"windpipe" poems
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
THATS WHERE MY LIFE CHANGED
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.
So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.
I’M A SURVIVOR and I’VE MADE IT....
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
I taste bile in my windpipe
& wipe away my tears,
crying,
'cause
I was your fall guy,
got ****** by
your pretty smile.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing,
But to be honest, I bet it hurt you more, does it sting?
Can you feel it in your bones ?
Copper taste against my tongue,
I’m choking on my own blood,
Does my manic laugh horrify you?
This Cheshire smile plastered across my face,
Do my cheekbones slice your knuckles?
That’s going to leave a bruise,
Not that you care,
Twisted my head back by my hair,
My body is peppered in greens, purples, blues,
But with the way you turn your head down you’d think I was the one abusing you,
When you wrap your meaty fingers around my windpipe does it give you pleasure?
What goes through your mind while your holding my life in your hands,
How many of my ribs have you cracked upon your feet,
Only to lick my thighs later like a treat,
One of these days it’ll be my fingers around your neck,
And I won’t stop squeezing till your dead,
Until then use my body to your hearts content,
This dangerous dance,
Like egg shells beneath my soles,
I’m waiting for you to slip on the blood you painstakingly draw from me blow by blow,
And in your own sick way you actually love me,
Convinced the only way to save me is to hurt me,
But I’m not that sick or twisted to believe the words you croke out,
One day very soon it’ll be you who shouts,
Ya I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
don't waste your breath
telling me to get better, talk ***** to me
don't hold your breath
hoping i try to help myself.
if you're going to hold my neck
hold it a lot tighter than that,
don't forget to push down
on my windpipe with your palm,
we're wrapped up in these bedsheets
because i want you to hurt me.
i want to see the rope burn on my wrists glisten
where it's begun to tear away at my flesh
and i like to feel real tangible knots
when i'm tied up in self loathing.
i struggle to find the line between
lovesick and depressed or
being a ********* what's the big difference.
either way i wake up with bruised
blue lips and oxygen deprivation,
and fresh linens wet with singeing liquids,
and a pain in my stomach or lungs that means
i'm still breathing slightly.
i wanted you to **** me.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
It has been a while since we've spoken
I have been tugging on a broken line
May be too gone this time, Lord
Been too low to be grounded
My demons dancing in a conga line
I am surrounded
You made me in your image
But what if I don't like what I see?
Is that insulting?
Is that absurd?
I made almost all my angels flee
It keeps me knocking on heavens door
So tell me, are you listening??
I'm not feeling assured
They say you turn water into wine,
But none of that tonight
I can settle for a bitter cup of coffee,
For a bitter state of mind
To keep me up so I won't dream of
Grandparents who can't walk
Or my lifelong companion
In a wild dogs jaw
Or an angry pair of sapphire eyes
I know I've failed them all
Water into wine, maybe two or three
Will make me numb enough to remind me
Of what their love was like,
Like the warm screams secreting
From my windpipe, do you hear me now?
Can you listen to me tonight???
I know I can be cowardly disciple, even a sheep
In lions clothing- wasn't your book written for
People like me
No, I don't want to be
Self loathing, another fallen angel
You lose hope in, don't let me go
Off the deep end, let the bitterness
I've been sipping on be sweetened
Please
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
Suffocating.
Restricted.
Can't
breathe.
Lost.
Confused.
Lonely.
Annoyed.
Gasping
for
air.
Blocked
windpipe.
Can't
move.
Hands
bound.
Mouth
gagged.
Silent
screams.
Tears
roll.
I'm
not
fine.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 8:32 AM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
the word came out of your mouth
as sharp as a blade
and
easy for you to say
but hard for me to swallow
as easy for you to say
as it was for the three letters to
gut me from the inside
out
yes
i have come to hold animosity toward
the one syllable word.
my chest bursts open like
a black hole
******* every last bit of my happiness
away
gone into the never ending vastness
of darkness
i felt my lungs
collapse
but almost as if the word itself
had frozen my breath
as it left your lips
and with it went
my windpipe and lungs
you looked at me with those
crystal blue eyes
and my insides imploded, sending
each shard of ice
to poke and **** at my heart
just like
you.
W
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
Life is my grave
Yet I don't rest in peace
Dirt clogs up my windpipe
Bugs crawl into my ears
The blackness engulfs my vision
And I gasp for breathe
As the bitches stab me
Relentlessly in the back
With cruel whispers and rumors
Predatory glints in their eyes
Finally choking me
With their hypocrisy
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Maybe I got greedy.
Maybe it's in my blood.
Maybe I'm a descendent of Icarus, the Greek son who flew too high.
All I know is that while my
ancestor was trying
to escape Crete, I've been trying
to escape myself
and baby you were my wings.
But I flew too high.
