"aggravating" poems
I was a flailing phoenix
Trapped underneath a waterfall
Unable to rise from the ashes
While being continuously extinguished
Until you constructed a dam
With the flotsam from my heart
I opened my wings and emitted light
Fearing waterfalls I took my fire flight
I was elated to have migrated
Where the weather was tropical
And the conditions seemed optimal
But your aggravating absence
Endeared an enigmatic essence
A vengeful apparition
That conjured rain
I desperately craved your protection from the elements
Until I noticed the precipitation was my infatuation
For you and the things you do
The things you build
Make rivers stay still
And the things you say
Make me regret being gay
Because you're a ******
You live in your exclusive dam
Your teeth are like cleavers
Gnawing on sacrificial lamb
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
For so many reasons;
When the wow creativity
Of the young, new baby poets,
Bursts all over me,
Making me question
My egotistical perception,
Not a slap, but a belly laugh!
At the old fool, who once thought
Ever so secondary briefly, momentarily,
Unofficially, of his own esteemed self-worth,
Only to be reminded, deaf~dumb & blind~sided
By the fresh air, the aggravating sight of new insight
The delicious!delight of reading the whole of all night
The explorations, the baby hallucinations, the trembling,
Insights of the explorers of the old, not re!newed, but, but.
Made anew, re~viewed with perspectives boldly unknown,
With crazy wisdom to expound, here, you! right here, right now,
I leave you and return to delight, taste, new extra languages, that
I must
learn not to speak
but to peak, even to
Cry, Laugh even Smile
In all my new native tongues
Friday, July 18
5:39 AM,
2025
In the sunroom
Dictated in one fell swoop, not a moment to lose, dispatched while
Still laughing at myself...
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 6:03 AM UTC
Infectious laugh,
Untamable anger,
Excitable stories,
Well-hidden anxiety.
Misdirected blame,
Unwarranted shame.
Blue eyes.
Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints.
Smiling...
After work.
In the middle of the night.
In the mornings.
Saturday afternoons.
Rushed calls or
A day’s worth of together.
Nightmares as dreams,
Nights without sleep.
Coffee, drugs, caffeine.
Scars.
Hopelessness.
Grief.
Aspirations.
Full of life.
Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart.
An eye for nature’s beauty.
An eye for art.
One for me, occasionally.
Insecurity. Arrogance.
Compassion. Detachment.
Weak yet enduring.
Unmoving yet learning.
Intoxicating.
Aggravating.
A liar struggling to lie.
A suicide debating to die.
Lustful gaze.
Manipulative ways.
Who were you
And why couldn’t you stay?
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
I suppose I should be happy,
My God gave me a blessing by taking away my blessing,
The blessing I was so confused about.
My dear, my precious Firdous.
I suppose I must be happy,
Every inch of my brain is telling me to be happy,
But why is there a ringing in my ears;
And so much weight on my chest,
It's so **** aggravating.
I suppose I could be happy, except that I;
I demand silence,
I demand peace,
I demand anything but to feel like this-
Worthless, insignificant, trash.
I suppose I am happy,
To be the puppet of a universe filled with
So much standard anomalies...
That the universe did not curse me to ****** my own kin...
that I didn't curse my precious with a life...
Oh the little things we tell ourselves to make it easier to live for another day,
Oh but I suppose, I suppose its necessary.
It's **** necessary.
Goodbye my precious. ♡
-fir.m
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
Mischievous; somewhere in between wayward and exasperating.
Expectations are aggravating;
When acceptance seems heavy in contrast to escaping.
Restraint and avoidance lacks tactics;
Both now seem increasingly attractive.
At once a beguiled captive; an observant idiot.
In correspondence, I've inadequate presence.
An incessantly sidelined wallflower.
An unintentionally shrinking violet.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
Broken Needles and rusted gates,
Treading over thorns and crushing glass in an apathetic state.
At best toss the thrown rock will crash,
Not without aggravating a storm of Asbestos.
Iron-lacking in socially acceptable art etiquette.
Climbing neglected buildings.
One hand gripping a rusted ladder,
The other, spray paint wielding.
Battling for space between the wall and the vine.
First time I don't feel misplaced, struggling for lines.
My minds at ease, I have everything I need.
A place to sit and think,
A place where the space is occupied by two high school kids.
Lighting candles that have merged
With the unstable rotting wood of the table.
Scratching their heart's words through bleeding pen nibs.
Loose leaf pages scatter the ground,
Not worthy of residency in my note book.
Reunited with the fallen leaves.
Reconciliation with my mind hook or by crook.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
eat your tortillas silly noodle
today we are poor
money falls
like rings lost in sonic
the most aggravating noise
eat your tortillas silly noodle
your mom can be so
irresponsible
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Not much observation is required
To recognise that the only thing epic about her is her sadness
Which she wears well
Like a snug cardigan
Severe disregard for life varied with an intense desire to thrive not just survive
A tragic paradox
Her repetitive nature is aggravating
All who have listened have, absorbedly
Offered advice which she blatantly declined to take
The saga is getting old and tiresome
They tell her to see the light, curse the dark, and the shadows that hover over her
They expect their words to make all the difference
And she would skip away with a smile and new found appreciation for life and all it has to offer
Riddled with guilt
She feels accountable for the pain inflicted on others by her actions
Harbouring the guilt that eats and never dies
Forever harbouring the guilt
A desperate "poet"
Finding tranquility from linking words
To form sentences, a poem
To express and create some form of art
Seeking ecstasy
Through purging of emotions
A confused little girl
Who is not so little anymore
The years are violently adding up
Though young
The sand through the hour glass is running out
Growth of the self stunted by sickness of the mind
Ricocheting from the remainder of classic teen-angst to the inevitable adult crash
All of the achievements
Do not mean anything if she cannot feel it
Looking at pictures that hang above the fire place
Her teeth indicate she is smiling
Her eyes do not
Vacant
She is not really here
She could be anywhere
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
There will always be someone who wants what you have, for its easier to steal from someone who has already performed the work, whether a material object, idea, or talent, etc.. Someone who takes credit, where it isn't due, for what you have accomplished, worked hard to attain, or saved for a special purchase. Hence, the PLAGIARIST!
The counterfeiters, whether it be money, or the reproduction of the "Old Masters" oil paintings, claiming it was purchased at a garage sale, or found in an old trunk in the attic of an old house they purchased. Many scenarios, many such events, and mostly untrue. Plain, and simple, they are nothing but "THIEVES." They have been around for thousands of years. Aggravating, yes! Frustrating, absolutely! Discouraging, you bet! The difficult part is knowing"they don't care!", as long as they get what you have, or think they can.
To my friends at HP: Regardless of whatever name they wish to use at the bottom of your piece, your signature is still inside the piece itself. Whether it be a particular phrase or word meticulously placed, the style of your writings, the way you approach your thought, the rhythmic flow of your prose, the softness or harshness of expression. All which has created "your signature". That, cannot be reproduced.
To those literary "thieves: You will continue to try and steal our work. But, for each letter stolen, for each word stolen, only creates another rung on your ladder, leading you deeper and deeper,further down into your abyss of loneliness, until the blanket of your depression, discontent, and hatred suffocates you. That is when your name will become known only as, "WHO?"
copyright: Richard Riddle September 08, 2014 10:00am(CDT)
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Christine hated Saturdays
on the locked ward
the day her fiancé
jilted her at the altar
the ***** music playing
in the background
the flowers
the aisle carpeted
with that pattern
she will always remember
and as you saw her
across the way
looking out the window
you saw Eric the day kid
who was brought in
while his mother worked
was aggravating her
was poking her
in the back
and you saw red
and went and pushed him away
and that brought the male nurses over
and they stood between you both
and Eric glared at you
and the big nurse said
what’s going on here?
and Eric said
it’s him he pushed me
and Christine said
Eric was poking me
and Benedict was just
keeping him away
well calm down now
the fat nurse said
keep it cool
and so you and Christine
walked to another window
and peered out
at the snow
and she said
the creep
as if we haven’t enough
to cope with without
that creep aggravating us
but thanks anyway
for keeping him away
and you said
that’s ok
he gets to me too
I’ll bop him
one of these days
when the nurses
aren’t looking
and she smiled
and said
let me know when
I wouldn’t want
to miss that
and you looked out
at the falling snow
that was settling
on the fields
and tree tops
and far off
you saw a tractor
moving over the ground
and seagulls were following behind
and she said
quite picturesque isn’t it?
Yes
you said
kind of Christmas cardy
yes
she said
taking your hand
I wonder if we’ll be
out of here before then?
and you felt kind of numb
as if maybe the whole world
had gone black
and the snow fell
and you squeezed
her hand sensing
the warm flesh
and her thumb rubbed
against yours
and behind you
the unlocking
and locking
of doors.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
Soft kisses.
Who could have thought to be so aggravating?
Death never watched the Spartans.
I feel, as Brutus did, stuck in Gaul!
And Caesar's words do not convince me to stay.
His words are poisoned with too much thought.
My own carry on the wind...
Maybe...
Maybe a distant ***** shall hear them.
And save herself from a life of,
pleasurable misery.
Alpha-centauri does not concern itself with
these matters.
So neither will I.
GRAHAM MURPHY.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
Remembering, when...
occasions, weekends were eagerly celebrated
even weekdays...any day was met with enthusiasm
but, how did all these special days become so ordinary?
how...why, did these red-marked dates become unimportant?
why are we here now, in this phase? at this point?
existing...standing on a plateau...where,
life offers no changes...no alternatives...
it's like...a storm decides to stop at midstream
chooses to stay...not just passing through
no swerving, no immediate changes in its direction.
the adventurous soul in us, hides...its spark, dies
sunlight looks dim...the moon is without a glow
clear sea water seems muddy...wading, becomes
so tiresome...legs and feet hurt so much,
from swimming...day by day
...away...from cacophony...
it gets to be weary,
to be reminded of a wrong choice,
or a wrong decision made,
to always rise...from a restless sea
most times, we taste impure water
contaminated...and adulterated
where acerbic, detrimental words float,
further aggravating
existing emotional sores,
creating more lesions in the mind.
what's worse,
the ears that choose to be deaf, are further pierced
the already wounded heart and dashed ego, are further stabbed
they all could one day, be numbed
.......by more of these ordinary days....
I wonder if it's better...to linger on a plateau
or to be on the cusp...of a fall...
Sally
Copyright April 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
The sound of my destruction
Tick
Tick
Tick
I know it rest within me
I hear it day and night
Just ticking away
Like the hours on the clock
Tick
Tick
Tick
It has became annoying
Never ending
I wonder when it will go off
So the pain will disappear
Tick
Tick
Tick
I wish I had the button
To press it myself
But I noticed everytime I grow angery
Another minute falls off
Tick
Tick
Tick
Such an aggravating sound indeed
But as I try to write
And hope the words I use
Capture a glimpse of what goes on in my mind
Tick
Tick
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!
The world goes white
Then red
As my blood and flesh
Paint every corner
No more pain
Just more bodies
The bodies of those who have always judged me
This is what you created
And with its detonation
Your death came to be
Ticking was my rage
Ticking was my tolerance
Tick
Tick
Ticking no more
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:54 AM UTC
Bellicose beer-belled bad-asses
Bawdily belting down brewskies
Usually, boozily, bruisily beating
On weaker, sleeker funseekers
In the bar where they are, far
From anything like maturity
Hip hip hooray for unhip USA.
Ballyhooing big screen viewing
Myopic eyes watch others exercise
Freedom-hating grouch on a couch
Itching, ******** psoriasis and sloth
Unread armchair Brother of the Cloth.
One of the minions of opinions,
Hardened against morality, reality.
Saying it every day: USA, USA, USA!
Hating, bating, aggravating, skating
Right past solutions, conclusions
Preferring propaganda, ***** Miranda,
Stop mollycoddling, bottling up anger
Christ in the manger should be law
But they guffaw at reading The Book;
They took their religion from TV.
Freedom for me, not thee, in my USA.
Got mine, ***** yours, rights immune;
That tune don’t play here. No queers
No browns, yellows, Hindus or Jews.
I’ve got news you can use, I abuse
And oppress guys in a dress, yes!
Even if he’s white, it still ain’t right.
The Constitution is old, it just teases.
Mine is Republican Jesus for the USA.
A pigeon for old time religion and God
Everyone else is odd. I saw the movie.
It was groovy and pretty. Went to the city
Saw it in Imax, no blacks in the theater
Thanks to The Creator that gave us all
The intelligence to call things right.
Hip hip hooray for being lily white.
Hip hip hooray for the KKK USA.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
Two mosquitoes fly buzzingly
around my head with
perpetually aggravating grace.
One of them is you.
The other is an errant
thought, an unwanted
distraction, a piece
of myself.
A mistake in the pattern.
I crush one of them
under my hand.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
The clock is ticking
...
And it's time
...It's time
It's time that we get our act together
And disengage ourselves from the miseducation and disorientation
That we have been suffering from for quite some time now.
I'm tired
... I'm tired
I'm tired of witnessing the sentences of the corrupted minds chained up to face the consequences of their crimes
By trading in their freedom
Trading in their wisdom
For wasted time
I'm sighing
...I'm sighing
I'm sighing because me and my people are blinded by the quote on quote finest
Presuming to purchase from producers
Why are we only consumers?
Just followers of every mindless introducer who is on the screen rhyming steadily binding our youth's futures
I'm crying
...I'm crying
I'm crying for the losses of our precious souls, our beautiful smiles that are buried beneath the ground
By a repetitive loud sound
Coming out of another hand that is brown
I find it
... I find it
I find it aggravating that the colored brother and sister are becoming further and further lacerated
Just because me and my brothers underwent emasculation doesn't mean that we should stall on our sisters complete emancipation
LOVE HER and free her from all agitation
These are our mothers and the foundations of our nation
I'm reminded
... I'm reminded
I'm reminded of our history, our lengthy history which to most of us is a mystery
Way before Arabs, Europeans, Hispanics, and American Natives got creative and began to enslave us.
Before our spirits became diminished by religion
We valued family, tradition, education, productivity, ownership, land, earth and everything that take part in a birth
Most importantly we valued LOVE
So I'm dying
... I'm dying
I'm dying because we are so reliant and dependent on someone who is much more different and much less interested
Our declension is their intentions
But when we see the illusion on the television
We see a little succession
Why is it that we can easily make the team or get in the studio to sing
But to become a businessmen is not quite our thing?
I'm dying
Because we all just living a dream
A dream that was once our reality
I'm dying
Because we are all asleep
I'm dying
Because we are afraid to wake up
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Aggravating ways; selfish means
So beguiling that childish fiend
A ****** war, no one sees
Evil villian from far beneath
Manufacturing wounds, ripping flesh
Just to prove who's the best
A soul swimming in a crimson pool
Controling the body; taking rule
A calming anidote, the music plays
Claiming no one's perfect, ha! so cliche
Searching for the lost soul under your bed,
There's no monsters, so our parents said
Some find monsters in their mirror
Watching there makeup slowly smear
Others find them in their surpressed memories
The slight releif released by their screams
Maybe it's been quite a while
Since you've seen her beautiful smile
Maybe a few years have passed
Before someone wondered, before they asked
But under his sleeves lie his scars
They give proof of his pain, beautiful is what they are
Both she and him are self conscious about their weight
Both of them live in fear, live in hate
Maybe some haven't seen a mosnter inside their closet
But felt demons demolishing what's left
It'll fumbles around inside their chest
Some people you just wouldn't expect
Because maybe their wrists have already been checked
But did you ever think maybe her demons are smarter than you
Have you ever felt there presence, then you'd know they're cruel
And what if he were to drag a blade across his wrists
Or maybe his thighs, he only does it to know he exists
As her barriers build higher, and cloud up her eyes
The wounds get deeper, the blood flowing onto her thighs
How do you expect flames to bring him pain
When he's living in hell, a blazing shame
Throughout the day, they'll hide the pain away
It'll seem like everytings fine, like it's okay
Don't be swindled, don't be be a fool
One day you might meet this monster too
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
As I sit down to think
I slowly close my eyes
To feel it flow openly
It's been a little while
But it hasn't been easy
I'm going out of my mind
It was so good for my body
To let the air taste my blood
So why count the days since
I can't use angry thoughts
They can't help me abstain
From making dark red blots
Pills and drinks don't mix
Knives are just a problem
Doctors want a quick fix
But life's already awful
Self help clinics
With aggravating offers
But I don't see a fault line
So I don't have a problem
To me this is normal
So what's with all the drama
Can't you let me do this
Stop forcing help like cough drops
Medicine's no answer
It's simply not a sickness
Scars will just scab over
Are your glasses so tinted
Let me deal with myself
And you go do your own stuff
Stop playing with my health
I mean, I'm still alive
Pills and drinks don't mix
Knives are just a problem
Doctors want a quick fix
But life's already awful
Self help clinics
With aggravating offers
But I don't see a fault line
So I don't have a problem
Not a mental condition
It's not what you're thinking
No mental remission
Just a lack of a feeling
I simply don't care
For friends that are leaving
I don't even need them
Just less reason for me to bleed
A global indifference
That's not new to me
It causes no problems
But I can't seem to dream
Pills and drinks don't mix
Knives are just a problem
Doctors want a quick fix
But life's already awful
Self help clinics
With aggravating offers
But I don't see a fault line
So I don't have a problem
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
An anxious amortal
archnemesis
affectionately
allowing an amoral
animosity
achieve an attitudal
agressive and aversion against
any and all
annoying,
aggravating,
afflicting,
and almost annihilating
alliterations,
although all
aforementioned actions
are absolutely
artificial.
An amiable
abomination
and architectural abuse
at an alphabet achieved
after aesthetically
arranging ample
arbitrary
alternatives alone,
amounting an acclamation.
An affinity at
awkward avante-garde arts
arising at
an astronomical acceleration,
aside an archaic
argumentum ad
antiquitatem argument
awfully appraising
an atheistic and agnostic
apparition,
anthrophomorphically
alive and apparently
alright after asphyxiation,
alluding an astral authority
absolving accusations
and all allegations.
An advantageously
astute and adroit assassin
always actively
acting and assaulting
alone, ain't assisted
anyhow,
already
antiquating auxillaries
altogether.
An alliteratious afterfocus:
Aborting all anticipations.
Anticipating affirmative antagonizations.
All are alright.
Already airtight.
Adios, amigos.
Author: anonymous,
an acorn-afflicted,
assassinatrix affiliate.
attributed as Agent Argent.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Strap me up to an I.V.
And let the words flow deep into my blood stream
As everything seems to leave
I cleave to words
Words, words, words
I sit on islands
There are multiple
For multiple deserters
The sand an
Aggravating reminder
That one's loneliness is
One's own issue
Truly, if one were to realize
We are sand
That person would realize the multitude of people around
Instead, individually,
We fall through the hourglass
In a pile of loners
Some, reaching towards others
Others, just proud to be at the top for a bit
Still others are left at the bottom
Remembering what it tasted like
To be at the top,
For everyone to look at you.
The hourglass sits beside me
On the newest island
That I swore never to visit again
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
The cold permeates my bones
Seeping in and branding me
With loneliness and pain.
Teasing me and aggravating me
With your harsh breeze.
I wish he was here
To hold me and block you out
He makes the loneliness fade
If only for a while.
He makes me alive
With bits and pieces of us
Perfectly fit together.
He whom i will always love.
Its raining anger and betrayal
Hard pelting rain drops
That drown the sound of laughter
I am lost and forlorn.
Seeking shelter under the covers.
This bed feels cold without him.
I remember earlier times
When we crawled under the duvet
And cuddled to keep warm.
I miss his arms around me
Bodies fitted as close as possible.
I don't want to leave this room
Unless he is waiting downstairs
With a warm shrug and hug.
This weather was made for this
Him to hold me close.
So that am not alone.
He always excites me
With his arm draped over my shoulder
I long to rest my feet on his laps
And let him play with my toes.
He makes it impossible to be cold
As i shiver in delight.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
Dark and stolen
whisked away to stone
and cobble corners
only torches light
the way through
tombs and teeth
of skeletons and
corpses, masses that limp
through darkness
groaning forward
to their yelping doom,
little red rats ready
to take their place
slurping at you like
scavenging
snakes. Onward you
march toward gray’s
grim madness
hacking through the
goatmen barking
choking on
the tan man’s blood
breaking the darkness
splashing bats
that charge you so.
Lava boils through
the grey gates
clashing against
the storm rider,
teasing every
chest that guides
your way ‘til
you find the tunnel-
The bones that
take you toward
the bat like wings
naked ******* against
darkened walls
bestowing
****** stars.
The fiery columns
of exploding
knights erupt
with swords and
shield that
please you so!
Gotterdamerung,
Grandfather,
The bone laden
levers, cracked
only to bring forth
the demon spiked
in red and purest
evil, aggravating
Apocalypse, fire
and slashing, nothing
but constant swings
‘til silence, screaming
and a crystal lodged
within my being.
Diablo’s end
entrapped,
Within my being.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
I'm drunk
There is nothing more
Condescending
Than drunk
Nothing more
Aggravating
Then reaching
The bottom
Of your
Glass
That empty
Full feeling
Pink cheeks
Trying to
Make
Someone
Think
You're
Sober
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
One, two, three, persist.
Spin, spin, spin, retain;
Under our spotlight of Exception,
A standstill of colors occurred-
So vivid, it was almost blinding.
Amidst the hollowness
Seeped a shadow,
Reaching out to every
Memory locked away.
Familiar Stranger.
Tracing lines of comfort,
Running down heaven,
Dropping weight on unknown territory;
An interminable candle is lit.
A leap of faith.
A thread connected two points-
One side smiled, the other feared;
Two paths were walked on-
Only to become the beauty they call Sunset,
Or the terror they call Tremor.
Collision, destruction.
Fear enveloping, merging into darkness;
Silent night screaming, absorbing the emptiness;
Finding tranquility in expression
And freedom in escapade.
The thread is broken.
Search for ignition,
The stars have only just begun to shine;
Search for boundlessness
Sedating every boiling point,
Aggravating every sparkle,
Immortalizing intervals.
Transience is defeated.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC