"belittling" poems
When does our weekend begin
Time flies in contemplation.
The day ends, quick to start.
Belittling how the nights are not the same.
Caught in thought.
The laughs that start soon as I see you.
Things that occupy time until the next time.
Again becoming a past time.
The season changes in a matter of days.
The weekend still so far.
The human heart a mystery.
Full of affection. Restrained throughout the week.
Fond with anticipation.
To see you, to feel you.
The embrace of like minds melting in the torch of where we dwell most.
The week becoming longer and longer.
When can my heart beat it's fullest.
Running away with every throb.
Taking you further and further away from where we have to come back.
When does our weekend begin.
Holiday included, extended weekend.
Seeing you smile.
The weekend is near
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
Your first position of power
Feeling you don't get the respect
You think you deserve
I almost pity you
Treating us like dogs
But with a guise of politeness
"Ma'ams" and "pleases" can't hide your contempt
Your patronizing tone washes it all away
Doctors bark at you, you say?
Patients don't respect you?
Poor you, you deserve the world
Right, try being us for a day
Your lying mouth never stops
Complaining, explaining
As if we're completely ignorant
As if we can fix your problems
Your favorite activity
The one at which I roll my eyes
Is telling us how much you hate
The profession YOU chose
Perhaps you're just upset
That all our young minds
Can change our paths
Nothing for us is set in stone
Condescending, you sneer
"I am your boss"
***** you've been here
Less time than I have
What gives you the right
To judge these people?
Sure, they're self-entitled
Demanding and belittling
But have you looked in the mirror lately?
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS
*The tears flows in an endless way
Bemoaning the days of yore
Watching with eyes that sparks red,
Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore
Helpless and wishing for a relentless call
As tragedy hits her most sensitive part,
Bemoaning the tides,
All her days of glory,
Now a shadowy story*
*She had been ***** by her very own,
The children she yearned and bled for,
The men she fed and trained,
Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts
Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights,
Her nights of terror and horrors
Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness*
*It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to,
It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark,
But when they grew and flew,
She waited still
Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore*
*Then the dark hour rolled away,
And when morning came, it was harrowing.
It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected,
As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky,
Trampling her down,
Relegating and belittling her
Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore,
Where she laid all her virtues down,
Giving it all to see her children smile,*
*It is this dejection that has brought her to tears,
It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly
It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory,
As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony,
Forgetting her,
It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon*
*What is worse than a child abandoning his mother?
It is this penchant, that drives them
It is the love of greed,
It is the seed of corruption,
It is not an inherited trait,
It is a despicable decision
Like a monstrous shadow,
Twirling the back of the night.
It is the fire that burns within their heart,
The fire to **** steal and destroy
To take what she can never give again
To live,
To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony
It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch
And now tragedy looms,
It booms and blooms,*
A society written in flames
Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA?
Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31
All rights reserved
Note
Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
I was in a public restroom at the mall takin' a leak in one of those urinals.
There happened to be a TDH (tall dark and handsome) man standing next to me.
And as we were peeing in unison, I leaned over, leaned back,
Looked him in the eyes and said, "Nice **** ******
*Why is he looking at my ****
Is he gay?
Did he just call ME a ******
Is he confused about his sexuality?
Why do I feel insecure about my **** all of a sudden?
What just happened?*
I finished peeing before he did,
So I took my ***** self over to the sink and proceeded to wash my hands.
It wasn't long before TDH was by my side.
We were now washing our hands in unison and he looks over at me and says,
"Nice hands, ******
*Is he hitting on me?
Is he really gay?
Do I really have nice hands?
Does he want to touch them?
Is he just ******* with me?
I don't know what's happening but I like it =)*
Turns out he wasn't gay... nor was I.
We both just happened to be in the business of belittling strangers
With contradictory insults for no apparent reason.
