#self-loathe
There was someone talking to me
But I can't see them
I just hear them
I listen to their criticism
their hatred
I should listen to them....
For them...
For me..
A better me
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
Silly boy, you weren't ready for this.
You hadn't studied for it.
Love is joy, you never felt it like that.
Now it's your weapon.
How is this for you?
Does it help?
Will this pain bring you to work harder?
ть в порядке?
Angels watch your misguided adventure.
They're laughing at you.
God whispers into your ear.
Or is he the devil?
People avoid your crooked walk.
Loved ones, already cursed with your touch.
She got away, and is still cursed.
You divide .
How long will the wind guide you.
Devoid of free will.
**** them all.
Curse them with your touch.
Forever within your heart.
Poison your mind with doubt.
Silly boy, you gave up choice already.
Now you're on a road to ******
Angels lower their heads in disappointment.
Devils look away.
Just another obsession.
I'm about to turn to dust.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
It’s been a while, but I’ve figured out
Why my life seems so different now.
Working on being your new fixation
In a costume of my own creation.
I know I’m not who I used to be,
I’m used to being shut down,
Silenced,
Ooh, their words were violent,
And I ended up someone I’m not sure I want to be.
But that doesn’t matter anymore…
‘Cause I’d do anything you want,
Be the girl of your dreams, too.
I’d say the things you’d like to hear,
And change my looks, my heart for you.
I know it’s sad and reeks of desperation,
Yeah it’s tragic, but it’s true…
Honey, if you would just love me,
Maybe I could love me too.
Baby could you kiss me in the moonlight,
And see the stars in my eyes,
And let me take the pain away.
All those thoughts you’ve had today -
They don’t mean anything
As long as I’m around.
Please, just use me like I’m using you.
My heart tells me it’s choosing you,
And all these stupid things I do
Only promise me that I’ll be losing you.
And I know I’m simply sad and eighteen,
And life has much more planned for me.
What’s that look supposed to mean?
We used to speak so candidly.
And now I know you want to leave me…
But I’d do anything you want,
Be the girl of your dreams, too.
I’d say the things you’d like to hear,
And change my whole ******* self for you.
I know it’s so very sad and desperate,
Yeah it’s tragic, but it’s true…
Darling, if you would just love me,
Then maybe I could love me too.
Can you please just ******* love me,
So that I can love me too?
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
Your eyes shine bright like diamonds
Oh, but why are you crying?
I see your cat is getting feisty again
But I thought he ran away?
You only have ballet class once a week
How is it that your ribs are showing?
Your smile is the prettiest I've seen
And your eyes, the saddest.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
People often say that the reason for art is to make this lonely world a little less so.
Summers are always lonely.
The sun gleams down in its bright, intimidating gaze
No! Don't expect me to have fun
I'm not being called to do any of the sort
I'll open the shade, and put out a rug
Just for a touch of color
But that means nothing anymore. No to me.
Not in my ever-hazing shades of dullness
All paling--impaling everything I live for
The stupid things I value
In a meaningless collage
But oh! You said I am loved.
Why don't you sample this world I give you now
And we'll see how long your selfless chivalry can trek on.
I'm sorry.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
“May they be scalded at the post,
Drape from the limbs upon our pine,
Inscribe into their stripped bare skin
They are the weak, the faulty, of sin."
I could compose a ballad of time,
Profound, compelling reason and rhyme,
Impeccable stanzas,
Phrasing flowing as a river—
As could all of us,
But what impact would succeed?
To pirouette in the aching of others,
Leer in their ****** their night
**I’m a dashing *******
Bound from birth to do nothing but receive
While others around me
Shall pale, wither, die
Never for any other
Have I so much as cried...
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
Is it just I who muses late?
Into the veil of the night?
The laconicism is crisp of darkness
Black and cold, menace foretold?
Am I the only one
In the whole of humanity?
Who cannot cease to wonder of
The thoughts of worthlessness
That my every trivial thought
Is a waste of lives that fought
To come into the world
To breathe and dance and rot,
In the deathly tempo of time
Reminder of lives gone by
In philosophical demise
My trouble helps not anything...
Still I lie here, heaving through,
I cannot finish this song for you.
That would be misleading, to falsify
That my life showed an inkling of purpose—
Of anymore than just a cry.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
I never look back on my art. Reminds me of my failures.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
To rove and roam across the depths of excursions bearing ingenuity
I pose here now, alert amongst the globetrotters
Where? What judgement do I have to say,
I’m just a pillager, plundering the strange earth of which I came,
Uncertain of my own actions and subsequent consequences,
Though I am certain my little milieu of great proportions
Can thrive to inconceivable measures without myself
And the reason? I’m certain there’s one,
For as much as I endeavor,
Peradventure I am weakened,
As hard and with as much force
I use, beyond quantifiable measures
Ask me now! Why I can’t say,
Though I’ll attempt, and brace dismay
I’ll strive to the utmost,
Bear the encumbrance,
Endure the gauntlet,
Even so—I can never form meaning with my words.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
When I fingered the thin skin on my left, vein-bulging limb
Where the forearm adheres to the costly little hand
I realized in all my intense ardor for pain
That there in my penitence, self-pity, self-loathe
I am a narcissist.
Laden with self-obsessed sorrow
There is a selfishness in being a dreary,
To feel for oneself,
When others care too much
An aggregation of sympathizing sobs and tears
Too much for an egoist
Who would rather wallow alone
In the orange-tinted hue of twilight turned nightfall
A ray of the luster in all subtle shades,
Can I summon the force to recall
Why I hate myself
Is it not that all despise me for a purpose?
And those who are inept at reasonable loathe
Are marooned in deep shame
That they had degraded themselves for what?
For a felon? Such as myself?
Deep in such sorrow,
Deep in my self-loathe
I have encountered the truth of all fruitless self-regard
I am a narcissist, egoist, one who self-loathes
Who slashes and severs and cannot speak love
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
It's the query of these days—
Why would I cherish them?
Discerningly hear, comprehend their words
Ask of their lives, speak of their day
Wonder at all why they can't seem to do them same
Why would I cherish them?
They've never cherished me.
Not once queried why I must
Sit alone, in dry, loud silence
So humbling to deafening
I cannot attempt to understand.
But I've never pondered them
Never approached them,
Never my intention
Desperation alive in aforementioned silence...
Perhaps that's the answer, the end, the solution.
Another, one more question—
Do I want to cherish them?
Or for them to cherish me?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
This is the poem about itself
In a futile attempt at meta cognition
Why would a poem detest its own self?
Why bother discerning purpose beyond all else
*Why do I consider myself an anathema
When others behold and perceive me as beautiful
I'm devoid of a body to do anything dutiful
Nothing prepossessing, not even a cuticle*
For what, after all, what role do I play
In a convulsive storm of life each grim day
Bleak—the subtlety of shame, agony of dull pain
Haunting me! What less may I speak
*I constantly ponder my creator's reason
For penning me in that malevolent season
Was I evoked by boredom or pain?
My consistency only denotes dismay.*
This is the poem about itself
Ruminating the hell of all hells
A poem of darkness, perplexity too
What is my meaning, why?—I now ask you
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
I remember this feeling all too well,
The sharp, encompassing bite of the cold,
The loneliness of this new day,
And the deep resent of my own self.
That was the dread of the morning.
Haha--
'Twas so close to 'mourning'
Pain you see,
Is a versatile manifestation,
Existing in a different form and shape
After every dull induction.
Shall it drone out?
Or shall it intensify in its unprecedented becoming,
Straight from the void
Of incomprehensible dark.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ****** cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC