#deprecation
When people compliment me,
I feel a crisis of identity.
Was it I whom they were referring?
Or was it someone more fitting?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
So self-deprecating,
Maybe…
If I saw what they see,
I could confidently,
Lower my walls and be me,
So much uncertainty.
I’m not one to accept compliments lightly,
I consistently convince myself that I’m not worthy,
Of their praise or their appreciation.
Cursed self-deprecation.
How could I accept such an honor,
When I look in the mirror,
And see,
Someone other than what they are praising?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
Filled with anxiety,
About whether or not I’m being true to me.
And if I believed,
That I was what they see,
Maybe,
I’d feel happy…
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 3:04 PM UTC
I hate myself
But that's okay
I'll like myself better
Another day
I don't have to hope
I know
With me
That's just how it goes
Just like a stray
I won't always show my face
Give it time
I'll be fine
I know my ways
It always pays
To give me space
It's best to let me go-
at my own pace
I'll come back if it's right
If it's worth the fight
I know my wobbly heart
Would pick it apart
Trying to find the art
If it's worth it
It will hard
And maybe if I'm lucky
It might leave a you shaped scar
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 3:26 AM UTC
Inside I cry, I watch you listen,
Your hand stretched out, I see you pleading.
You try and fumble, to lift my burden
Desperate only to stop the bleeding
Inside I drown, you hold me so tight
Trying your best, anchor of normality
Your hold is strong your smile shines so bright
Lost in a hurricane, a storm of pure volatility
I suffocate, I frantically seek a way out
My fingers are blooded, the coffin stays shut
Lost in a labyrinth of frenzy, a jesters redoubt
I pray in the dark to bathe in your light, but
How can you ever understand?
The lunacy behind
This loving, loyal, poison, hateful
Acid heart of mine
Can you ever know?
The insanity behind,
These longing, desperate, self-destructive
Lonely eyes of mine?
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 12:37 PM UTC
I haven't been eating much.
My shaking hands beg for nourishment,
And only then I feed it.
I've been sleeping a lot,
but it's disturbed, restless.
I've been drinking more and more.
The red wine at night soothes my sadness.
It even makes Him feel farther away.
Just to wake up groggy, unclear, sad.
Alone.
Here I am, punishing myself.
Unable to wrestle out of this cycle.
The wicked voice inside my head is back,
and She's louder than ever.
She likes it when I'm catatonic and vulnerable.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
It’s sad sometimes how desperate I can be
But what’s even sadder is-
Enough
CUT OUT THE POINTLESS SELF DEPRICATION
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
Buried in a hole
Pain?
Nah
Numb...
Eh
Numb...
Short circuiting
Numb...
Fluffy ponies
Numb...
Sleep, who she be?
Numb...
Crinkle, the package opens
Numb...
Blurry vision
Numb...
Hysterical
Numb...
No tears
Numb...
Wave of self deprecation
Self pity
Wow
I'm pretty pathetic
...
Oh well
A
Problem
For another
Day
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
I should see a foot doctor.
My knees ache,
and it ain't like I've been
standing up for myself too much
or sitting down too long.
But they sing their song of pain
again, and again, and again.
I don't pen anything anymore,
maybe a jot there or a line here,
so am I a writer?
How long does it take a "while"
to become a "used to"?
I'm no Du Fu.
I'm no Li Bai.
I should say goodbye,
smile and wave as writing
passes me by.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
what is a (has been) doing here
writing outmoded poems
which never of others
will entirely endear
heck there's but one thing to do
get off the poetry site
and let talented penners
entertain you
since it's a dud at the art
of poetry creation
it'll be taking a no hoper's
extended vacation
the fossilized matter must
bore no more in ho-hum fashion
tis time to exhibit departing
compassion
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
she writes the things that come to her mind in the middle of the night in bursts of blobs of ********
the words come spilling from her mouth and it reeks,
like a trash can left unattended for weeks.
she wakes the morning after and reads it back in hopes for a glimpse into her psyche,
but nada.
nothing.
her brain is a chaotic something that even she cannot make sense of.
her pretty words do nothing to disguise the true mess that lies beneath the surface.
new flowers on an old grave,
the facade
doesn’t mask the decaying body underneath.
the beautiful colors of fall,
failing to disguise the scent of the rotting leaves on the road side.
pretty words from a pretty mouth
with no purpose or meaning.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
When the spit leaves his mouth like acid,
Speckles my face with scars and tears,
Insults are last place in my minds marathon.
The self depreciation is a serrated knife,
Plucking at the strings in my chest.