It was a good day.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
four years ago
my freshman year
i met a boy with dark blue eyes
who added me on myspace
and chatted with me on aim
he didn't really speak to me
or ask me any questions
he only knew what he did
because i talk so much
and somehow
we started dating
which i still don't understand why
because after the first week
i had a feeling in my gut
that i would regret this
in the long run.
we felt the high
and the ecstasy of first love
along with first everything else
including betrayal and agony
the only kind you can feel
when someone you thought
you love does something so
so awful to you.
the first winter we were happy
i think and we made plans for next year
that we broke the majority of
and in the summer we made promises
some that i shouldn't have
a year had passed
and i thought i would
be spending a few more with him
but that winter
i learned that love can grow cold
and freeze over
maybe i had changed too much
or it was him belittling me
telling me that everything i liked
was childish
and a waste of time.
the next year
i had decided that
that would be all i would put up with
i did not deserve this grief
or to be told that
i was too easy.
a friend that morning
had spoken with me and him
and walked with us through the halls
of the beginning of our junior year
and when we were alone
the friend said to me
'your eyes look so dead'
and i will never
forget those words
or forget
his cries on the phone
that night
when i finally
set myself
free
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
Sometimes he was like f+ck it
just went ahead and stuck em
let em fall where they stood
crack another bottle and brood
hysterically on the ridiculous
he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters.
contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team.
He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
she was like a star
a burning ball of energy
shining through the darkness
a special kind of star
the kind you make wishes upon
she was my star and
i was her wish
her smile lit up the sky
belittling the darkness
but eventually
the smiles faded
the giggles seised
and the star burned out
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but then again,
i find nicknames to be
the archetypal form of
endearment -
a "belittling" with warm
affection...
i didn't have a nickname
in primary school...
the girls tried,
rabbit...
Danielle...
i remember Danielle calling me
rabbit,
why? the way i ran...
jumping in between
running steps...
i like Danielle,a brunette,
with enough freckles to
make her a ***** ginger...
high school?
Goldilocks
named by Graham...
or Chewbacca by Barry..
i was the only man attempting
to grow long hair..
a mullet wast the running
joke, among the Ian crowd...
university?
no nickname...
shitty time...
while industrial roofing took off,
working for my father?
Picasso...
i was meticulous with the tar...
but lately...
my grandmother has
a nickname for me...
because of my beard...
these days i'm know as
Castro...
i'm not proud of nicknames...
but i didn't make them up!
i wish i had...
that being said...
nicknames are
quiet endearing...
i'd love to see Danielle once more...
see how much the freckles took
over her complexion;
Danielle... **** me...
what an ****** name...
like m first love in
the English tongue...
the moment i heard it...
Sam-anth-a(h)...
curly hair,
darkened blonde,
mingling an autumnal-cherry
mahogany with chocolate
cinnamon...
****
i've been so erotically
mobilized / motivated...
from such an early age...
Danielle & Samantha...
nicknames...
and the rest is, history.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC
I was raised on ridicule
Scorn and blaming.
Belittling laughter
Jokes and shaming.
Though nobody who knew
Seems to doubt it
They sure as hell wish I
Would shut up about it.
That’s just the way it is today.
Abused children, it seems
Upset people; therefore they
Are best not heard, just seen.
Four Eyes, Toothpick and Brat
These are a few of the names.
You might as well call them freaks
And creeps. It amounts to the same.
Screwup, ****** fumblefingers,
Bones, Spazz and Stumblebum.
Pantywaist, wussy, ditz and then
Plenty more where those came from.
From birth to death it seems
Sometimes, throughout all of life
Some people just don’t care
That scorn can cut like a knife.
It makes people question
Every move they might make
When somebody keeps on
Calling them things like flake.
The condemnation and rebuke
Aren’t covered up by the laughter.
People should question deeply
The effect they think they are after.
So cut the kids a break
It won’t turn out wrong
And the ridicule of a child
Can last their whole life long.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
The sky is solid, gray, motionless.
Shuffling bodies with obscured shadows
Make haste for shelter
From the stark, lifeless outside
With its grass that only lives if watered,
The always leafless trees,
And the carcinogenic air.
Looking upward,
Through the smoggy haze,
One sees the neon silhouettes
Floating in the sky,
Atop the glass and steel monoliths.