I should have noticed
the burning in my lungs,
the smoke suffocating my windpipe because I was getting too close
to your fire and with every
"I love you"
I could feel the wax
in my heart melting,
dripping down through my ribcage but when it finally fell to my feet,
I ignored the burn.
And here I am,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
Waiting for you
to catch me.
Maybe the smoke
is in your eyes.
Maybe you're scared
of the flames.
Or maybe
you can't handle
the
heat.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
I was born to a woman who smoked cigarettes
and since I was a child, I tried to inhale blueberries until they
stalled my windpipe.
My mother taught me that word –
windpipe – after she coughed for hours upon hours. I
was so happy that day, imagining how I must have swallowed
windchimes for the doctors who helped birth me
in December’s final snow –
how I hoped they believed I sounded pretty, although
covered in that sop adults call life juice. Life juice sounds nice
but I had known babies who
came just as sticky as me and never got to breathe.
Windchimes, you know, the things
beautiful ladies in ankle-length dresses hang outside,
my daddy lived thirteen hours down the interstate and I knew
somehow that he owned one.
In my dreams, I touched it
and pulled on it. I twisted the copper-ends up like my
momma’s hair and pretended we were with my dad by some
lake where the breezes are heavy enough and I
am small enough for them to carry me up, up, and away.
Everyone insisted that windpipes are inside
while windchimes stay out –
I fixed that problem, too. I tried three times to plant chimes in
my ears, unglue parts of the skin there from myself
to make room for dangly jewelry. A tiny
slit was all I needed, but it would not stay open for long
and I never got to swing my head
pretend I possessed the ability to create music like how God
let my momma grow smoke. I never got to exhale.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
I. To sleep...
As if I needed affirmation
of the weekend from a mouse
As if I needed mutually
indecipherable dialogue
As if I need a hip social setting
when Insomnia gets off on my inside
As if I need a drink for the prodding
of my eyes or charisma for the charming of hers
As if we need a hotel or a bed
for that matter in Dormiveglia
II.* ...perchance to dream.*
Darling Insomnia
how you dazzle in your quilted
queendom of suction
Darling Insomnia
**** out the vanilla gumming
up my timid lungs like sugared venom
Darling Insomnia
I promise I won't burden you with moans of
fantasy-inflicted headaches
Darling Insomnia
let your sirrah latch his inhalation
onto your majestic ***** like an asp
Darling Insomnia
does subordination in my windpipe
do right by your despotic grasp?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
i woke with a **** and
a windpipe full of butterflies, so i
swallowed them down to my chest
my stomach and below and
it was then that i realized
they weren't butterflies
but backward flies
that turn to maggots and
eat dead things
so it was then that i realized
i was dead, in between that
chasing-my-breath consciousness and
sepia splotched dream
which featured my favorite
human being
waking me, winding me
up...
hey saige, come on, so i
unlocked my eyes
even though i knew it was my
little brother
all along...
bright
cobwebbed windows at my
feet and
brighter fringe above me
brushing my forehead, like fingers
he leaned
over me, nudged me
hugged me, come on
saige...
i began to rise, which is why
he stopped me, that's when he
kissed me, and that's when i
forgave him
because i knew it was
an accident
except for, that was when
he did it
again...
my lips inside his, and
i kept my eyes
open
kept telling myself to
just kiss back, since we'd
already ruined everything, because
that was all he
wanted
because maybe
we could go back, maybe we'd still be
inseparable if
i hadn't screamed, enough!
maybe nightmares
are second chances at
being better
best friends...
i was torn
worn threadbare and i felt it
in every fiber of me
lying there, but i couldn't
pull away and i've
never wished to hurt him, so i
couldn't push, either
just clamped my eyes
shut, as he did the same
with his mouth...
and that was when
i woke
without a soul nor a shame
save for the maggots
in my veins
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
I was on bed then clueless about my life.
I remember three years ago, it was a strife.
I was made to realize by pain of being alive.
The procedure of tracheotomy was done.
The other nose was cut into my windpipe.
The lower end of my throat was bandaged.
The two navels are located on my stomach.
The second navel was gained at the hospital.
The upper navel is not always here to be seen.
Blankly I stared at the world in front of me.
Bluntly I stared at a big wall in front of me.
Bleakly I stared at people coming to see me.
They would come few in numbers initially.
That time is something I can't recall clearly.
Then I was home worriedly waiting for him.
The eternal-seeming torture period started then.
The dreaded physiotherapist used to come then.
The kind man was renamed ***physio the ******
He caused me great pain, I was like a 3-year old.
He saw me writhe in pain & I begged for mercy.
He continued coming & I remained terrorized.
I used to ask my parents if they're actually mine.
I was made to disbelieve in them as my parents.
I took numbing pills directly into my stomach.
I used to remain in sheer terror all day long.
I took offence at the sound of the doorbell itself.
I was asking my parents if someone would come.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
It's the Grim Reaper
It's the Boogie Man
It's the wolf in the closet
It's the monster under the bed
It's the phantom that's chasing you in your dreams
It's the madman who dances delightfully in your brain matter
It's the poison in your coffee
Paralyzing
Petrifying and penetrating
A flesh eating
Bone chomping
Soul *******
Grave robbing Ghoul
Right within the halls of your head
Grotesque and greedy, it is
Gloom everywhere
An anxiety production line
Breeding anguish
Bleeding you out
Windpipe choking
Werewolf watching
Witches brewing
It's dreadful and dooming
It's horror at every corner
It's a newspaper dripping in disaster
It's a future forecasting fatalities
Your obituary in every new edition
BUT IT'S NOT REAL
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
What do you hear of me?
What rumors slip from others’ lips?
They speak of me, evil mistress, eyes that pull in, and a body that gets caught in your windpipe.
You are unable to swallow me. You chew on me and hastily spit me out. You choke on me.
The wit I possess is too quick for your bruteness. You dismiss my thoughts.
I am just a woman, nothing less, and nothing more.
Bore to serve you and bear your seed.
What do you hear of me? What slips from others’ lips?
Am I a murderous harlot? A bitter witch with nothing better to do.
Do serpents sit atop my brow, shall I turn you to stone?
Am I Charybdis, shall I swallow you whole?
They are unable to chop me up into bit sized pieces. For some reason, they do not love me as a collective.
What do you hear regarding the treatment of me?
You only hear yourselves, deafening my point of view.
I hear I have scorned every one of you. Do you hear of who scorned me?
Have you ever questioned what may have made me this way?
What makes a mistress so vile?
The mistreatment of a loving deity can mangle many.
I was hanged on a hook, a piece of meat left to rot.
I was once pure and heavenly.
I will ask once more,
What have you heard of me?
What tales have slipped from others’ lips?
Have you stopped to think what created me to be so evil?
I am the evil mistress. I will chew you up and I will eagerly swallow you in all your whole.
I know my motive. What is yours?
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 10:44 AM UTC
I garden naked
When one does not comprehend the places you've been,
Ignorant they name your path
Twisted facade, let's fornicate the law
Switch our curfew
Night is dark
Deep cryptic essence
Let no man take the massive ego, hiding in your stilettos
The ridge of the heel crushing the victimized windpipe
Polish and clean
Sparkling
Almost brand new
Steady, walk in progress
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
I tasted every bitter lie
As you shoved them down my throat
Now I'm full of poison-soaked phrases
Badly in need of an antidote
Lost promises rest in my abdomen
Next to the deception I was fed
I need a cure for untrue words
Before this illness renders me dead
Fallacies come crawling back up
Venom rising in my windpipe
Sick to my stomach with acceptance
Your falsehoods have become overripe
I can't contain the toxic deceit
It's overflowing from my gut
Excuses pour out from my mouth
Alibis Ive managed to rebut
The ***** burns my weary tongue
Sour as it leaves my lips
Betrayal has me feeling queasy
Unwell from hearing your rehearsed scripts
My stomach empties it's contents
Spewing intricate facades
Until it is rid of all the
Charades, illusions, and frauds
Infected with dishonesty
My body is rocked by unease
I've taken a turn for the worse
Consumed by this relentless disease
This virus I have come down with
Takes it's toll on my heart and mind
I grow more fatigued each day
But relief I have yet to find
Chills, shakes, soreness, and migraines
Plague my organs, bones, and skin
My muscles are endlessly cramping
I loathe the fever I'm burning in
I do not know why I feast on your
contaminated reality
I'm sure if I continue to
I will soon be a fatality
My health is deteriorating
Still i dine on fantasies unreal
I hope for a miracle pill but
My flesh may not be able to heal
I fear I'll be plagued as long as I
Swallow your lies, deranged and uncouth
The cure I have been longing for
is a simple medicine called Truth
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
If God made us the way we are, then what's to stop us from being gay?
Did you know that gay used to mean happy
In ancient times
Ancient, as in just a few years ago, when people were more civilized then us now
When they were afraid to speak up in fear of retaliation
It is no wonder that now, those who are out of the closet, are drunk on grandiose
When the uber religious try to shove their beliefs down your windpipe
Until it is so deeply embedded that no amount of surgery could take it out
If God hates us, then why would he have made us so perfect?
Who's to say it's even a he; when he could be a she
If the queen of all species hates us, then why did she create rainbows? Those same rainbows you let your children enjoy, the same rainbow colored toys that you insist are teaching your snot monster to be "gay"
Instead of worrying over how to survive that day, take the time to sit at home and relax
Drink away your stress with coffee or alcohol that burns not only your tongue but your body and runs an electrifying course like a river after a storm until it reaches your toes and back up to create chemical reactions in your brain; savor the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth and compare it to your past
Watch tv that is so lame you cannot help but laugh at the terrible irony and puns
Cry over somebody who does not love you and then go out and find someone who does
The point is, you are gay and they are not
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Let me inject some insight into your windpipe.
The things I'd do to you in a dim light - the sin type.
Lace, hair up, high heels, low patience.
A taste; cold hearted with warm embraces.
Divvy up my intentions to evoke your inner beast,
Rummaging thru to devour my winner feast.
Appetite for destruction, thirst for the unconventional,
Back up, head down as the walls resonate your increase in decibel.
No celestial being within these walls when the mood hits,
Deuces, I'll make you see the light more than twice; my stamina defined: ruthless.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
There is a strange
Tingly sensation
In my stomach
When you are near
And when you speak to me
Or touch me
A sensation often described as butterflies
But they are not pure enough
To be butterflies
Because I know you don't feel them as I do
So they are moths
Moths
Because they are crowding your light
Moths in my stomach
Flying up
And up
And up
Through my windpipe
Choking me
And trying to reach you
And your blinding
Fluorescent light
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Suffocation is the only word to describe this feeling
It's heavy in my heart
It's filling up my lungs
It's your lead hand on my throat
It's the words clogging my windpipe
It's the betrayal that holds me under
This is the purest form of suffocation
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
My heart physically aches with a raw, agonizing twinge so unlike any other I have felt before, when you show me how truly broken you are.
The intake of oxygen through your hollow frame gives you no ease, glass shards shred your windpipe each time you decide to breathe.
I wish I could take away your pain!
I would take it upon myself, although it sounds insane.
You are the sun poised in the sky above, covered by the clouds
You are the bluest sea whose expanse is limitless, yet only do what the winds allow.
Love,
It breaks my soul.
To watch your broken heart hobble home.
But one day,
I know you'll see love.
Perhaps even my own.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
I. The Fireflies
There was once
a time when the fireflies
had made a home out of me.
One evening,
long after the sun
had surrendered itself
to the hazed horizon
and the pregnant moon,
they had come to my window,
golden freckles of light
twinkling playfully
in the dimness.
What exactly
prompted their gravitation
towards me,
I will never be entirely certain of,
though I have my theories.
Maybe it was the
warm glass of milk
sitting on my bedside table.
Or maybe
they had simply mistaken
the peppers of stardust
laced atop my eyelashes
for their own kin.
Or perhaps–
and most likely–
it had been
the murmur of poetry
on my lips:
…watch how they dart about the trees
in whimsical harmony,
how they rise up towards the dark sky
in the hopes that, someday,
they too will become one with
the constellations that blink
so brilliantly in the blackness.
Yes,
Perhaps this what had captivated them so–
a homage to the fireflies themselves.
Perhaps this is
why they had drifted towards me,
as if in some fanciful trance,
weightless as paper lanterns.
And how sweet they were
as they twirled about the ringlets
in my hair and
nuzzled their small frames
against my cheek
and fingertips.
How sweet they were–
that is,
until the bees came.
II. The Bees
They made lightning bugs
of my fireflies,
whose soft luminescence was replaced
with a violent stream of sparks,
one resembling something close
to the bursting of a fluorescent bulb
And so came the lightning,
the firefly’s only defence against
the approaching swarm,
their only ammunition
in the impending battle:
fireflies versus
bees,
both in want
of my nectared
marrow.
But the lightning
was no reasonable match
for the bees,
with their
large, gelatinous figures
and the persistence
of their stabbings;
annihilated were the fireflies,
carcasses crumbling to soot,
their innards,
still glowing,
smeared across my collarbone
like war paint.
Victorious and
humming menacingly,
the bees then crawled
into my ears
and my mouth
where they proceeded
to feast on their spoils and plunders:
the honey,
that they so cruelly
stole from me.
And once the honey was gone,
so were the bees,
bellies full,
antennae sticky,
their use for me
fulfilled and therefore
discarded.
III. The Spiders
The final hosts
were drawn to
what the bees had left behind:
the inconsolable emptiness
of my being,
They marked their territory
with cobwebs–
spun carelessly
into my arteries
and windpipe.
Breath dwindling and
heartbeat diminishing
I tried to remember the fireflies–
the light–
as the arachnophobia
threatened to devour me.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
tumbling to the tide
the screams inside won’t die
plucked all the pretty petals
now all i have is vines
tie them tight around my windpipe
tumble into the tide
sink into my sadness, meet divine
this was my destiny, my time
kissing the only memories i have of you and i
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 9:21 AM UTC