felt synonymous with what I perceived to be equilibrium. i am no longer sedated

8

I remember we would retreat to the isolated solace of our bedroom Quarantining ourselves from the strain of existence in that murderous crushing outside world As we engaged in things both metaphysical and physical I would rest my head on your chest listening to the enthralled chambers of your heart and if my mind would not quiet you would tell me 'Be still. Be calm. Do not rely on the words of others. Tell me something in your own words.' It was only in the comfort of your utmost attention that I felt at peace.

0

Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC

Amy-Grindhouse

Unmedicated and Unmitigated

I remember we would retreat to the isolated solace of our bedroom Quarantining ourselves from the strain of existence in that murderous crushing outside world As we engaged in things both metaphysical and physical I would rest my head on your chest listening to the enthralled chambers of your heart and if my mind would not quiet you would tell me 'Be still. Be calm. Do not rely on the words of others. Tell me something in your own words.' It was only in the comfort of your utmost attention that I felt at peace.

29

you know it's bad when i would rather deal with my unmedicated depression than this loss of you. -a.c.b

0

Jan 28, 2019

Jan 28, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC

alexa_berry

it's over.

you know it's bad when i would rather deal with my unmedicated depression than this loss of you. -a.c.b

4

It was a bad night last night My tear stained cheeks and sliced up wrists can vouch. I never know what I'm thinking anymore... Or why. I just know that I am. It's scary, You know... Being like this. I get scared, and other people get scared. More often than not, I can't control these thoughts... These protruding and unwelcome thoughts but I don't know what to do. I never know what to do anymore. I just know that I've had a lot of bad nights lately. A lot of them. But I don't know what to do.

0

May 22, 2018

May 22, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC

SerenePineapple

Unmedicated

It was a bad night last night My tear stained cheeks and sliced up wrists can vouch. I never know what I'm thinking anymore... Or why. I just know that I am. It's scary, You know... Being like this. I get scared, and other people get scared. More often than not, I can't control these thoughts... These protruding and unwelcome thoughts but I don't know what to do. I never know what to do anymore. I just know that I've had a lot of bad nights lately. A lot of them. But I don't know what to do.

20

Ray dead silence “its too ****** quiet in here! No wonder people hang themselves in here. If there were hooks there would be people on each one of them!” His 60 year old smooth Puerto Rican english better than the young white prison guard “I need my meds! Its been 3 days!” His afro cuban beats on the cell doors helped me sleep it through handcuffed together in a fast swerving moving van a dangerous steel space with no where to hold a hard smooth steel bench slippery and hard sciatic nerve damage unmedicated looking out the diagonal steel lined window “in the near future. This will be an amusement ride. To show how inhumane it used to be before whiteness was human.” I slept he didn’t his eyes were losing their focus amazing man being killed by a business those mental ills of whiteness guards had no idea how special these humans were that they made them not autonomous the captivity and its brutality captivity and bad communication the failure of whiteness these prisoners are found not guilty it should be slanted towards those that our innocent not slanted toward white mass murderes or the mental illness of whitenes

0

Jul 12, 2016

Jul 12, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC

elan-bonde-gregory

dissociation of whiteness

Ray dead silence “its too ****** quiet in here! No wonder people hang themselves in here. If there were hooks there would be people on each one of them!” His 60 year old smooth Puerto Rican english better than the young white prison guard “I need my meds! Its been 3 days!” His afro cuban beats on the cell doors helped me sleep it through handcuffed together in a fast swerving moving van a dangerous steel space with no where to hold a hard smooth steel bench slippery and hard sciatic nerve damage unmedicated looking out the diagonal steel lined window “in the near future. This will be an amusement ride. To show how inhumane it used to be before whiteness was human.” I slept he didn’t his eyes were losing their focus amazing man being killed by a business those mental ills of whiteness guards had no idea how special these humans were that they made them not autonomous the captivity and its brutality captivity and bad communication the failure of whiteness these prisoners are found not guilty it should be slanted towards those that our innocent not slanted toward white mass murderes or the mental illness of whitenes

33

To he honest I'm pretty ******* tired of being on my own Im not really But still my lack of love makes me angry Yet I'm Y oU N g That's what everyone else says anyway Still I'm crazy and no longer problematic Happy but never enough to prevent sadness Out to most but still hiding from the majority Avoiding the conflict I once used to untimely cause and angry at my protagonistic temperament Raising it's head once in a foreign land But it didn't last long because previous pain is still there The oppositions have since dropped from the ceiling to an unknown cause but my webs are still in position camping out in the corner a silk prospector expressing only malevolent intent Never really meaning and now that im controlling the pain it's hard to admit, but there's part of me that still reigns in the areas of that room Skulking through the tears usually my own labelled jester for those on that egotistical throne So maybe my confidence flickering and unnerving, split between the characters I get to play between the seasons is one of the significant catalysts and thousands of reasons that I'm now on my own everyone an opposition on my radar the choice, to be a villain for the people of my past or be trampled over by those in my present, an insight into my future. That's if I make it because my obvious disdain is a recognizable trait like my unbearing love and attraction for Unrequited beauty and my I'll advised impulse to avoid the problem make a list of all my excuses And Run to the next person most likely to become my biggest predator when I unfurl infront my secrets and ambitions secret Acts of betrayal while on independent side missions Diagnosed as ****** and unmedicated Mad when alone Discontent with my social standing And just wanting someone special to. bring home

0

Oct 28, 2024

Oct 28, 2024 at 5:14 PM UTC

Lucas_208

****** and Unmedicated

To he honest I'm pretty ******* tired of being on my own Im not really But still my lack of love makes me angry Yet I'm Y oU N g That's what everyone else says anyway Still I'm crazy and no longer problematic Happy but never enough to prevent sadness Out to most but still hiding from the majority Avoiding the conflict I once used to untimely cause and angry at my protagonistic temperament Raising it's head once in a foreign land But it didn't last long because previous pain is still there The oppositions have since dropped from the ceiling to an unknown cause but my webs are still in position camping out in the corner a silk prospector expressing only malevolent intent Never really meaning and now that im controlling the pain it's hard to admit, but there's part of me that still reigns in the areas of that room Skulking through the tears usually my own labelled jester for those on that egotistical throne So maybe my confidence flickering and unnerving, split between the characters I get to play between the seasons is one of the significant catalysts and thousands of reasons that I'm now on my own everyone an opposition on my radar the choice, to be a villain for the people of my past or be trampled over by those in my present, an insight into my future. That's if I make it because my obvious disdain is a recognizable trait like my unbearing love and attraction for Unrequited beauty and my I'll advised impulse to avoid the problem make a list of all my excuses And Run to the next person most likely to become my biggest predator when I unfurl infront my secrets and ambitions secret Acts of betrayal while on independent side missions Diagnosed as ****** and unmedicated Mad when alone Discontent with my social standing And just wanting someone special to. bring home

29

Feeling wild and loose in my head, like I've got a hurricane attached to my name, it's headed your way, And boy you're here for the wreck. Doctors exams running late, this medication check is a month too late. Government shutdown is changing the mental state, And how we deal, And what we do, And please get me the f*** out of here. At least being gone, I won't have to carry all these words around. These letters are heavy and hurt my brain, I don't have the patience to continue to psychoanalyze. I'm lugging around this baggage and I'm starting to feel like it's too late, in a constant state of pain, what could I possibly have to gain?

0

Feb 13, 2019

Feb 13, 2019 at 3:50 AM UTC

Deathexit12

Unmedicated Medicated Mess

Feeling wild and loose in my head, like I've got a hurricane attached to my name, it's headed your way, And boy you're here for the wreck. Doctors exams running late, this medication check is a month too late. Government shutdown is changing the mental state, And how we deal, And what we do, And please get me the f*** out of here. At least being gone, I won't have to carry all these words around. These letters are heavy and hurt my brain, I don't have the patience to continue to psychoanalyze. I'm lugging around this baggage and I'm starting to feel like it's too late, in a constant state of pain, what could I possibly have to gain?

17

Every bit of pain I felt as a child And worked my whole life to forget Is floating to the surface at an Alarming rate.

0

Dec 9, 2018

Dec 9, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC

BlueBirdKay

Unmedicated

Every bit of pain I felt as a child And worked my whole life to forget Is floating to the surface at an Alarming rate.

4