Pultakhen

So I like watching surgery shows, and recently I’ve been interested in My Feet are Killing Me. They do foot surgery pretty frequently but it always seems to look like they don’t worry about nerve damage and the surgeries look pretty rough and intense yet appear to have minimal blood loss. How do they achieve that? Why is it okay to use so much force on bones and joint in the process of repairing them? Why are literal screws okay to put in bones and joints? In the words of Phill Collins, “ I want to know. Can you show me?”

So I like watching surgery shows, and recently I’ve been interested in My Feet are Killing Me. They do foot surgery pretty frequently but it always seems to look like they don’t worry about nerve damage and the surgeries look pretty rough and intense yet appear to have minimal blood loss. How do they achieve that? Why is it okay to use so much force on bones and joint in the process of repairing them? Why are literal screws okay to put in bones and joints? In the words of Phill Collins, “ I want to know. Can you show me?”

(Except for red)

Any advice I should now about the trade or topics to focus on?

On the forest floor mushrooms sit,

alive on the remains of a priors passing.

No matter the size, the amount amassing,

none could avoid it at last.

A mushroom grows from the dirty past.

Much like how, one might storm away,

angry, discordant, seething rage,

a feral beast escaped from their cage,

only to return to the scene again,

repentant, renewed, tired, estranged,

forgiving,

intent to continue living,

to move forward from the past,

to outlast,

and firmly grasp

beyond what hurts,

either theirs or another’s.

Intently determined to seek to recover.

Much like a mushroom,

We each cou

My tears are sacred and my dermis burns

the holywater away from my cheeks,

leaving a salty pillar of a human being,

standing amidst a sulfurous serenade

of the sunlights dripping saliva.

I will stand awake and alive, as passersby

take my arms and my eyelashes as a garnish

for their french fries.

She says she is not beautiful because her hair will not lay flat like it is elbow macaroni under a rolling pin;

She says she is not beautiful because her eyebrows are big like the televisions in Costco;

She says she is not beautiful because her arms are warm and soft like biscuit dough;

She says she is not beautiful because stretched skin lines her body like rickety train tracks trail the river;

She says she is not beautiful because her eyes are thin like the finest saucers;

She says she is not beautiful because her nose tilts just slightly like the orbit of the moon;

She says she is not beautiful because her muscles stick out like the biggest guns at the rodeo;

She says

She says she is not beautiful because her hair will not lay flat like it is elbow macaroni under a rolling pin;

She says she is not beautiful because her eyebrows are big like the televisions in Costco;

She says she is not beautiful because her arms are warm and soft like biscuit dough;

She says she is not beautiful because stretched skin lines her body like rickety train tracks trail the river;

She says she is not beautiful because her eyes are thin like the finest saucers;

She says she is not beautiful because her nose tilts just slightly like the orbit of the moon;

She says she is not beautiful because her muscles stick out like the biggest guns at the rodeo;

She says s

My tears are sacred and my dermis burns

the holywater away from my cheeks,

leaving a salty pillar of a human being,

standing amidst a sulfurous serenade

of the sunlights dripping saliva.

I will stand awake and alive, as passersby

take my arms and my eyelashes as a garnish

for their french fries.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/wjme3e/every_now_and_then/iji7xhf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

[2](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/wjkzbd/broker_love/iji8lez/?utm_sou

(Tbh untitled because i don’t know what to call it)

On the forest floor mushrooms sit,

alive on the remains of a priors passing.

No matter the size, the amount amassing,

none could avoid it at last.

A mushroom grows from the dirty past.

Much like how, one might storm away,

angry, discordant, seething rage,

a feral beast escaped from their cage,

only to return to the scene again,

repentant, renewed, tired, estranged,

forgiving,

intent to continue living,

to move forward from the past,

to outlast,

and firmly grasp

beyond what hurts,

either theirs or another’s.

Intently determined to

Both my parents are Black but they have enough mixed lineage that I ended up with 30% polish ancestry. I’m excited about learning more of the culture, but also fearing rejection. And i guess it’s just kinda weird to find out “I’m less Black than i always thought I was…” Any ideas on how to chill about it?