#selfdeprecation
Where do I begin?
If I were to write this,
I'd have to end it somewhere.
But my train of thoughts
do not cease.
It flexes it's fingers
finding ideas, unpleasant or not
disconcerting or rarely comforting,
intriguing or wistful,
it makes no matter
as it gladly latches on
and refuses to let go,
while I slowly die
at the hands of myself.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 1:05 PM UTC
I juggle books like the clown I am;
A chapter of this, a passage of that,
The words touch my eyes but refuse to go deeper,
Recoiling at my brain.
I juggle hobbies like the clown I am;
games new to me already old hat,
A stack of projects that project failure
Again and again.
I juggle my life like the clown that I am:
Work, sleep, eat, no time to chat
My relationships and communication skills
Continue to wane.
My life is a circus, in that which I am
A clown of no merit whose mind acrobat
Has missed the trapeze entirely.
It's already slain.
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC
i'm hurting less than you
look at your legs
see how white lines lace them
i'm hurting less than you
look at your body
see how you can feel your ribcage
I'm hurting less than you
look at your hair
see how it's dead and tangled
I'm hurting less than you
look at your face
see how there are tears waterfalling down
I'm hurting less than you
look at your reflection
see that you are talking to yourself
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 12:45 PM UTC
My words don't Shake like William's,
nor, do they Frost like Robert's.
×
My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's,
nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's.
×
I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's,
nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's.
×
My words are far from an Angel like Maya's,
and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's.
×
Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me.
×
(sumairu•¶oetry)
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 8:11 AM 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
I wish I could make her toes curl like the end of fitted sheets
But i'll probably disappoint then like Fox's casting of Mystique
I wish I could command attention without saying a word
But to do that I'd have to have charisma, wait... what's that a bird?
No it's a trait that I don't possess.
I guess you can't correct a problem you don't know how to solve
The truth is i'm so easily worn out I don't know what to do at all
Not physically but socially, that batteries drained
I'd complain but my lack of confidence weighs enough on my brain
But let's get back on track with this train
I hope that I can make her squeal with a kiss and spill passion with a hug
But I'd actually have to be desirable, unlike, say a Chagas bug.
Hell the bug might have better luck than me
I guess that's why I have to express myself lyrically
Because my head goes one way and my mouth another
Just forget it I'd be hopeless as a lover...
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
I am
a freak
my Bike does squeak.
Its rusted left-hand brake.
Fix
the seat,
and repair the weak
Rusted left-hand brake.
It’s dripping;
a drool
of oil leak.
Its greasy left-hand brake.
Birds call back
through a mouth they lack
To my noisy left-hand brake.
Their vapid squawk
My Bike does mock,
With that rattling left-hand brake
It’s broken
and screeching
and my life is depleting
Out that spoken left-hand brake.
My Bike calls forward
each sound, more onward
While the feathered ones call for love,
My Bike calls for distance,
And the Future,
And the Purpose,
And the Birds, my Bike is above.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
Heartless *****
Got no soul to love
Heartless *****
Parasite feeding in our skin
Heartless *****
Don’t worry they do love something
That something is themselves
Heartless *****
spiked their life bringer into a flaming can
Heartless *****
watching the world from a cave.
Heartless *****
sleeping with friends.
No benefits attached.
Heartless *****
doesn’t care if you like them
Heartless *****
actually delighted they’re messed up
How about you keep you’re mouth sewed shut
and tear out your larynx.
Words from that useless hole are hollow.
Manipulation your mistress
Depression your *****
You take
and abuse
and lie.
Just chose one or the other you-
Heartless *****
Stay quiet, behave.
Heartless *****
do they even have a name?
Heartless *****
It’s still beating in the trashcan, cold.
I am that Heartless *****
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
four hours of sleep
three days of fluffy frills, lace, and cat ears
four days of flannels and dark eyeliner
five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes of good music
how to create a me
but you wont want to.
side effects include:
depression
anxiety
isolation
manipulation
is it worth it?
