Best Dysphoria Poems
Faulty biology adds a perfect suffering
Tears in my throat leave me weakly stuttering
Fear, pain, and angst leaves my body cold and shuddering
Dark thoughts make me unconscious, slumbering
I ask about your day and leave your soul merely ignored
A lack of words, useless screams onto the lord
Of which I lack belief, although desperation cold
Closes shut my eyelids and embraces my own soul
No one seems to notice all the pain which I withhold
Abort physical pain and the infinite dysphoria
Add the opposite of pleasure and orgasmic euphoria
The result is numbness in an infinite dystopia
I see 2 men in the mirror like I'd suffer from dyplopia
I feel sickness for myself as a man with autophobia
I vomit blood, I've cracked my skull because of nausea
My lack of genitalia leaves me with phantom limbs
I can't really describe it more than limbs that don't exist
Will I ever be okay, or will this pain persist?
Passions from expression prohibited
Floods an entire being
As arms ache from longing
To nurture, to shelter, to embrace
What on this bed cannot lie
And what in this house cannot live
Anymore.
In lieu a distant view
Suffices to nourish
A parched heart's thirst,
And dreams of what cannot be
Invades unguarded moments,
While despondent poisons
From the radio spill
Infecting from ear to soul;
To be human,
A sin that cannot be avoided.
Made In America
Is a fable
By foreign companies
For
Gullible patrons
Who love
To call themselves
Patriots
Today a key
To unlock the apartment
Tomorrow
It will be
Your debit card
And
A credit score
Will float over your head
Kids go to school
Not in the latest fashion
Nor
Do they wear uniforms
No
School kids
Today they wear
Bullet-proof vests
No healthcare for all
But war!
War for all ages!
Step up!
One and all!
Except for the rich!
Only the poor
Get to die!
On television
That's not a NASCAR race!
It's congress
But look
Look at their sponsors
Big pharma!
And oil companies!
Writing your laws!
Dystopia dysphoria
It never
Seemed real
Until
We made it real!
And Idiocracy
is a documentary
Of America's downfall!
Have you ever woken up asking "whats the point"
Tired of daily life
Desperate for a change
Music doesn't seem to please anymore
Nights when sleep seems tiresome
Days that seem to never end
I just need a switch
Not necessarily something major
People's questions hit my ear drums exasperatedly
I have a dysphoric mood
Nothing seems to please me
Everything seems exhausting
People seem to be missing from my life
Just me and my insanity in this silent room
Where did I run off to?
The skin crawls.
The eyes see but do not observe.
The ears hear but tune out, as I try to tune in.
Here I remember thoughts that once felt like a plague;
How can I be a better person today?
Whose cup is half empty, aching to run over?
Lately, and for an eternity now, I feel the true ailment,
The winding spiral of nothingness which touches the very pit of me,
from the tip of my head to the bare of my feet,
with the tax of a body to drag along.
A void i prefer to avoid, but is quite fond of me,
embodies me,
while everything internally screams a disabling, prolonged clamor of vacancy;
extinguishment.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Where did I run off to?
In your heels
In your lips
Your tight belly
Your pantyhose
I owned you
and disdained you
I didn’t believe
what I knew
I held you outside
my busy greedy
expanses
Guilty
I said you were lovely
but I never could be seen
with you
Like a phobic fascist
I hated you for what
I did
And never comprehended
my reflex
Instead
in terrorized dreams
I always fled my police
i can never be myself
skin stretching around fat around tissue around blood around bones
pushing through, spreading out, im aching
but never breaking through
i never wanted any attention
never wanted to be visible at all
i can never be myself
sturdy muscle collapsing in on itself
what good is a functioning body that isn’t mine
i’m sorry that i’m not grateful, i know
but imagine wearing a suit of skin that isn’t yours
feeling the slime, the guts, the flesh
suffocating, pulsing
looking into the faces of those you love
screaming and screaming but never being recognized, they can’t see
i can’t see my face in the mirror
i can never be myself because myself does not exist
humming pulse gripping small wrists
skin weeping in crimson tears and mauve permanence
hands lunge through a prison of flesh and bone
scratching and scratching and scratching
ripping through foreign guts
collecting foggy identity through each incision
desperate to carve any semblance of comfort
of visibility
of recognition
a bloody noose tightens around my throat
as the world fades, i look into the mirror, estranged eyes meet my gaze
i never belonged here anyway
fingers locked in mine, back to heavy chest
visibility in an intimacy that transcends imagery
coordination of flesh to expression, ability to hold
weight properly contained, self-enclosed sanity
the capacity to absorb affection and return it in my own integrity
unity in identity; consciousness to body, feet planted below
the relief of shared sustenance and linked touch
possibility in visions held in warm palms
raw energy between us, liberated beyond illusions
veracity in being, unsaid yet accepted without exception
what is the point of desire through foreign skin?
That damned thing between the walls
that stares and stares all day long,
A ghost, a ghoul, something fowl,
You can tell from how it scowls,
It whispers truths I wished denied,
its body clad head to toe in lies,
I cannot shake the cursed eyes,
which stalk me still through day and night,
This creature which tears my soul to shreds,
Haunts my dreams, lies in my bed,
Sometimes I wish it better off dead,
or simply not exist instead,
This thing which fills my heart with fear,
lies behind every mirror
There's a constant drone in the back of my head
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
A constant drone that turns my vision red
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Snap
Snap
Snap
Snap
Every picture hurts
Crack
Crack
Crack
Crack
The facade's about to burst
The person you are inside,
Your real self, your personality,
Is not who you look like on the outside
You are not show in reality
Body and mind are not one,
Two different things apart
You are now done
With being split in part
Between what is shown
And what is you really
The body you think you own
And the one inside, you finally
Decide to break the cycle of thinking
And end it with you last blinking
Written on February 17, 2020
An ultimatum stood at my door
And greeted me so fondly
To the tune of my thumping heartbeat.
"Live as I seem or die as I am"
The words had reverberated in my skull and rattled my bones-
Sick with grief and mourning
Of a life never lived,
A lick of air never tasted on a tongue of a new man-
Not man-soon-to-be, or transsexual or Pinocchio without the splintering of wood but of words,
That scar my treacly heart,
That would better beat being born of another,
Without the tack tack tack of a dull toothache,
Soothed by morning (mourning) migraines or piercing stab of the mirror you avoid,
If not only to ignore the cavity but the caveat of a sorrow sight sought by seeing the sores gap,
Or stain of black mold
That seep into the other aspects of life,
Rotten tooth, rotting
Rotten life.
The ultimatum greeted me once more with a jolly hello on a Sunday morning
(After Saturday night was such a wonderful night)
Ever persistent, like church-going evangelists,
The knock-knock-knock
Similar to the beating of a batter to beat broken bruised boys,
Yet a boy was not who I was (To the eye)
But what I sought to be,
Surely the movement door-to-door or to move preaching lips mimic the migration or change in oneself-
To them; As enlightenment
For myself; A step down where the fire crackles,
Even as the tide crashes below,
Pitchfork points dig into my heel,
I'll take the grueling punishment,
Cast into the bowels of the earth,
And pecked by the birds,
So give me that old time religion,
It's good enough for me.
The ultimatum met me atop a bridge and greeted me,
Gun to my head,
"Fall back as I seem or pull the trigger as I am."
A coup de grâce,
The ocean lingers at a standstill as the gun cocks,
Waiting to exhale.
Unlike the earth,
With my heart's final pang,
I don't end with a whimper,
But with a bang.
Fluttering Blue Banners
Pink & White long behind
Hidden under the tiles, an adder
Teeth sharp as rock we’ll surely find
Large smiles and new energy
So young blooms breathe fresh air
Into lungs defeated by entropy
Feeding grins once diminished by a glare
How music lulls us sweetly
In morning, in night, in rest
How the poisons kill deftly
And we ignore symptoms for the fest
Celebrate for new breath
Defeated by broken lungs
Turn away from threats of death
Her beauty never hears their tongues
They’ll surely kill us all
Or make the rest unending pain
But spring will be loved in place of fall
And if in Her stormy skies, we will reign
I'm sick of living my life on a timer
It restarts daily, but it ticks forevermore
There's only one solution to the timer
But it's not available to me
They can't see why I hate the timer
They think the time on it is enough
Sometimes they ask why I need the time
They say, "If the timer bothers you, stop taking the time!"
"We don't take the time. So we don't have a timer. Look at us!"
Oh how I wish it were that simple
They have no timer, but they have all the time
They don't need to take it
They were born with it
I hate my timer
Ironic we live in a time when partial people
Feel the need to cut off parts
To be more whole
These parts can range
From friends and family, home and culture
To their own distinctive body
But the effect is the same
Individuals made even less
In their effort to be something more
(1/2/25)
Short Poem Dysphoria
Miracle Man
1/14/2023
Due to lifely issues, numbering a bunch,
quality of life has taken a different track.
Today, Dysphoria is eating my lunch,
and readies itself to pop the sack.
Tom