They speak to those below,
Of subtle, clandestine oligarchy.
Subconsciously belittling the anonymous masses,
"We are Titans, you are rats."
Say the towers,
As the populace quietly passes over stained concrete and asphalt,
Wearing breathing masks,
Saying not a word to the thousands they pass.
We make haste in this world.
We cannot afford to help a stranger,
To make a detour with a view,
To get your child that gift they really want.
So fiercely we have been strangled
That empathy is illogical.
"What a world" we all say,
As we avoid eye contact with the hungry;
As we change the channel from the melodramatic infomercial
About starving, disease-ridden children somewhere else;
As we console ourselves with hollow entertainment and intoxication,
To keep the guilt at bay,
To keep the thoughts at bay,
"Just do what's best for you,
Don't step out of line,
Shuffle in,
Follow the queue.
That's all you can do."
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
With my windows tenderly open,
the moonlight, a pale marble phantom I admire
The dark light rests beside me,
unveiling a vivid urban gleam
A jet black silhouette transpires
He whispers in the dark
Porcelain lies, radiant yet feeble.
His words achingly deceive
the lights that disdain me;
belittling my affectionate delusion
Pitch dark silence, I weep as I grieve
My tears filling in everlasting secrecy of
this tragical devotion blurring out the stars
You speak with a passionless passion
Yet my world doesn't fall apart-
It makes the whole universe perish.
That night, the stars seemed to blemish.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:04 PM UTC
He saw her drop a wallet and nobody saw it
He returned it without her seeing it and she was glad
there was no thank you, no need to feel indebted to, no need to reciprocate, no belittling of the effort to not feel grateful, no aggrandizement of the effort to reward overly to the point of removing, no self-praise----all just a quiet act of kindness
but then someone did see him and blamed him for taking it in the first place and not only was the act not appreciated but it was scorned, misinterpreted, misunderstood, confused, defamed and finally damned. When kindness is ****** could there be any greater crime? The act was kindness and nobody understood it, and everyone jumped to conclusions, and everyone found one reason to **** for another reason, and nobody took the extra time, caring, compassion, and thoroughness and patience and love it would have taken to find out the truth---so the the greatest crime prevailed---far greater than the act that was understood to be the "justifiable damnation", but isn't it always the breeding grounds for justifiable damnation when conclusions about the biggest things in life are so quickly assumed to be true when they aren't. Reverse the crime with patience, love, understanding, caring being thorough, being careful, and remember the act of returning the wallet held such integrity that your shine will show the light to everyone else sooner or later but your light will forever shine regardless so don't unjustifiably **** yourself either---love yourself---and thank you for returning the wallet
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
Belittling and biting in your
Insecurity, inane jealously paws.
Tenaciously in spiteful caterwauling,
Cutting catty you claw.
Hope it makes you feel better meow.
.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I am a villainous heroine
Leaving my family brings me sweet sorrow
Marrying my kin’s murderer brings me miserable joy
I am a lucky wretch
Paris’s devotion gives me belittling flattery
Romeo’s adoration gives me obscured clarity
I am a guide lost
Society rejects this careless affection
My heart is open to this insensitive empathy
I am loved hatred
I am an accepted cast off
I am Juliet
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
There is no whiskey in his room tonight...
Instead,
There is a half-empty glass of-
Rock shandy, Pepsi-cola, Dr.Pepper,
Or something black.
Something minuscule,
even though he has not sipped from it.
He has not looked at it- his tongue
Was only dry for two minutes before he
Locked the door.
For the only presence that made it hard for him to swallow
Was in the form of something that he was still trying to release...
at 2AM.
Release at 2AM.
There is a typewriter in front of him and he is feeling as permeable as
The glass that is sitting next to it.
'as permeable if it had a closed lid made up out of carbon' he thinks.
'Closed lid', 'Carbon',
'Closed lid'
He does not know what to type.
As distance diminished it's existence throughout the years,
He began to realize that Letters were starting to transform themselves
Into Diary-Entries and vice-versa.