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
You scratched the record
And now my head is back on repeat
It goes over that same beat
Over and over again to the point where
I don't even wanna attempt to speak
If silence is golden
Then I'm the biggest known mine
Because it feels as though I've been skating over myself when putting words into rhyme
Always the same topics from me and not to interesting metaphors
You scratched it like a DJ on turntables because I'm winding up to the end of this fable, I can still write and I'm more than willing and able but I gotta stretch my muscles again before I lose the sharpness on my pen, that's my sword
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
I hate my stupid brain
Always forgetting, day dreaming and overthinking
Scheming on things that I know can't happen, or won't for some time
And when it's not doing that it's arranging words and punch lines together by rhythm and syllables that rhyme
I hate my stupid heart, always anxious and never not being optimistic,
Always creating dreams that my brain will produce
Always searching for something beside hockey and poetry to invest in, when I don't even know how to do my taxes.
Lastly, brain we need to have one more chat
I know we've had our differences, which is weird because you occupy the space underneath my scalp.
But if you could be so kind as to become more flexible to changes in a rehearsed routine
That would be, dear fleshy ***** simply keen
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
The first time he kissed me, my friends assured me that I was just another body
I dutifully disagreed- "I am special"
The second time he kissed me, I learned pretty fast that my friends were right
I need not be
I am not special I am just
A woman
When a stranger wrapped his scarf around my chest,
His foreign accent fondling me with the words explaining that
he would be jealous to see other men looking at me I smiled
politely and waited to be dug out by my friends nearby because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Hearing a whistle blown towards my general direction I bow my head, ignore all of the "hey baby"sand "que linda"s
Shrinking into myself I hope to disappear from the street because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Walking the city alone, I make sure to act as if nobody is there hoping with futility
That maybe if they can not be seen then I will not be seen either
Although I do not need to try so hard to become invisible because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Waiting to hear from you and allowing myself to be passive with our fate I rehearse that I am just another kiss, another body for you to call home because
I am not special I am just
The body of woman
These days I do not measure my worth in pounds on the scale because
That number is far too large- far too significant
Instead I look to the tags inside my pants because they represent how much space I do not take up
Exploring the streets I am constantly checking how many shadows are following behind me
What turns they're taking and how far behind they are
My escape routes are already planned for the inevitable because
no matter how significant I truly am, that is always compensated for through the insignificance of my body no-
Our bodies, women
We are miraculous, glory filled temples
It is not our fault that no matter how much fabric we try to hide behind we are always ****** beings that
Our accomplishments are that much more revered because we had to overcome our womanhood first that
Woman is a necessary adjective to frame titles or context because
Without it one will assume a man is being spoken of
Each day is a cause for celebration because each sunset marks another day of survival but the morning sunrise alerts us for another day at war
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
I'm an empty room with no paint on the walls
Filled with broken hopes and empty thoughts
The wood is caving in and people come through to see and touch
As soon as they linger too long they realize the empty room upsets them too much
They hear ventriloquists song, the wood carving words as silent nursery rhymes and shallow one verses lullabies
The windows are broken and the wind waltzes in, it towers under the floorboards and swallows the bad parts in
Schizophrenic slumber parties with sandman and death, fascist following of whoever is next
The vines slither in, deceivingly vile, stealing all the smiles and sorrowful trials of the men in their nightgowns and high heels so tall, everything started to grow so small
The table outside the door has a bottle of the last person to exits drug of choice, it makes it worth the while
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
I want to be the band
around my wrist,
at peace,
at rest,
with the sole purpose of being a band,
around my wrist.
With nothing but thread and elastic
holding me together.
Without option of thinking,
but simply existing.
Without the desire to love
or be loved,
but to be loved perhaps,
and hated perhaps.
I want to be the band,
around my wrist,
and I don't want to be me.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC