One drop. Red. Swollen. Clean? Please? All I need is a little bit more
To feed the angry electronic machine,
So the electric circuits can fire
And yield an obscene number made to demean.
Milligrams. Deciliters. Strange measurements.
None of us really know what a millimole means.
Sugar. Sugar. Sugar.
Butchered. Bruised. Battered. Can't stop poking that one spot.
How did I let that last precious drop splatter?
Let me make something painful more comfortable.
I don't want all those puckered scars to scatter
The miniature billboards across to the other prime real estate.
Just let this single side of this single finger be tattered.
Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.
Oh my gosh beautiful people, I love your beautiful poems, your words, so sad, so true, so inspiring, so moving, Thank you, I feel you writing my heart, and singing songs to my islet cells, my heart is singing right back to you. TuDiabetes, oh the sweetness of the sweetest things!!!
At times a low is preceded by an enhancement of the senses...a forewarning if you will. This poem touches on that odd foreboding.
Altered States by Linda Gauvin-Miller
The leaves, amber and copper
chartreuse and mossy...
a dusting of blossom pink.
words cannot suffice.
Thank you dear God,
The brilliance blinds, overwhelms.
'Tis not Autumn,
nor yet Spring
which cause these hues to sing
but an oncoming low,
which is preceded
as a silver lining
by colours beauteous;
an aura beyond compare...
soon will follow
trembling and sorrow.
Panicked and damp
which sweets do
to begin once more.
Some days I am only gray Some days I’m seeing red Some days I’m green with envy But with you, I am forever blue. A child bride was I Forced into an unholy matrimony You were my first codependency An immediate departure from normality A swift slap of reality, And my first taste of mortality, My forever blue. When someone asks me, “how are you today?” I’ll never answer, “Today I’m just surviving on borrowed time From a needle and a vial”, I’ll smile and say “Fine”. Because you were my first acting coach, My forever blue. “Fine” is a lie, no one really knows, How you threaten me. No one knows all the variables You try to control. No one knows the daily pain You course through my veins My forever blue. But… You were also my first determination to keep a journal every night One of those many monsters I will always have to fight. You were the first inspiration For my very first verse At the tender age of ten You were a blessing and a curse. And if forever you must be A damaged, but integral part of me, Then as the warrior I am, This is my declaration This is my affirmation You will not define me You will not defeat me You will not break me You will not make me, And you will not take me Mark my words today, I will outlast you. Because the truth is, I don’t have to be Forever blue.
I used to have a sweet and sexy girlfriend.
I called her my love drug.
She filled me up.
She energized me.
I’d pull her to me
and she’d light up my morning.
She was into everything I did.
She was into my vices.
She was into my relaxation.
She loved my love handles.
She was great.
Her name was Sugar.
She was sweet.
But, something changed.
She became a stinging bitch
who just wanted to rip me apart
from the inside out.
I guess too much of a good thing
can turn corruptible.
I think she played me.
I started hearing about some guy
Sugar and her friends called “D.”
Well, I found out,
through some friends,
that “D” was another guy she was seeing.
But it was too late.
They bank-rolled me.
They cleaned me out.
I had no-where to turn.
That is, until I met my new girl, Stevia;
my sweet leaf on the tree of life☺
I find it hard to say with you standing in front of me. I've hidden these words for years, their weight suffocates entirely. But, if I say it out loud will you think less of me? WIll you turn your back and walk away, leave me to fight, lonely?
I start to say the syllables, but only a breath comes out. You believe I'm sighing and tell me to sit down. You pat the space beside you and let me rest where you are. You take my hand in yours. My sleeve rises, reveals a scar.
You know I used to hurt myself, but you don't know the reasons why. I did it just to feel something; for proof that I won't die from a little blood here and there, from my arms and fingertips. Like the torture across my limbs, even inside, my blood drips.
You know I used to starve myself, thought I needed to be consoled. But, I did it to feel empowered. I did it to feel controlled. As my body wasted away, you could see bruises and bones in my neck. Like the purpleish stains on my thighs, my pain was all I had left.
You know I was hiding something, I stole out of view every few hours. I'd binge drink and then panic. You'd hear my crying in the shower. I always carry my purse with me; it's always too big and filled up. I wear it like it will save my life. That's the truth, can't stress it enough.
Inside is my past, present and future, test strips, syringes and vials. I'm sorry I won't be here forever; I'm struggling to stay just a little while. I'm tired of torturing myself when the gauntlet's lowering on its own. My sight's blurring, my feet tingle... I'm afraid to sleep alone.
You rest your arm around my shoulder. (I haven't yet said any of this) Too afraid to admit this pain; my soul, like blood, is drained and adrift. "What if I told you I'm slowly dying," I whisper. "I'll help you stay here," you say. "I'll make you smile and laugh, I'll wash your tears away."
I start to shudder and chill. (half of me worries that I'm low) But, I feel refreshed, alive. I wonder if you see, if you know. I whisper, "Some say to find a soulmate is the purpose of your life." You reply, "I think it's your best friend who happens to be your wife."
I was too afraid to admit defeat, but I was drowning myself on my own. You tossed me those words, a liferaft; said I didn't have to do it alone. I reached out and grabbed you and I jumped from that sinking ship. My wounds showing, blood flowing; My purpose in life is just... to live.
There was once this thing call diabetes Which included the fun of being healthy It’s not that bad if you want to learn The value of life and the need to turn Turn your life around if you have type 2 The healthy choice is up to you If you have type 1 just like me Then enjoy your treats and you can see See that although it can be a pain It’s also good to learn new things and gain A new way of life and all things new We love ourselves no matter what – it’s TRUE
They called him Mr Down But all his numbers were High He was happy that" high" came His way Till chemotherapy started And all his hair was lost, Fell "down" He could not bend to pick it up And he hates wigs so much Mr Down spent his days Raising up his spirits And endlessly, Crying
( A Down syndrome boy who is diabetic and got leukemia lately )
Listed so many numbers, Listed so many…. Things But they forgot "Me", I am fighting To be out of all numbers "Me" is still proud Though my numbers, Are not
Her voice echoed in my being So lively She could not see me when she finished But she felt my heart Her lovely blind eyes searched the sky And her soul, pointed at me Her lovely voice is not blind Her lovely voice, Can see
US Hispanics are often portrayed in the press as a single, monolithic group. But anyone who has spent any time in San Francisco’s Mission District or the Bronx can tell you, we’re not all the same. Now we’re finding out Read on! →
Traducido por Mila Ferrer. A menudo los Hispanos en Estados Unidos son retratados en la prensa como un solo grupo, monolítico. Pero cualquiera que haya pasado algún tiempo en el Mission District de San Francisco o el Bronx se Read on! →