The art of belittling seclusion through the method of fictionalizing himself
Was turning more into a hobby than an art and
he did not know what to do except to accept it as a tragedy
That nobody else needed to know about.
"Tragedy:" he types.
"I don't know how to forget about you."
'And etcetera,' he thinks.
In his minds eye he sees a girl in a school far away.
She's holding a camera and a textbook and a picture of a boy
That isn't him.
She's walking into her new life and one day she will go a week without
Thinking about how it feels to know interest and feel it shared
from someone who thought it never existed.
One day she will go a week without thinking about the boy who stared at empty pages
And wrote letters about bitter meals that his tongue thought could never be tasted.
One day she will go a week with just the thought of how glamorous a life spent alone is...
Before she meets someone there...
Who will make her taste something that is less bitter than him himself.
'I hope that's where my story ends.' He thinks.
And then imagines himself embedded into
Dark bitter things.
(Tobacco, caffeine, dark chocolate.)
He sighs and stares at the words he has already typed.
He can imagine these bitter things spilling into his glass and changing its taste with each
little drop.
"You were dead to me before you even walked out of the door..." He decides,
And puts it onto the paper.
He lifts the glass and takes a sip and then puts it back down again.
'One day she will go a week without thinking about me..." He thinks.
Release at 2AM.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
They burst upwards
All around this evening
There and there and there
Trees, Trees, Trees
Smashing through soil
To a darkening sky
Limbs and fingers and hands
Trunk and twig
Coiling coronaries
Pressed to the sky’s last
Etchings
Monoliths
Earths loud art
Not solemn
Not peace filled
This evening
Trees , Trees, Trees
Explode from the earth
Like Kraken from the ocean
Belittling
Reminding us
Trees Trees Trees
Four hundred million years
Before you breathed
Trees Trees Trees
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 5:23 PM UTC
This poem is going to be a lie
He tells himself
Writhing in tantalizing filaments
The bright asphyxiation drawing him closer and closer
To this
An ideal
Of the perfect truth
Told out in unwritten song
Painfully typed words
A clever shower of meteors
Belittling the dangerous craters on the surface
The danger of tripping and dying
Not withstanding what we know to be
A falicy
My multilingual interpretation of her feelings
Old testimonies heard in the court
Of the already guilty
This poem is a complete distortion of facts
My trivial response to empowered individuals
Standing on my Adam's Apple
And beating on my lungs like drums
Rhythm meaning honor
And the attention of the onlookers meaning
The inviting glow
Of the fireplace.
She sat down next to
That night
That town
That unfamiliar castigating of a child not belonging to
You
Or her
Or the abyss
"Unbelonging"
"Inbelonging"
Not. Yours.
The wordsmith falters
Checking his math
Calculation, equation, kiss on the cheek
For luck for death
For the noose to slip, lovingly
And gently to the ground as the trap door swings open
A great, open toothed smile
Laughing at silence
BARBARIC to interrupt such delicacy
Straining to look into my eyes
She whispers low
I want to find a home...
And i tell her, with my heaviest conviction
"No home is."
Which could mean anything.
This poem is a verisimilitude
A lie about a truth
Which, again...
Could mean anything...
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 12:33 PM UTC
White collared men in pinstripe suits sit casually across from one another,
completely indifferent.
They discuss ways to obtain power and how to silence the opposition.
The opposition being women.
Power being the rights to our own bodies.
These are the men who make laws against abortion to disguise their ulterior motives.
Trump’s America they call it.
Where belittling women is somehow a “trend”,
Where this type of thing has become “okay”.
Where the women’s rights movement has been threatened time and time again.
All of this,
In efforts to silence our war cries.
But here’s the thing about us that even history seems to have forgotten.
We Are Women.
Our mothers have been crafting our battle armour since before we were born.
Gave it to us the day we were first interrupted in the middle of a sentence.
They told us to be brave, to be bold, to be unapologetic.
To speak our truth and remain strong even when we feel utterly defeated.
You see,
We don’t really do submissive.
Won’t sit back and let you do as you please.
Rather,
we’ll continue to challenge your authority.
Make you wish you kept your laws off our bodies in the first place.
To those who continue to undermine our capability,
I say to you this.
This body, is my own.
This body, is power.
In fact,
I don’t blame you for being afraid.
Because you and I both know that this body is capable of things so extraordinary that only God Himself can envision them.
You can try to silence us,
To take away our voice.
But we will only grow stronger,
Grow louder.
Angrier.
You will hear us
And you will listen.
My body,
My rules.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
I would rather be strong
I would rather be able
I would rather be admired for my spirit
and convictions than on how prettily I smile.
I can take a door off its hinges
in under 2 minutes.
And I can do it heels and dress.
I'd rather know how to change a tire
Than how to call for help.
I would rather be gutsy
I would rather live without fear.
I would rather lead the march
Then bring up the rear.
I can dive off a cliff
from 80 feet up
And never balk as I lift off the edge.
I know that kindness and encouragement can bring success
Faster than belittling and disdain.
I would rather be smart
I would rather be confident
I would rather hold passionate discussions
Than make petty small talk.
Engage me with ideas of philosophy and literature.
Tell me about space and democracy.
Don't ask me about the weather.
I would rather be gallant
I would rather be good.
I would rather chance getting hurt
Than close up my heart "as I should"
I'm kind to all people
I love, trust, and have faith.
I'd rather feel love than put distrust in its place.
But that's just me.
Who would you rather be?
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
I've become accustomed to it
"Oh the pain, THE AGONY"
I repeat to myself trying to make things seem,
well, better. But I'm only making it worse
Wasting time saying phrases in hope that stress will magically leave my body forever
Belittling my feelings, thoughts, and emotions
Why do I continue?
Continue to continue
Repeatedly putting myself in worrisome situations, knowing the outcome, but constantly trying to avoid the reality of it all
You would think that if I were driving on a road, noticing a hazard, I would swerve. But not me
What do I do?
Constantly continue to put myself in situations I know will be hard
And yet, I have become accustomed to this feeling of stress, tension , and an overwhelming conscience
But somehow, whenever it strikes, it feels as though it's the first time I've been affected.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
slash their words by
demanding obedience.
burn them by
shaming their dreams.
cut them to the core
by belittling their feelings -
say their feelings don't matter
as much as yours.
the result?
doubts bring them
to their knees,
constantly questioning
others and their motives.
they wonder if they're
too much and not enough,
if their feelings are valid.
their wounds scare them
into submission.
authority is not an excuse
for abuse.
nothing is.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 8:50 PM UTC
Where do you write something you want someone to read
but you don't want them to see?
Almost a year ago, I did some pretty messed up things
and no, it was not grown up of me
and yes, I still feel guilty (at least a part of me does)
and no, I still don't think I "needed" to
However, to think you have done nothing wrong
is an outright lie
Is belittling someone a sign of love?
Is masking someone's voice a sign of affection?
Is closing the doors on things I was not ready to leave behind
a sign of your attention?
And no, that wasn't the end of it
And yes, I'd rather let you read between the lines
because even writing this in memory of things
that once were,
is giving you way too much of my time
Nonetheless, I do not hate you as much as I thought I had
I just have one question,
where do _you_ believe it went wrong?
Could it have been the numerous times I warned you
that something is bound to go awry?
Maybe it was hidden between all the times
you were busy tweeting about how awful I was
while I begged for forgiveness from a problem
I did not create
I can only request one final thing,
take a moment for yourself to replay the words
that we once spoke to each other in your head
Analyze the seconds we spent together
Remember all the wasted parts of my life spent on
trying to earn your approval while you
continue to let everyone know
just how _awful_ I was to you
I dare you, after all of this is done, to come back and
accuse _me_ of being
"emotionally unavailable"
Fortunately for me, however,
I've come to terms with things that once kept me sinking
and I've found the things that keep me afloat
So for now, I bid this chapter of our lives
a soft, sincere and sweet goodbye
(P.S. You may have once had me
wrapped around your fingers, but if
I learned anything from you at all,
it's that I will always be stronger than
what I think I can't handle)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC