Illness Poems - Poems about Illness

I woke up on the mattress placed in our living room. I found a cat in my house—it’s the size of a Shiba, and its fur a vibrant orange, with stripes raven dark. I said to my mother, “What an odd looking cat.” She...

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Everyone else can enjoy holding onto gold coins. Which are beautiful. I had enough money back when I had blurry vision. When I rhyme. It sounds harsh, and growling. When I don’t rhyme? It’s as if I live in someone’s basement. But basements don’t have kitchens so I rhyme, I rhyme. If you’ve noticed that nothing...

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Conversations with my father, Bittersweet, and maybe sad Conversations with my father Talks that we never had. Companionably silent As we set off walking Neither of us known For doing too much talking Down Lambwath road To Billy Bulson’s farm, Each with a broken 12 bore Tucked safely underarm. I was at his hospital bedside On the day that he died Once alone in the car I...

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To be a good father You already have to be a good man But apparently he couldn't be either guess it was just easier For him to be just like his father Him being a black father Made it harder The stereotypes That followed him around That policed He probably internally agreed He felt it must've...

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They claimed this world, Its not what it seems to be. So it started to unravel, bursting at the seams. So I lied in a wake. Unable to slip away. So I'm begging you now go back to sleep. counting your stars while they poison your sheep. Once the wave is set it's doomed to repeat. Thats where they linger hidden within your dreams. Just waiting for...

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God is watching you. He is watching me Whether you are a monotheist or godless He is waiting for us to come home He says heaven is crowded Stay away a little longer to make room Don’t do anything to shorten your life Don’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time Don’t bury your talents like an ostrich Watch me dive...

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Why promote wrecking-ball malice Behind the wall of a palace? This callous man sick Acts like a big dick To cover up his small phallus...

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The tower dark and cold, a conquest for the brave. My hands shake, a sign. The bed unmade, Mother’s throne. My cheeks lift, freedom. The jougs bite, a bit looser. My talons reach for it, Click. Thud. The crickets and wind sing, a perfect recipe. My limbs remember the weight, stillness lingers. Hunger gnaws where helplessness once slept. Instincts awaken, survival bound. "Mother could not keep...

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What I’m saying. What is decaying. I have enough at home. Feeling sad as that dome. The office building over there. Is as strange as hair. There could be enough. But treasure chests are tough. Mind powers. They told us it would only take hours. Take as much paper as you want to. It’s true. I had...

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I dig the blade into my skin I don’t get why it’s such a sin. People drink until they drown Until they can’t hear a sound People smoke until they’re high Until they think they’re in the sky People avoid until there’s nothing Until the pain starts numbing What’s wrong with a couple small scars? How much different are they really from bars...

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i will do it the day after tomorrow. i will do it when the sun feels less like an interrogation, and my skin stops aching from the weight of my blankets. i will answer texts, fold the clothes, untangle the mess in my chest long enough to sweep the floor. i’ll brush my teeth like it means something. but not today. not while the silence keeps calling me back. i...

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journey into a bipolar mind pebbles in time . there were ripples in yesterday’s water where stones once were tossed . pebbles really, yet enough to form concentric wrinkles soothing over rough edges and drowning silly circus clowns . each circle died and glass-like waters were again still undisturbed as though he had not been there . perhaps he hadn’t . in his head circles rolled onto circles and the pale painted...

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As an easy pushover and soft touch lamenting my demise Vultures swooped overhead and preyed on my vulnerabilities forcing me to carrion camping as fine young cannibals sharpened their knives and licked their lips while eyeing me as their naked lunch bound and gagged as a huge cauldron bubbled awaiting yours truly as human sacrifice preparatory to be boiled alive shorn of clothes embarrassingly in the buff with me...

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(yes, I'm serious) Three minutes. That’s how long it took to name a swarming mess: A self-appointed poet with rogue chemicals sizzling in her nerves. The diagnosis long and fancy— bitter but addictive on my tongue, like the gin I’ve grown fluent in. (Is that why his voice was slurred?) ...

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Its not a lighthouse in a storm Theres no foghorn to be heard Lighthouses warn of danger Make you turn away without a word Its not a spotlight to be avoided Not glaring into your soul Not trying to bring attention To every flaw or failed goal Its a beacon there to guide you To help you find your way to shelter No matter what...

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