No-Sugar Added® Poetry's Comments

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At 11:37pm on April 9, 2012, something_exotic said…

Stick This Finger

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.

At 10:34pm on April 9, 2012, Chris86 said…

A haiku:

The untamed dragon

Resistance leads to turmoil

Allowing brings peace

At 8:10pm on April 9, 2012, Turtle Dove said…

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 7:54pm on April 9, 2012, Turtle Dove said…

Consider Insulin
by Rosemary Britt

Beep... Beep... Beep
Forgot to Bolus?

Beep... Beep... Beep
Low Reservoir.

Beep... Beep... Beep
Low Battery.

Beep... Beep... Beep
High Bg
Check for occlusion
Check ketones
Consider insulin

STATUS:
Insurance Inactive!
No insurance,
No insulin,
No pump supplies,

STATUS:
Confusion, Crying, Headache, Nausea, Vomiting, Sweating, No appetite,
Rapid Hungering, Clamouring; It is and it isn't

STATUS:
Type 1 Insulin Dependent
Diabetes Mellitus
Date of Onset:
05-01-1983

Medtronic MiniMed
Pump Start Date:
06-01-1998

STATUS:
Autoimmune Disease
of Unknown Origin

STATUS:
Itchy skin on abdomen
White patches

STATUS:
Allergic to Insulin

STATUS:

At 3:19pm on April 9, 2012, Bec said…

The Days
By Rebecca Redmond

Somewhere inside me a sickness lingers,
seeping through my pin-pricked fingers;
no trust in my body, faith goes to machine,
and I surrender to a secret regime.

Assignment comes not by class, but in type,
so we run on schedule and keep things tight;
my biology no longer feels organic,
with bells and whistles I now sound mechanic.

Robbed of things I will never find,
my hands are as shaky as my mind;
what works for some does not for others,
yet we form a tangled band of brothers.

Inside communications can frustrate,
as it freely flows outside the gate;
with information so complex to understand,
I make movements with slight-of-hand.

Some days are low and others high,
but each one comes with sun in sky;
the peace of that sets me free
to accomplish what they cannot see.

Rows of vials, full of life,
offer little comfort in times of strife;
drawing liquids is a mastered art,
not a craft for the faint of heart.

Situations are muddled with no steadfast rules,
and being weighted down by countless tools;
I take the instructions and hear what they say,
but punishment can happen anyway.

Life continues in spite of woes,
with a transparency to distinguish foes;
new breath drawn at the light of day,
carry on, no matter come what may.

At 8:06am on April 9, 2012, Linda G said…

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
gilt edged.
Others again
chartreuse and mossy...
the dome
nature's Chartres.
Here, there...stippled
lilac
mulberry
mauve...
a dusting of blossom pink.
Dazzling,
the sky...
beyond blue
beyond aqua
words cannot suffice.
Thank you dear God,
thank you.
The brilliance blinds, overwhelms.
'Tis not Autumn,
nor Summer,
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...
but beware
soon will follow
trembling and sorrow.
Panicked and damp
which sweets do
s-l-o-w-l-y restore
me
to begin once more.

At 6:39am on April 9, 2012, Carrie said…

Forever Blue
By Carrie Sumner

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.

At 1:01am on April 9, 2012, Bart said…

Here Name Was Sugar
by
John Bartlett Hafford

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☺

At 6:57pm on April 8, 2012, Marps said…

Hidden Abyss:

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.

At 3:13pm on April 8, 2012, moe91 said…

A diabetic's job is never done.
Check the sugars, ninety one!
Count the carbs, shoot the units.
Oh so low, eat some peanuts!

Order diet drinks out at dinner,
No, I’m not trying to be thinner.
Now it is time to bolus and basal,
Don’t even think of touching that doughnut hole!

Brush your teeth, time for bed.
Put your worries out of your head.
Busy days need time for relief,
Crawl under the covers and remember to breathe.

At 9:09am on April 8, 2012, Raesj said…

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

At 5:06am on April 8, 2012, susan skinner said…

Mindful eating, just repeating.
Same ol’ Same ol’.
From my dear old friends
I am retreating

Where’s my Toast,
My noodles
My potatoes
How many carbs are there in my communial Host?

Out of Desperation
I seek new friends
New allies, new inspiration.

Jicima, salads, and Almond Meal
smaller meals and longer walks
I seek comfort in the my successes
Finding others in which to share
Just what I’ve learned
Just what I feel.

Relax and have some fun
Controlling what I can
Somedays its easy, somedays not
But now I know what can be done.

At 5:03am on April 8, 2012, susan skinner said…

At 12:15am on April 8, 2012, Vulture13 said…

The Old Veteran

The VA got his Blood Sugar down to 650
What an ass
Smokes like a fish Drinks beer like a fiend
Why take Insulin when you insist on killing yourself

At 12:02am on April 8, 2012, Vulture13 said…

At 9:56pm on April 7, 2012, Sohair Abdel-Rahman said…

Mr Down

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 )

At 9:40pm on April 7, 2012, Michelle said…

Low
By: Michelle Kreiner

The lowest of the lows;
a feeling that I know.
Sweating and shaking
my thoughts are breaking
in waves, over my eyes.
I am afraid to die.

My brain feels a mess
and I need to rest.
I need sugar fast
or I may just pass
out. Please work quickly
I’m feeling sickly.

Wait patiently for
the numbers to read more.
Slowly coming around
my head calms its pound.
My thoughts no longer stray
and I live another day.

At 5:23pm on April 7, 2012, Alexa said…

Nightneedle, a villanelle
By Alexa Jarvis

The needle hesitates to extract itself,
stuck in my skin—I’m starting to bleed.
This is not the first time I made that mistake.

(At 19, my vitals were robbed—I lost wealth.
“Programmed,” the Dr. said, when I was just a little seed.
The needle hesitates to extract itself.)

3AM, I am quivering; my sweat bakes.
Blood sugar dropping, my eyes turn into beads.
This is not the first time I made that mistake.

Before I die in a pool of my health,
pass me a juice box as tears steal my cheeks.
The needle hesitates to extract itself.

Sugars rise again, and, says my heart of stealth:
“Easy honey, you’re delicate, and beat.”
This is not the first time I made that mistake.

If I change the syringe, undo my belt
lift my shirt, and plunge my skin with greed,
how come the needle hesitates to extract itself?
This is not the first time it made that mistake.

At 2:08am on April 7, 2012, Sohair Abdel-Rahman said…

Crowded

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

7 April,2012

Sohair

At 2:01am on April 7, 2012, Sohair Abdel-Rahman said…

Great News.Good luck to all

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