"blobby" poems - Hello Poetry

I just have to be honest with you right here, right now, and it’s not going to be nice. Or easy, for that matter. I hate you. I hate how you cling to my shoulders, demanding my attention when I’m trying to do normal college girl things. Like when you insist on riding along when I go out with my friends, reminding me every five minutes that you think I’m ugly and worthless. I hate how you cling to my neck, making my entire back and my shoulders physically fatigued. I hate how you read too far into situations, convincing me that people think I’m weird or stupid. I hate it when you tell me to cut my hips because feeling physical pain is better than feeling nothing at all. I hate that you tell me that after I cut, the scars are ugly, so I’d best never do it where people can see them. I hate it when you tell me that I’m weak for giving in, but then convince me to give in yet again. I hate the stress headaches you give me from telling me all of these things. I hate how at the end of the night, you make me think about all of my mistakes during the day, keeping me awake until two. I hate how you suggest I do everyone a favor and just **** myself. I hate how you give me nightmares about my greatest fears becoming a reality. I hate how you sit on my chest in the mornings, making it nearly impossible for me to drag my aching, weary body to the shower to wash your black fingerprints away from my neck. But let me make this quite clear to you: You do not own me. I may be stuck with you, and it may be a daily struggle for me to do normal things, but you do not control my life. Sometimes I wish other people would understand what it’s like for me. I wish they could see your black, blobby figure hanging on my back. I wish they could see the knots in my shoulders that have your fingerprints all over them. I wish they didn’t see you as a lie. You are very real. Mental illness is something society frowns upon, did you know that? You are the reason that I have to lie and say that I’m ‘just tired’ or I ‘am a little bit sick,’ when my physical appearance portrays my mental turmoil. If I told them the truth about you, I’d be treated as one of two things: 1. Crazy Or 2. A liar. So I hope you understand my dilemma, Depression. I hope you understand why I resent you so very much. I hope for my sake, and for everyone who cares about me, that you will not break me down to the point of taking my own life. I hate you, Depression. But that’s okay, because as long as I hate you… You don’t own me. Sincerely, Sarina Kay Cassell

0

Nov 15, 2013

Nov 15, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC

sarina-kay-cassell

Dear Depression,

I just have to be honest with you right here, right now, and it’s not going to be nice. Or easy, for that matter. I hate you. I hate how you cling to my shoulders, demanding my attention when I’m trying to do normal college girl things. Like when you insist on riding along when I go out with my friends, reminding me every five minutes that you think I’m ugly and worthless. I hate how you cling to my neck, making my entire back and my shoulders physically fatigued. I hate how you read too far into situations, convincing me that people think I’m weird or stupid. I hate it when you tell me to cut my hips because feeling physical pain is better than feeling nothing at all. I hate that you tell me that after I cut, the scars are ugly, so I’d best never do it where people can see them. I hate it when you tell me that I’m weak for giving in, but then convince me to give in yet again. I hate the stress headaches you give me from telling me all of these things. I hate how at the end of the night, you make me think about all of my mistakes during the day, keeping me awake until two. I hate how you suggest I do everyone a favor and just **** myself. I hate how you give me nightmares about my greatest fears becoming a reality. I hate how you sit on my chest in the mornings, making it nearly impossible for me to drag my aching, weary body to the shower to wash your black fingerprints away from my neck. But let me make this quite clear to you: You do not own me. I may be stuck with you, and it may be a daily struggle for me to do normal things, but you do not control my life. Sometimes I wish other people would understand what it’s like for me. I wish they could see your black, blobby figure hanging on my back. I wish they could see the knots in my shoulders that have your fingerprints all over them. I wish they didn’t see you as a lie. You are very real. Mental illness is something society frowns upon, did you know that? You are the reason that I have to lie and say that I’m ‘just tired’ or I ‘am a little bit sick,’ when my physical appearance portrays my mental turmoil. If I told them the truth about you, I’d be treated as one of two things: 1. Crazy Or 2. A liar. So I hope you understand my dilemma, Depression. I hope you understand why I resent you so very much. I hope for my sake, and for everyone who cares about me, that you will not break me down to the point of taking my own life. I hate you, Depression. But that’s okay, because as long as I hate you… You don’t own me. Sincerely, Sarina Kay Cassell

19

Descendent of bloods lines full of blood and lust She came into this world covered in a sinful crust Big bushy eyebrows All as one Sat above her eyeballs disturbing everyone She had a turnip shaped body A head like a lolly She looked like she had been divorced By the corpse of Mr Blobby A foul being of unfathomable filth She made the Scottish-men wear tights with their kilts An unimaginable scene even in a schizophrenics dream She made the red light district look like the blue peter team They tried to make her into a play but they stopped in between The directors head was found in a shed With a note saying "die or agree" Rumours has it Her foul being is not just a habit She even gets her way walking into on coming traffic No there's no time for hesitation when she's fulfilling her vocation Moving from border to border disturbing more order then mortars Never turns around always forward Driven by bloodline that's distorted Yet their are whispers on the wind That she's found a certain him An Arabic King who left his land looking for better things He said "oil and camels - I'm soaked in the stuff, Can you show me a good time, Can you really make me huff?" She ordered a weekend in Wales No ******** no garlic snails Hard bed no straw In the eyes of an on looker He had pulled the last straw He found what he didn't know he wanted A high powered back door motor A great slice of westernised **** Far from the Middle Eastern cuisine he had depart So As you can see and as I will say Good things come to those who also don't prey From inside of your skin To the outer space rim Unlikely loves *** and begin Squirm and mesh Challenges they possess But what would be love If we had no mess

0

May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC

oscar-prince

The Duchess

Descendent of bloods lines full of blood and lust She came into this world covered in a sinful crust Big bushy eyebrows All as one Sat above her eyeballs disturbing everyone She had a turnip shaped body A head like a lolly She looked like she had been divorced By the corpse of Mr Blobby A foul being of unfathomable filth She made the Scottish-men wear tights with their kilts An unimaginable scene even in a schizophrenics dream She made the red light district look like the blue peter team They tried to make her into a play but they stopped in between The directors head was found in a shed With a note saying "die or agree" Rumours has it Her foul being is not just a habit She even gets her way walking into on coming traffic No there's no time for hesitation when she's fulfilling her vocation Moving from border to border disturbing more order then mortars Never turns around always forward Driven by bloodline that's distorted Yet their are whispers on the wind That she's found a certain him An Arabic King who left his land looking for better things He said "oil and camels - I'm soaked in the stuff, Can you show me a good time, Can you really make me huff?" She ordered a weekend in Wales No ******** no garlic snails Hard bed no straw In the eyes of an on looker He had pulled the last straw He found what he didn't know he wanted A high powered back door motor A great slice of westernised **** Far from the Middle Eastern cuisine he had depart So As you can see and as I will say Good things come to those who also don't prey From inside of your skin To the outer space rim Unlikely loves *** and begin Squirm and mesh Challenges they possess But what would be love If we had no mess

49

Politicians,political Billies vote for blobby and mr silly, Filibusters ****** speeches Grab your money,sucking leeches If you don't no whom to vote Put your cross on Mcgintys goat. Immigration,100 billion pounds We are Europe as daft as it sounds, Little America to be ruled by trump UKIP has made us a national chump I'm not voting I'm going to abstain Not upping sticks or moving to Spain. National insurance number that's who we our So vote for noddy in his little red car. Political nonsense democratic farce Carry on voting we'll cross my ****

0

May 5, 2017

May 5, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC

mark-bell

Political nonsense

Politicians,political Billies vote for blobby and mr silly, Filibusters ****** speeches Grab your money,sucking leeches If you don't no whom to vote Put your cross on Mcgintys goat. Immigration,100 billion pounds We are Europe as daft as it sounds, Little America to be ruled by trump UKIP has made us a national chump I'm not voting I'm going to abstain Not upping sticks or moving to Spain. National insurance number that's who we our So vote for noddy in his little red car. Political nonsense democratic farce Carry on voting we'll cross my ****

16

you... you really can call certain ethnic generics, authentic i.q. mimics. nothing bad about it... some people have lost the credibility of authenticity... in that: there's a "hyper-inflation" of origin... subsequently guise(d) by a necessity to mimic, craft replica - subservient to their reproductive "agenda"... there's nothing bad about mimics - but then there's the world war I style inconvenience of plagiarism, and the: in between the entrenched: no man's land... thank god that heidegger allowed the distinction between the volkhaft (populist) volklich (communal) and... völkisch (folkish)... i'm pretty sure, that the latter? is the only exclusive sentiment within what, the former could be fathomed, within the confines of globalist inclusiveness... would the mimic culture even comprehend the goosebumps sensation, listening to folk music of, an european tinge? really? something akin to richard parker's fancy translates, like that fashion statement in the orient, of donning schutzstaffel uniforms? "aw in goo' fa'... nnn"... perhaps revisiting the moon, would do humanity some goo'... devil might know... devil might care... or whatever came about with the O, omicron impetus behind the "name", hidden... or what became the lost Δ in either good, or god... go! goo! schpread! blobby! nabla (∇) + delta (Δ) = magen... the rest? ah... should that even matter, after this was written?

0

Jul 29, 2018

Jul 29, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

crypto-nationalism

you... you really can call certain ethnic generics, authentic i.q. mimics. nothing bad about it... some people have lost the credibility of authenticity... in that: there's a "hyper-inflation" of origin... subsequently guise(d) by a necessity to mimic, craft replica - subservient to their reproductive "agenda"... there's nothing bad about mimics - but then there's the world war I style inconvenience of plagiarism, and the: in between the entrenched: no man's land... thank god that heidegger allowed the distinction between the volkhaft (populist) volklich (communal) and... völkisch (folkish)... i'm pretty sure, that the latter? is the only exclusive sentiment within what, the former could be fathomed, within the confines of globalist inclusiveness... would the mimic culture even comprehend the goosebumps sensation, listening to folk music of, an european tinge? really? something akin to richard parker's fancy translates, like that fashion statement in the orient, of donning schutzstaffel uniforms? "aw in goo' fa'... nnn"... perhaps revisiting the moon, would do humanity some goo'... devil might know... devil might care... or whatever came about with the O, omicron impetus behind the "name", hidden... or what became the lost Δ in either good, or god... go! goo! schpread! blobby! nabla (∇) + delta (Δ) = magen... the rest? ah... should that even matter, after this was written?

58