"ashamedly" poems
Black skirts and black blouses,
Black slacks and black jackets.
One hundred black bruised hearts.
Black faces and phrases;
“I’m sorry for your loss”s and “If I can do anything…”s.
I’m burning up and down,
Dying to run from this place like a tiger escaping his stripes.
Anger spills over,
Punches are thrown like whipped cream pies into a clowns face,
Fists fly, crows on great gusts of pain,
Noses bleed and suddenly
I am home.
Sliding on the slope of death
up to see her,
knowing she would be ashamedly proud.
Watching for effervescent soda bubbles,
thinking this a terrible,
terrible April fool’s trick
only to be greeted by her ashen smile
inside a tiny
wooden
box.
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC
If earth is a mother
We are mother *******
I swear it's not an ugly name
It is a name
we have earned after awesome ashamedly acts.
We are not simply satisfied with unclothing earth
We love to drill deep inside her womb
And love to ***** huge minarets of her own meat and bones
On her emptied-self;
Earth is a symbol of our unending desires:
Our need are not in our little stomach
They reside in our devilish mind
We are ******* pampered children
We have learnt to live on her depleting signs.
Ignorance is our times' global religion
Lured easily by biblical stories
Told by our corporate priests
My stomach is a warehouse of fast-food chains
My mind is advertisements' gutterhole
Every night I wait to be slaughtered like a hog;
May be now days we are not born with brains
We are jungles of moving men
With umbilical cords gone.
We are dead suckers
We are mother *******
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
I wish I never loved you
Not for my sake
However for your own
If I had never loved you
You would be able to walk in that crowd
To enjoy yourself with our friends
There would be no choosing sides
Just good times and happy nights
You would be able to meet girls
You could walk in the room
With that endearing smile
And talk to that pretty girl in the corner
But I took it all away
I took your happiness
I took your smile
And most ashamedly I took your heart
Please forgive me
I never should have loved you
So you never would have loved me back.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 3:47 AM UTC
I don a dark cloak most days
its been this way
ever since I can remember
and like a vampire
without a reflection
I have no shadow in light.
the brighter the day
the darker the black
cloak upon my back
clawing,
clinging so tight,
won't let go
morning noon and night
I don my dark cloak
ashamedly
but will not fight it
I have grown accustomed to
the weight
your father was different,
stronger, less susceptible to
the donning of dark cloaks,
I never met a more noble man
he fought his fight
without complaint
and in the end
I hope to think he
left this world
in peace
*we stood quietly
at the head of the bed and
you stroked his hair,
we knew the time was close,
I leaned down and whispered
“I promise to take care of her”
and immediately knew
it was the right thing to say.
A small tear appeared
at the corner of his eye,
he smiled his slow half smile
and we said goodbye.*
*later that night
your mother phoned
to tell us he was gone*
it seems we spend our days
in search of light,
trying to get to where
the heart might rest,
that illusive,
proverbial,
brightly lit
end of the tunnel
where for some
its pretty complicated,
a generation of
the guilty and the shamed
stuck between desire and fear
where the brighter the light
the heavier the load
for we who have no shadow in light
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
The polyester cardigan grows thin
As I nervously tug at its tiring seam
The silence does not dare to lessen
And I dare not to break the stream
That fills this exhausted space
We so ashamedly know
Please, just turn on the radio
To drown out my thoughts
Of Yours.
I have already decided it will be another six months
And Guilt has already welcomed himself
Tearing through the bones
Pulsing.
Agony, pain.
Take him away.
This Guilt
is Yours.
I dread the day that I will see the water fall from your eyes,
the same squinted hazel as mine,
Your shoulders will give in and Collapse,
Your chest it will shake, like my old rattler,
as we attempt not to relapse.
But I truly dread the following day,
as I will hear that radio play.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
Like an Amorphophallus titanum she has become. Desiring to be the queen of the garden, or dreaming to embellish the gardens of Japan. Sometimes pretending she’s dressed in pastels and sweetness. “Magnolia”, she cries to me, I can hear the pain in her words,I see her soft tears. I look down, There’s petals in the bathroom floor. I lick her lips, they taste like Desire, she desires me,I look at her brown eyes and I see how much she wants me, she wants me to be good to her, she wants me to make her feel beautiful again, I have failed her, I know I did. “I’m sorry” I ashamedly whispered still looking at her dark sad fire eyes.
By: Massiel Gonzalez
March 13,2019
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
Sitting to practice relaxation.
Misplaced pavement slabs stick out.
I try, now, not to trip, but it's happened.
I try, now, not to wish.
Rain induced meridian response.
Red caffeine lattice on black.
I try, now, not to sip ashamedly.
I try, now, not to wish.
I won't try to keep myself locked up.
I won't repress what I am,
as if I'm only so valid
as I am fitted
and dressed
to expect.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
A man sits on the corner
with his guitar.
Music comes out of his fingers.
You walkers by are walking past and try
hard to
tune him out.
He does not ask for your money,
yet you look ashamedly away.
He does not beg you for food,
yet you throw it to him
from your car.
He is not poor.
Not cold.
Not hungry.
Only lonely.
He sits with his guitar
named Jenny
and pulls at her strings
so she will talk to him.
They talk about
love, and loss,
and the blueness of the world.
She speaks the words the man cannot,
and the man nods and listens and cries.
His heart too depressed to
work
bathe
mend the tear on the
left shoulder of his shirt.
He is not poor.
Not cold.
Not hungry.
Only lonely,
looking for someone to
sit down and listen.
But you walkers by
turn your heads fiercely,
and litter his lap with
food stamps and wrinkled dollar bills.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
She’s a figment for vulnerable men
Who see beauty through self-loathing windows.
Her beauty is far too much to take when
It pierces the heart where passion’s sin goes.
Ashamedly smitten men curse their eyes
For beholding beauty they don’t deserve.
They seek her attention, she ignores their cries.
They grovel on their hands and knees to serve.
Her nakedness sows men’s basest skin’s need,
For intimate contact with lurid thought.
She is the temptress, they’ll follow her lead,
Through gates of despair their lustfulness brought.
She strikes men dumb just because she is there.
They have nothing real and pure to compare.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
I used to be
someone who
never told anyone
anything she wanted
I kept it all inside, and so
I felt, I breathed, I lived my life.
That was enough and that was all.
Now that I'm older, wiser and stupider,
I name them. I claim them, ashamedly and
unashamedly. And I don't think I ask too much.
So listen, please. with your heart and consider:
to be important as others are important,
to be greeted with a hug and smiles,
to be missed when I'm not here,
to be listened to and heard,
to be part of a whole,
to be respected,
to be loved,
to be real,
To be.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC
I read you the children's storybooks that your parents sold
and buy you marbles like your old collection
(that one day was no longer there) and
we will sit craning our necks, healing our hearts
we can do arts and crafts projects
(and this time they will be hung up on the fridge)
and I'll double check your room for monsters
and your music box for pills
you have been compressed, ashamedly
for far too long
scoffed at and eyes rolled
if heads do
you are free now, protected and proud
you are safe and sound
join hands, and know that
these new planes of vulnerability keep you strong.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC
I am ashamed to live today!
There’s too much malodorous mud!
I want to create, to win, to love!
But how’s it possible?
The evil’s crowned!
I look out the window and see the sky.
I go out the yard and hear the groan.
It’s up in the air, ashamedly, clumsy.
It understands that the final is known.
I am ashamed for this crippled truth.
The fact, that seemed like a nonsense yesterday,
Is now a reality where we have to be.
I don't want to live here!
Just noway!
Noway!
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
Don't tell me the good things about myself
Is it... destructive I've tired of hearing or believing?
Show me how to dance I maybe have forgotten how to take a chance
Forever coming down just to come back around I hate to love the way it tastes
Show me all the charming things about George Bush that nobody ever likes to face
Sometimes letting you down gets me off.
Ashamedly lying can do the same thing.
keep trying keep trying
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
isolation
deprivation
lost sense of self
bored and lonely
stressed and depressed
shell of my former self
asocial
introverted
no drive for life
faking elated
going through the motions
lost in this world, so cold
hate myself
hate others
i can't do this anymore
craving attention
fearful of being seen
God surely looks ashamedly onto me
wishing I was dead
praying for death
this ****** poem needs to end
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 7:36 PM UTC