And with each snap, I am closer to collapsing.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
[page 1] I'm a narcissist. I'm self-aggrandizing. I'm self-centered. I'm selfish. I'm ungrateful. I'm ugly. I'm emaciated. I'm neither here nor there. I'm almost androgynous. I'm awake at odd times. I'm asleep too often. I'm always on something. I'm always off-the-wagon. I'm incomprehensible. I'm rarely belligerent. I'm out of control. I'm out of cigarettes. I'm awful with money. I'm awful with your money. I'm spending all your money. I'm smoking all your **** I'm not coming out today. I'm trying for tomorrow. I'm not really trying. I'm really sorry. I'm always sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry. I'm not letting that get out-of-hand too. I'm lying to myself. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off. I'm trying to convince myself I'm better. I'm convincing a lot of people I'm better. I'm better. I'm lying to
[page 2] myself. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off. I'm trying to catch myself, before I fall into another loop of mundane infinities. I'm often repeating myself. I'm okay with repeating myself. I'm pretty sure you've heard me say this before. I'm saying it again, anyway. I'm so glad you'd listen. I'm so glad you still call on Sundays, and some Thursdays. I'm working this Thursday. I'm sorry. I'm dreaming of breaking hearts. I'm the one breaking my heart. I'm heavy-hearted, but barely broken. I'm buried in a journal of mine, from 2009. I'm disgusted by its contents. I'm not that person anymore. I'm not capable of describing the totality of my purpose with sentences, so blank-yet-still-slovenly as: "I have no other motivation for anything. I just love, want, and respect you." I'm not okay with having meant
[page 3] those words sincerely, and without even the tip of a tongue grazing the closest part to the teeth, of the inner cheek. I'm disappointed in my past selves. I'm motivated by my mission to make memories of them. I'm not letting them take that away from me. I'm not angry. I'm better. I'm trying to catch myself, dozed-off, in the big-leather-recliner. I'm just wondering what time you all left last night. I'm not sure of when I passed out exactly. I'm not as embarrassed as I should be. I'm making it part of my routine. I'm not sure Dad would like that, though. I'm, either way, etching my own aphorisms into the infrastructure of the eternity. I'm attempting prose. I'm, admittedly, copping-out. I'm lying to myself. I'm trying to catch Myself, not paying attention to Itself. I'm failing, up to this point. I'm
[page 4] aware of my "exacerbating the issues." I'm aware this means I "don't want to get better." I'm a lot more aware of what I want, than you've been. I'm unable to catch myself, dozed-off, tranquil-for-once. I'm decided upon a signal of my impending arrival. I'm banging pots and pans, on the stoop, outside. I'm only a few minutes late. I'm not sure it'll make "a huge difference." (I'm sure it won't make any difference.) I'm finished, arguing about it. I'm proud. I'm light-footed, but proud. I'm lucky, beyond only the extent of my imagination's furthest limit. I'm in-flight, towards that boundary, searching for clues. I'm too close to the sun, considering my wax wings. I'm falling. I'm trying to catch
[page 5] myself, nose-dove. I'm amazed by the enormity of the earth below me. I'm running out of air underneath me. I'm evolving my opinions on God. I'm looking up at another-Icarus-ending. I'm staring down, at Salvation Incarnate. I'm calculating the time it'd take. I'm not-trustworthy. I'm awake. I'm not strong enough. I'm wide-awake. I'm not gonna survive this. I'm sick of being awoken by That Unmistakable Whistle. I'm out-of-breath. I'm all-out-of-breath. I'm lost in my lungs, and the Earth only grows. I'm telling lies to myself. I'm sure, I'll catch myself. I'm the only help I'm gonna get. I'm content now, in freefall. I'm watching the wax melt, onto my face. I'm wiping the wax off my face, while I laugh.
[page 6] I'm holding my own forearms, in a tight circle, tangential to my shoulders, too small to cradle a falling seagull, and motioning, as if I mean to help myself catch myself.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
there is a courtyard
behind the abandoned hospital.
vines crawl up the walls like cancer;
like a sickness that cannot be contained.
just like my irrational eagerness for pertinence.
disconnect my conscious thoughts.
make this infection disappear.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Take a look
At this decade's eternal light.
Youth, beauty, happiness.
In theory.
Is that how it was for our parents?
Top tags on this website
#depression #suicide #heartbreak
Are grandma's photo albums fairytales
Or has something changed
Without shame
Unmarked blame
Just a change
Perseverance died
At the doorstep of sarcastic self-deprecation,
Cool-to-be-lame facades,
Glorified depression, growing vines on glowing laptop walls
With a generation, fetal position, ripped jeans and eyeliner, inside
Self proclaimed ****
If you say it first
Those twisted lips of others
Won't press on such a fresh wound
And here we lose the metaphor
Cut yourself
So everyone else
Is picking at scabs
No one would hurt another
Who hurts themselves
Unless they're an ***
So the words are silenced
Are you stronger? Happier? Healthier?
And so we can always be safe
In our self loathing
Until puppy eyes and perfect pictures
Leave us hungry
Hurt by the people who don't mind being *****
Gaining assets, stealing rights from under
Our droopy dismal noses snapshot
Caption: **** up, let down, repeat. Hate me.
-politicians and companies will bash your head on rock bottom
Looking up in disbelief at chemical burns from Big Mac's
We'll look back down to pout about our pain.
The only way to save ourselves?
Perseverance
Positivity
Hope
Though I conveyed none of those emotions in this poem.
**** me.
I'm a hypocrite. But my point still stands.
Perhaps even stronger.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
Death lies at a bottomless cliff
Gorging the valley till the earth splits
And marrow spills through black haze chatter
Between bones of ancestral desires
His voice came through to me one night
A wisp that seeped past glass and flesh
To trickle deprecation
And lay my fitful mind to rest
"All you are, all you to blame
No innocence
You gorge yourself to death
All you are, all you to blame
No innocence
Where men exist"
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC