Best Bulimic Poems
"Marionette of Flesh in a Borrowed Dress"
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
The hourglass,
a skeletal jester
mocks in the tomb's chill
Each falling grain an emaciated sigh,
"Soon you'll cease to be."
The mirror's cold reflection,
a Gorgon's ghastly guise
A marionette of flesh with vacant...
hollow...
colorless eyes.
The worms, like pallid mourners
watch me shrink
A marionette of organs,
cold and pale, pink.
This flesh, a borrowed dress
once sprightly
Now stained and thin
Holds tight the secrets only
death can win.
This borrowed dress,
a shroud where my story's writ
In laughter's faded stitch
and tear's accusing slit.
A map of life etched deep
with scars that mar the grain.
A raven of fleeting triumphs
a pendulum of ceaseless pain.
In the shadowed hollows
where sorrow resides
I languish.
marionettes of fate's cruel designs!
Each scratch and cut a lament.
each tear a bitter sea!
Bound by the chains of my...
limited mortality.
In this borrowed dress,
I mourn what could have been...
Lost in the convulsion of my own... sin.
I am transformed
but not redeemed.
I am drifting into the void
My spirits are shattered
and my dreams destroyed.
So in the silence of eternity
I find my rest
Lost in this body of my own...
detest.
And though this shell
a chrysalis
soon withers
and decays
I cast aside the shroud
no longer bound or worn.
Accept the endless night,
where a new self-forlorn is bourne.
Transformed
a residual relic
through the void
I fly
Suture with stardust catgut,
a worn scroll in the sky.
Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees
Bulimic Barbies browse media monkey banalities
Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios
Dopamine dreams delineate check cash desires
Echo endophfins eulogize bullet brain excrement
Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivolities
Gonadal grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities
Helical hemorrhoids hinder senior stricken hemocraps
Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate postpartum iconoclasts
Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers
Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs
Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies
Malevolent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules
Nevertheless nightingales nourish ruby rich noonbeams
Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages
Pensive pisces picnics lovelorny passions
***** quiet quintensials release rancid quotients
Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble repercussions
Silky seafoam silhouettes fornicate frothy sandlets
Tepid torch trilogies belie belligerent tourniquets
Useless utterances utilize organize orgasmic utopias
Venomous vixens violate cruel.com visions
White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds
XX XY xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms
Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yields
Zen zealous zions mirror magnify Zoneotones
Many a hunger goes unfed.
Some adjust and live with it,
finding satisfaction in suitable activities.
Others push that hunger down, deeper and deeper,
filling the empty hole inside themselves
with dangerous addictions that take the place
for what they hunger for.
Starved for the attention or love
they never received as children,
voracious some become.
They fill the void with things like gambling,
***********, drugs or alcohol.
Each addiction follows its victim through life
like a dark abiding shadow.
Some, needing control of their own lives,
literally starve themselves of food deliberately,
becoming anorexic or bulimic and vomiting their food back up.
The remedy for normalcy becomes
nearly impossible for them to achieve.
For others, life is boring or unfulfilling.
Ravenous as wolves, they stuff their faces.
A paradox is this – for they are not feeding physical hunger.
They need guidance and understanding,
and the will-power to resist
an over-abundance of food, which some mistakenly
believe they hunger for.
Too many hunger for money or material possessions.
They cannot satisfy their cravings,
and this may lead to crime or even murder.
Look around and see the many people hungering
for what. . . they may not even know.
How sad is a society
when what’s considered harmful or immoral
becomes the norm for what we choose
to engorge ourselves upon.
Like the swollen bellies of children in third world countries,
the substitutions for what many of us hunger for
will become the death of us.
{This "Free Verse" entry Received HONORABLE MENTIONS
IN THE Intergenerational Poetry to Bridge the Generation
Contest UNO Elders & Youth track" 2017
UNIVERSITY OF OMAHA
OMAHA, NEBRASKA}
(I was the only male entry in contest)
October 15, 2017
I'm A Teen This is What I Struggle With
I’m a teenager I’m upset depressed
Being so,
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
And I ain’t gonna call you mam or sir
That’s in the history books nobody does that anymore
I represent 30 percent of us that are one or been bullied
All adults want to do is make us study
I close to being grown you don’t understand
I know as much or more than a woman or man
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
I ‘m a teen this is what I struggle with
Feel like I’m imprisoned, these are our teen issues
I have a right it’s my body part selective if I selective
It’s my life if I choose to be sexually active
My life complicated I’m not the only one you used drugs smoke pot now what
Back in your day
Getting drunk the past month I also say
My life, my right again you did that too by the way
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
My message is I’m not heard, I’m hurt
I eat the wrongs things I get big obese some of us throw up
You can call it stayin thin being bulimic
Can’t get no education, don’t have patients for them
They can’t teach or tell me nothing gonna drop of school
Maybe I’ll join the Army
Where are the grownups when I have my problems peer pressure?
They don’t have an answer for them
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
The sexting, hot man what a body, But when I get older that picture still out there
Don’t have to be beaten up physically now it’s done electronically, on social media
Just when I think I can control my life and mind
On screen violence TV shows, movies and violence video games
Keep me wake for weeks and days
I am tired of always being diss
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
09/26/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
for Intergenerational Poetry To Bridge Generations Elders & Youth 2017 Contest
Micro-Feasting
by Odin Roark
To propagate the dung heap of ignorance,
Is to place on low simmer
A main course of illiteracy.
How festive the chefs of mental starvation
Make the tables of 140-character-feasting,
Luring the gullible
Along with the lazy,
The doltish
And the lost,
To gorge, then purge,
Then ignore the noxious vapor
Of sentience becoming residue waste.
So stirs this caldron of abbreviated ingredients,
Stifling taste buds for savoring delectable elocution,
Reducing vocabulary to bulimic shorthand
And expecting all to join this achromatic work-around.
Hopefully, the language of full syllabic enunciation
Will return with a vengeance,
Sending expression’s drive-by expediency
Into its all too deserving exile.
Consideration pauses in the distance.
One can hear the echoes of dismay,
“Does this mean we’re expected to read…
AGAIN?
There was a chef named Luke,
All of his entrees were nuked.
In every dinner he planned,
All of his food was canned,
And most of his patrons puked.
Now many patrons inquired,
Why this chef was never fired,
But his boss was anemic,
and very bulimic,
Which is why Luke was hired.
This Diner's reputation lags,
But the owner always brags,
That his dining auditorium,
is a modern vomitorium
With no need for doggie bags.
Inundating, binging,
the muddy, bulimic river
gorged the flood plain, consuming
everything that wasn’t nailed down:
tree limbs, leaves, bleating sheep, chicken coups,
plastic grocery bags, inner tubes,
cesspit contents, only to vomit
it back up to its torrential torrent surface.
Helpless victims stand the high ground
with a wing and prayer their homes
be spared the wrath of God
knowing only too well that the laws
of nature…
have no favorites.
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
Night follows day in bitter hungry monotony,
as wane laughter dies upon parched lips,
and ignorant innocence is trampled underfoot
at every corner of the decadent deserted plain.
Homeless bulimic children unsmiling, subdued, thirsty
seek dilapidated dug-in shelters devoid of nourishing food.
Employment inexistent, as the rich grow richer,
the poor poorer. Death is not far away. Famine reigns.
This is today's nightmare as vultures fly above
ready to prey on dead children’s carcasses below.
But I am headstrong and will not give up.
For I'm sure someday there will be
a reckoning, a purge, where judgment triumphs.
Then as years roll by, we will return to till the land,
our laughter will increase, our food becomes abundant,
our minds will return to sanity.
And all my wishes will come true.
Love grows with humility and respect.
But that's another story, another age.
Sailing along on edge
Convenience, forgotfulness
Wayward beliefs once simple
A world supposedly, not flat
Then, tell me...
Why are we falling
Bruised eyes, off peering
Life, living lies
In this thing called internet
Where is hope
Stretched out
In a few ample strokes
What are these answers
Like, Unlike
Are they not, or people
Our future screaming
But I can't hear it
What is it saying
Emotionless, eager, finger button beggar
Through every window out
Leering in petrified desire
For a moment just look away...
At a stack of books
In the corner decorate
Almost higher
Than a
Inch fifty LCD or Plasma
From this...
Are angry shadow ghosts
Childeren fading
Become plastic models
Lose or, die
But hey, It's not you, so it's okay
And anyway, it's in the public
Forum "Right?"
You know “Youtube”
Facebook, Twitter minutes to fame
Let's just roll ourselves upward
Into a corpse of glamour
Turn up the music
Ever louder
Drown out the evil voices
Dancing naked risque
Sailing off this edge is floating
Within the numb
Bombarded to swallow it all
Red or blue rainbows upon our tongues
A bitter world of pill
Worshiping the drug
Or be bulimic
Pretend to have faith
Purge at end of day
Whisper “I'm sorry” forgiveness
Pray, while continue falling
Dream comforts night
Then, begin a morning
Off alarms
On Pods,Pads and back
To artificial light
One last question
Do you think from where Steve Jobs is at
That he truly cares...
About the newest Apple app
Or does he laugh
Knowing only we can create
The world which surrounds us
Be it round or be it flat
And still it keeps spinning
WHOSE THE HATERS
Where have all those haters gone
Those ones on social media
Where have all the haters gone
Those who criticize my religion
Who are all those haters
Who hate me for the color of my skin
And where are those haters
That did associate with me
And whose reality do I believe
Where are the haters
Who kills me with their words
Who shoves my heart, throws it on the floor
Who talks badly bout' the new school girl
Who makes fun of the small boy
Whose not so good in sports
Who is the girl whose bulimic
Your never chosen by the boys your to skinny
Who are all those haters, you laugh at my name
I've forgiven you once now your ashamed, whose the hater now?
1/4/18
Here is my own recipe for Diet Fruit Pie.
Perhaps you’d like to give it a try.
It will be a success I trust,
if pounds need be shed
as I assume they must.
Peel five large bananas and discard the insides.
Get out the chopper and blend those hides.
When it turns to paste, flour up a pan
and squish it in there by hand.
That will be the crust
of which every pie must.
You may even lick your fingers
If you’re one of those bingers.
Now to this diet pie plan of yours,
Add four cups of apple cores.
For filler, chop up the cardboard box without the ritz
and fold it in with a cup of blended cherry pits.
Now cover up this mess with the rest of the banana peel batter
Bet you’re already feeling a lot less fatter….
(stop drooling)
You may finish up with a garnish topping as follows:
Take old grapefruit peelings and chop them up fine,
mix in, to suite, bits of watermelon rind.
Sprinkle this topping generously all around
And burn this dietary delight until brown.
Warning: this recipe is not for the anemic
As it tends to make one bulimic.
(for more tempting recipes go to : uuuheadforthejohn.com )
Chef Robairte'
Patient Hope is on a stoic decline
The celluloid tread mill
is crybaby set
on an aorta sob incline —
A cardio faithless, vertical whine
Shouldering the weight of personal decisions,
is seen nowadays
as an irresponsible, bulimic activity
Cares of the world
will surely take an unkind toll
on the body and soul
Lust obesity trick imagery
is a mirror mirage
of illusory, measured wait loss
But how much wasted time
in your slouch sofa life did it cost?
For a slimmer waistline,
Vanity became your sin slave boss
Phat pocket dreams
binge bought on a lottery coin toss
Puffed up pride made you take a wait loss
Virtuous self-denial sacrifices
is a lost art —
an unpracticed part
of flabby moral muscle shedding
Taut bellies of bloated importance
(attained through artificial,
sweaty palm wait loss)
is a self-absorbed sin of indulgence
Rash prayers desiring rushed results,
be a twig spandex figure
uncertainty marred by obese doubt
And discarding of the necessary,
healthy heft of navel faith
is a wait loss ...
Unnatural mental womb aerobics,
that an anorexic spirit
chose to exercise
at a flatline metabolic rate
I am subject of your objections
your majesty
let us cloak ourselves
in the moral fabric of religion
and make believe we're royalty
present an image to impress
a new age novelty
a dying breed of humanity
we knock at empathy's door
beg entrance to the light
gained only from the price of
a thousand lost souls
in their luminescent flickerings
of goldfish in a bowl
a pisces paradise
invading parasite
beguile thy emerald isle
fornlorn the jagged shores
of Erinyes and Norn
feigning faint, a bulimic trick
how we stumble and trip through these doors of perception
by divine intention
a moral invention
you can swallow your god pill whole
but I still prefer to chew
Gone to the jungle cats
Gone to the fat cats
Gone to the mice and insects
in the sewers.
Nothing
will kill a man
quicker
than fear of loss.
Loss of a woman
Loss of children
Loss of home
Loss of fortune
All gone,
eaten by bulimic vultures
who only purge the remains
to leave as a reminder,
something to look back on.
All gone,
violated by mad scores of pedophiles
They feed
Then rape
Then stab
until the dream is complete
Gone to bureaucracy
Gone to the wolves
Gone to the blues
no pick so i have to strum by hand
Gone into poems and books and screenplays
Gone into sour comedy
Gone with the storm clouds
Gone with the days and nights
Gone with time and constellations
Gone for war
Gone for peace
Gone for a quick break
I am sure
the love must be true
when a woman's words
can still pierce
like a gilded pitchfork.