#monologues - Hello Poetry

To try once more would only dig me deeper in the depths Desperation dealt with daily Deepening my breaths Remember running in the rain Really hope the memory remains Still stuck with soaked socks And small spots of dirt stains

0

May 15, 2023

May 15, 2023 at 11:02 AM UTC

kain-larose

Desperate

To try once more would only dig me deeper in the depths Desperation dealt with daily Deepening my breaths Remember running in the rain Really hope the memory remains Still stuck with soaked socks And small spots of dirt stains

8

I am one of those guys Who are reticent at first But open up, as you get to know them And once you've loosened my tongue There's no stopping me As I will go on and on Till you die of boredom Jokes apart, I am autistic Which means that I may struggle When it comes to social interaction And can often be absent-minded However, on the brighter side My long-term memory is really good And autism doesn't impact my work in the slightest I am a good listener too You can trust me with secrets And I'll take them to the grave Without a second thought You may mock me as much as you like But lay a finger on my close friends And I will send you back to your maker!! On that warning note It's time for me to wrap up this little monologue However, if you've attended job interviews You would know that they usually begin like this "Tell me about yourself" Well, if you want a suitable answer Then use this poem of mine as a reference Just joking, don't even think of doing that!!

0

Mar 11, 2023

Mar 11, 2023 at 12:44 PM UTC

Ashwinkumar1989

"Tell Me About Yourself"

I am one of those guys Who are reticent at first But open up, as you get to know them And once you've loosened my tongue There's no stopping me As I will go on and on Till you die of boredom Jokes apart, I am autistic Which means that I may struggle When it comes to social interaction And can often be absent-minded However, on the brighter side My long-term memory is really good And autism doesn't impact my work in the slightest I am a good listener too You can trust me with secrets And I'll take them to the grave Without a second thought You may mock me as much as you like But lay a finger on my close friends And I will send you back to your maker!! On that warning note It's time for me to wrap up this little monologue However, if you've attended job interviews You would know that they usually begin like this "Tell me about yourself" Well, if you want a suitable answer Then use this poem of mine as a reference Just joking, don't even think of doing that!!

29

Toni Morrison wrote the Bluest Eye, but why does Kanye wear blue contacts at the Met Gala in front of the whole world who have their phones out, ready to snap a photo? The window to that life of fortune is half-way open and all the doors to success in this townhouse are closed shut, so it doesn’t make sense for me to cook these eggs and hash browns, when no one is coming over to eat and to share the blueprint with me. Because, I don’t know whether to squat down and roll the dice outside in the alleyway, or keep climbing the fire escape until I reach the clouds of heaven. The air-conditioner rattles and clanks nothing but old air. And it’s a heatwave outside. Bodies sizzling on the pavement like the pancakes baking on the frying pan. Pop told me the white man is unholy, and then he goes and wears a cross around his neck. Radio, oh radio, oh radio; if it keeps playing the same, **** rap and pop songs, My mind will become a turn-table. No scratches. Just the crisp sound of decay. Please be quiet Pop, let me watch this program. Control me another day. Thank you for the heartache. What happened? Is that what you’re asking me? A lot did, lots of stuff. You want me to tell you? I don’t know if you want me to excavate this ish from my mental, Or tell it to you in the raw and gritty. You sure? Okay then. I remember the white bag covering my head while my eyes were open wide, closing my vision and shrouding me in my own blackness. The brackish, heavy water from the James River rushed and flowed over stones and broken branches as my friends hummed gospel hymns to unite us across this journey of baptism. We walked barefoot along the muddy ground filled with tiny rocks and snapped twigs and followed one another, our chests convulsing from the anxiousness of the unknown, arms drooped into a V with one hand over the other to keep our fingers from shaking. When brotherman put his palm on my chest, I could feel my heart exploding with excitement, as he dipped my body gently backwards. Immediately, freezing water flooded the bag and my head became soaking with a coldness that was like a flat of the hand striking my tender cheek. When I emerged from the shallows of the dark river, still dripping with water, my lungs expanded as I gasped for air, for relief, and for an opportunity to restore my tarnished soul, a soul that is inside of a body, the same body that sits on this couch with lumpy cushions, staring at a TV screen showing black boys getting murdered in cold blood and not a ******* thing I can do about it, and why worry about a cycle of bad news, when I can just buy these clean, white boat shoes. But, I remember the coldness of the river as I stood knee-deep in rolling water, which seeped into my red shirt and my shorts, my feet caked in mud. Glad, I took my kicks off. Paid way too much money to mess up my new boat-shoes and that’s real **** to be perfectly honest. Don’t worry Pop, I used my own hard-earned money to pay for these. So I’m white now? Would it make a difference if I switched from laces to Velcro? If I took a brush and painted a black swoosh over the sailboat? If I wore tall white tube socks instead of going barefoot in these shoes, Then would that change your opinion? Okay, the silent treatment, right, lay it on me. Wow, now you’re making hand-gestures. Talk too much? Me talk too much? This house talks too much! The floor creaks and the faucets leak. The shutters clatter and clang from the wind. Pop, all I want to do is go outside, cuz I’m going crazy right now. The sun is shining a bright light over this house, And I know I can’t see a **** thing. Because my eyes have yet to Fully Open Up

0

Jun 15, 2016

Jun 15, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC

dannyartreads

First Floor monologue.

Toni Morrison wrote the Bluest Eye, but why does Kanye wear blue contacts at the Met Gala in front of the whole world who have their phones out, ready to snap a photo? The window to that life of fortune is half-way open and all the doors to success in this townhouse are closed shut, so it doesn’t make sense for me to cook these eggs and hash browns, when no one is coming over to eat and to share the blueprint with me. Because, I don’t know whether to squat down and roll the dice outside in the alleyway, or keep climbing the fire escape until I reach the clouds of heaven. The air-conditioner rattles and clanks nothing but old air. And it’s a heatwave outside. Bodies sizzling on the pavement like the pancakes baking on the frying pan. Pop told me the white man is unholy, and then he goes and wears a cross around his neck. Radio, oh radio, oh radio; if it keeps playing the same, **** rap and pop songs, My mind will become a turn-table. No scratches. Just the crisp sound of decay. Please be quiet Pop, let me watch this program. Control me another day. Thank you for the heartache. What happened? Is that what you’re asking me? A lot did, lots of stuff. You want me to tell you? I don’t know if you want me to excavate this ish from my mental, Or tell it to you in the raw and gritty. You sure? Okay then. I remember the white bag covering my head while my eyes were open wide, closing my vision and shrouding me in my own blackness. The brackish, heavy water from the James River rushed and flowed over stones and broken branches as my friends hummed gospel hymns to unite us across this journey of baptism. We walked barefoot along the muddy ground filled with tiny rocks and snapped twigs and followed one another, our chests convulsing from the anxiousness of the unknown, arms drooped into a V with one hand over the other to keep our fingers from shaking. When brotherman put his palm on my chest, I could feel my heart exploding with excitement, as he dipped my body gently backwards. Immediately, freezing water flooded the bag and my head became soaking with a coldness that was like a flat of the hand striking my tender cheek. When I emerged from the shallows of the dark river, still dripping with water, my lungs expanded as I gasped for air, for relief, and for an opportunity to restore my tarnished soul, a soul that is inside of a body, the same body that sits on this couch with lumpy cushions, staring at a TV screen showing black boys getting murdered in cold blood and not a ******* thing I can do about it, and why worry about a cycle of bad news, when I can just buy these clean, white boat shoes. But, I remember the coldness of the river as I stood knee-deep in rolling water, which seeped into my red shirt and my shorts, my feet caked in mud. Glad, I took my kicks off. Paid way too much money to mess up my new boat-shoes and that’s real **** to be perfectly honest. Don’t worry Pop, I used my own hard-earned money to pay for these. So I’m white now? Would it make a difference if I switched from laces to Velcro? If I took a brush and painted a black swoosh over the sailboat? If I wore tall white tube socks instead of going barefoot in these shoes, Then would that change your opinion? Okay, the silent treatment, right, lay it on me. Wow, now you’re making hand-gestures. Talk too much? Me talk too much? This house talks too much! The floor creaks and the faucets leak. The shutters clatter and clang from the wind. Pop, all I want to do is go outside, cuz I’m going crazy right now. The sun is shining a bright light over this house, And I know I can’t see a **** thing. Because my eyes have yet to Fully Open Up

40

It’s one in the morning. There is no other bus in the terminal than this one. It is filled with dozing passengers, Half-awake bodies smelling of cheap perfume, Watered alcohol, lime and cigarette. You smell like mint and a hint of sugary Sprite. You sit on the last row of the bus, Just next to the window. White headphones thread their way Through your tumbleweed hair. I wonder what are the songs You spend your time listening to. I look at your reflection on the glass. I steal glances at your lovely face. As you lean on the smooth glass window Let the world pass you by for a while. I wonder if you noticed me staring. I wonder if for a fleeting moment you tried. Perhaps you don’t. But I certainly do. I notice the lonesome wrinkle under your eyes. I notice the way your lips quirk into a smile. I notice the rumble of your laughter I notice how bad you want to believe in ever afters. I notice how in the ghostly streetlight, your irises change a slight hue. I notice that your wearing a navy mascara and cerulean eyeshadow. It’s almost my stop. But I don’t try to stand up. I turn to you, and you looked so vulnerable. You’re curled up in your side, fast asleep. And I never wanted any other thing Than hold you in my arms for a heartbeat. You look so vulnerable – and not pretty. Not pretty. Beautiful. You had your eyes closed. You can’t see me. But I see you. I want to flip the hourglass. I want to keep you right there, on the back row of the dingy bus. I want to stop the sand from pouring down. I want to stop the bus, from driving into town. I want to stop the world. I want to stop the universe. Because mine just did.

0

Sep 6, 2015

Sep 6, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC

PanicTheater

MONOLOGUES, I

It’s one in the morning. There is no other bus in the terminal than this one. It is filled with dozing passengers, Half-awake bodies smelling of cheap perfume, Watered alcohol, lime and cigarette. You smell like mint and a hint of sugary Sprite. You sit on the last row of the bus, Just next to the window. White headphones thread their way Through your tumbleweed hair. I wonder what are the songs You spend your time listening to. I look at your reflection on the glass. I steal glances at your lovely face. As you lean on the smooth glass window Let the world pass you by for a while. I wonder if you noticed me staring. I wonder if for a fleeting moment you tried. Perhaps you don’t. But I certainly do. I notice the lonesome wrinkle under your eyes. I notice the way your lips quirk into a smile. I notice the rumble of your laughter I notice how bad you want to believe in ever afters. I notice how in the ghostly streetlight, your irises change a slight hue. I notice that your wearing a navy mascara and cerulean eyeshadow. It’s almost my stop. But I don’t try to stand up. I turn to you, and you looked so vulnerable. You’re curled up in your side, fast asleep. And I never wanted any other thing Than hold you in my arms for a heartbeat. You look so vulnerable – and not pretty. Not pretty. Beautiful. You had your eyes closed. You can’t see me. But I see you. I want to flip the hourglass. I want to keep you right there, on the back row of the dingy bus. I want to stop the sand from pouring down. I want to stop the bus, from driving into town. I want to stop the world. I want to stop the universe. Because mine just did.

44

The problem with falling for a woman Questioning her strength to catch you Or maybe you fall on purpose To catch a glance under her dress Either thin, tall and lean Thick, short and curvy Any shape, any size The female gender can make you insane The very thought of a **** goddess Brings the mightiest of men to their knees This briefly entails without question The power a ****** can hold Simple like exotic dancers Complex like business CEOs No matter the background she withholds You can never figure a woman out A tale as old as time A riddle still not solved But yet how could Adam have made it Without Eve?

0

Nov 14, 2014

Nov 14, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC

Bruce-leroY

Men Trying to Decipher The ****** Monologues

The problem with falling for a woman Questioning her strength to catch you Or maybe you fall on purpose To catch a glance under her dress Either thin, tall and lean Thick, short and curvy Any shape, any size The female gender can make you insane The very thought of a **** goddess Brings the mightiest of men to their knees This briefly entails without question The power a ****** can hold Simple like exotic dancers Complex like business CEOs No matter the background she withholds You can never figure a woman out A tale as old as time A riddle still not solved But yet how could Adam have made it Without Eve?

20

I wrote ten letters last night one for every monologue I should have recited to you but at the time was too busy worrying whether or not you were right

0

Mar 29, 2014

Mar 29, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC

amanda-lee

I still don't know

I wrote ten letters last night one for every monologue I should have recited to you but at the time was too busy worrying whether or not you were right

7

with a drink in hand, she is talking to herself. about life she gives advice, as she slips into the glass another cube of ice. she is stumbling in the dimly lighted street, and licks her lips that hold a sweet taste. she is laughing at herself, while taking both of her red heels in hand. and there she is, anyone could have spotted her, with heels in hand, bloodshot eyes and sticky hair, he feel in love with her drunken self, while she was talking to the stop sign.

0

Mar 22, 2014

Mar 22, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC

starlightning

drunken monologues

with a drink in hand, she is talking to herself. about life she gives advice, as she slips into the glass another cube of ice. she is stumbling in the dimly lighted street, and licks her lips that hold a sweet taste. she is laughing at herself, while taking both of her red heels in hand. and there she is, anyone could have spotted her, with heels in hand, bloodshot eyes and sticky hair, he feel in love with her drunken self, while she was talking to the stop sign.

15