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mumu Jun 2018
It is the brightest moon
That makes me remember your smile
A smile that lights up my dark night
As I see your smile,
I see myself
Myself with you forever.
I hate cringey poems. Poems that talk too much about love and affection is not my forte and not fan of it and yet, I really made one?!I still don't know how did I wrote this 3 years ago. I didn't even remember who I am talking with this. Hey self, who's guy did you fling for this cringey poem? Lols. :P
Taltoy Jul 2019
Wala akong maisip na pamagat,
Wala akong maalala sa kabila ng lahat,
Pero alam kong ikaw yan,
Nakilala kita dyan aking kaibigan.

Isang cringey na namang tula ito
Hahaha sa rami ba namang naibigay ko sayo,
Baka paulit uli na nga ang mga laman,
Pero galing talaga sa puso ang mga laman. (Yieee cringe moment nambawan)

Ilang araw nalang pasukan na naman,
Makikita mo na naman ex ni kwan, (u be like pagbasa mo “jether foul!”)
Pero alam kong wala kang galit sa kanya,
Kasi di ka naman yung tipong nagtatanim ng kawayan diba?

Parating maging mapagpakumbaba,
Wag mo nang patulan ang mga alam **** mababaw nga,
Wag **** kalimutan ang iyong mga makakapitan
Magulang kapatid, kaibigan, at higit sa lahat ang iyong kasintahan. (Chour, sabihin mo lang sa akin na “sya man rason ba”)

Ang tulang ito ay lumalabas na aking mga kamay,
Getting out of hand ika nga,
Diba parang wala lang akong malay?
Sabog, tulad nitong aking tula.

Parating maging positibo,
Wag kalimutang kasama mo ang Diyos,
Kahit ang elbi man ay daanan ng  lindol o bagyo,
Alam kong malakas ang pananalig mo.

Hindi kita makakalimutan,
Nandito lang ako kaibigan,
Nasa kabisayaan,
Pero isang chat or text lang naman.

Isang maligayang kaarawan,
Parating ngumiti sa bawat araw na dadaan,
Alam kong nakakapagod mag-aral pero kaya mo yan,
At naway sa muli nating pagkikita di mo ako makalimutan.
Bortdiiiiii! Ahahaha
dlx Jul 2016
I will be everything if you want me to.
I will be anywhere if you need me tho.
I will be something if you like to call.
I don't care I'm crazy when I'm with you.

When I'm with you, it didn't feel like wrong.
Everything goes right and everything is just beautiful.

I don't much mind what everyone think about us, they said we're dangerous and dark.
It's just because they only see with the eyes,
They're not understand and look at by the heart.
I don't care about anyone think of you, they can talk what they want.
I just want to listen to what you say.
You're naughty, cringey, or a smoker.
I don't care.
Because love is just love, for anyone and everything..


- dlx
Lloyd Aug 2018
It was probably that smile that caught me,
And your bubbly personality,
It was just the perfect mixture,
And that’s why I fell, I’m sure,

But you weren’t someone that moves gracefully,
Everyone actually considers you downright clumsy,
Reaching class late, still having a smile on your face,
Just entering and any existing shame, I see no trace

I could write something that overpraises you,
Like comparing you to the radiant Sun and how I think it’s true,
Or a flower in some garden, where you shine the brightest,
Very cringey stuff are what I often write, cheesy at best,

Excuse me for being the creepy type of man,
You probably won’t like this, since poems and other stuff you’re not much of a fan,
Often making this poems for you is hard, although I like It,
Understand I’m trying to remove how I feel, but constantly failing to do it,

And even when I fail, know I’m trying my best to,
Not fall completely and irrationally fall for you,
Despite that sudden burst of happiness being the reason I feel the way I do,
Somehow I will try slowly becoming distant from you

Okay, finally going back to what I was saying,
Recently though I was just trying to figure out something,
Reasons to why you really look bright through my eye,
Yet I still can’t think of proper answer no matter how hard I try,

To be completely true it’s just how you are overall,
Honestly I think everything about you is what made me fall,
And now I think I’m at the height of what I’m feeling,
Now I’m probably close to its ceiling,

Keeping up with the status quo is the only thing I can do,
You probably will become a distant memory after college is through,
Or someone I can still casually see every once in a blue moon,
Unless I do something about how I feel, I think I should say goodbye soon,

Getting to know someone lie you who can face life with a smile so bright,
Oh how great it is that you can still shine in life’s uphill fight,
Over that smile though is still someone that feels depression,
Despite how bright you smile, I think you still feel this crippling sensation,

Because everyone of us is victim to failure’s hold,
Yet I still believe despite the ton of pressure you experience you wouldn’t fold,
Even if the wind feels a little colder, and you feel breathing the air is becoming harder,
I know you won’t suffocate under the stress, you’ll probably even become better,

This poem is getting a bit long so I’ll wrap this up quick,
I have no idea if you have some kind of trick,
That you can just glow like the way you do,
Again it’s cheesy but I wholeheartedly believe it is true,




You may not feel even the slightest of how I feel for you,
And you probably be even annoyed about the things I do,
But for you to change is something I do not wish,
The imperfect you is the prefect you as crazy as the sound of it is,
First poem published here
~
August 2023
HP Poet: Amanda Kay Burke
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Amanda. Please tell us about your background?

Amanda: "It just so happens my HP handle is my actual full name. When I originally signed up on this site it was wordybirdy333 but a friend of mine suggested my real name would seem more professional and I was inclined to agree so Amanda Kay Burke it's been ever since. I am 28 years old physically but will forever be a kid at heart. And I was born and raised in the US; Alaska more specifically. I have to admit I haven't accomplished a whole lot yet in my life, seeing as how I suffer from recurring depression/addiction problems. Which is probably an excuse, but hey everyone has their issues. I have lived in a small town called Willow, AK basically my whole life; I have only been out of state one time (that I remember) but I would love to travel and see the world one day. My mother passed away last year so since then I have been keeping my dad company trying to provide whatever emotional support I am able to. I have a Chihuahua named Mocha and she is my best friend and one of my only friends these days but the few people I do hold close to my heart make my life worthwhile."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Amanda: "I have been writing poetry since I was just a kid, probably nine or ten years old, but I remember being eleven when I wrote the first poem that I knew was actually good. I have been a member of HP since April 2017 so that makes six years now huh? Wow time flies..."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Amanda: "Patty m described it perfectly when she said that it feels like they write themselves at least the truly superb pieces do. I don't know where the words come from sometimes they just flow from the pen and when I'm done I read it over and get goosebumps because I can't believe that it came from my hand/brain. But the majority take a lot of effort. I like to challenge myself to always keep writing when I can, even when I have writers block and don't approve of the result. And I always post it eventually just to compare against my other works. (No matter how cringey) those I derive inspiration from my daily experiences mostly heartbreak/relationships/depression/substance abuse I am not very good at writing happy poems I try about nature and other positive subjects but they lack the raw talent and depth of my darker poetry."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Amanda: "Poetry for me has a very loose definition I have crafted everyday conversations into poems before for instance. I also believe some experiences in life can be considered poetry or at least equates to it in some manner such as making love or the setting sun if that makes any sense to anyone besides me."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Amanda: "My favorite poets are Dorothy Parker, Ogden Nash, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Leonard Cohen, and Eminem who is in my opinion the greatest poet of our generation by far. After all, rap stands for 'rhythm and poetry'."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Amanda: "My other interests are art such as coloring, painting, and I recently received a pottery wheel that I haven't tried out yet. Music is also a huge part of my life, I love writing lyrics to instrumentals, listening to different artists to broaden my tastes, or just singing along to old favorites. I have also recently gotten into online gambling such as slots and blackjack."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, Amanda! You are a wonderful addition to the series!”



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Amanda a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #7 in September!
~
storm siren Jul 2016
It must be two in the morning.
it's cold. Dark. The bleeding is relentless.
My fault.
I didn't ask for any of this
but in the end it is my fault alone.

I try to breathe.
how?
I can't.
it feels like
liquid nitrogen.
not oxygen.
I need air.
can't breathe.
chest collapsing.

I wake up.

two ten.

still dark out.

got a text
at ten something
from my Bluebird of Peace.
a list of inappropriate but still humorous jokes.

some are cringey,
but I still laugh or smile.
and so guilt and shame are washed from my mind,
as I debate running
to the bathroom
to wash the cold sweat off
that has drenched my skin
and clothes.

I keep smelling iron
though I know it isn't there.

the things I have seen
and the things I have lost
like to haunt me.

I would like to be a ghost.
to haunt them
in return.

instead I breathe in.
I breathe out.

I change clothes,
stripping down entirely to put on shorts and a t-shirt.
I put on his hoodie.
Wait for warmth.
Hold my old stuffed lion.

send my Bluebird
a text.

I need some type of noise,
but all I hear is snoring
and the dripping of a faucet.

I am glad
for instances like these
that I do not
live alone.

at least this time
i didn't cry myself awake.

one day
it will be different.

"That part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
Nightmares. written from phone.
Chelsea Oct 2016
Imagine tugging at a loose thread on a sweater, expecting it to break off, problem solved...
but instead that thread unravels and unravels until the sweater is a sweater no more,
but rather a mess of string in a heap on the floor, a chaotic tangle that
resembles the contents of my brain when someone asks, "how was your weekend?"

My thoughts are replaced with the blare of static on TV and I can't hear myself think, so I say what I imagine a person is supposed to say, a preprogrammed response I construct for situations like these when my brain decides to check out...

Because of course the only time my mind -stops- is when I really need it to go, not when I'm laying in bed at 2 a.m., fixating on that cringey thing I did four years ago.

But anyway, I would tell you about my weekend, except it seems that the wires connecting the language part of my brain to my mouth have been cut. My weekend probably ****** anyway, but I manage to say, "it was good." And even then, those three words struggle to get past my lips, and any words more revealing hit the backs of my teeth like a car colliding into a brick wall.

By now the elmer's glue holding me together is losing its grip, so when you tell me about your weekend, the words wont stick. How your breath is wasted on me, when I can't concentrate on not falling apart and on tales of your tomato garden at the same time.

On the surface I look so cold; my painted on smile is a thin sheet of ice, concealing the puddle that hides underneath, one that the sun can't reach --
People will often say, "if it helps, you don't seem anxious". I want to tell them that anxiety is a tormented ghost that drags its dagger like claws across my skin at night, whose presence I can always feel but never see. A monster that feeds on vulnerability, and knows it will never starve.

But, I don't know what to say, so I stare at my hands. Because making eye contact feels like facing a lion, and facing a lion means facing death. But then there are times that death doesnt sound so bad, because I know that as long as I'm still breathing, anxiety finds a way to make that hard for me too.  

Anxiety is a broken appliance that the store wont take back, the Annabelle doll that returns from the trash, so it made a home of me instead. And in return for the shelter I give, my heart pounds like its full of angry bees when I finally press 'send' on the 8th draft of a text message I've been working on since yesterday and I want to hide, but why bother? when in a game of hide-and-seek, anxiety always wins.

It is my shadow during the day and my blanket at night, one that that drapes suffocatingly around my shoulders while I'm pacing the kitchen in the dim glow of the stovelight, worrying that the next day could be the " someday " that the ones I love finally leave me. On these nights, anxiety comes to my rescue everytime. It slithers up my back where it can softly whisper into my ear : "I promise you, chelsea, I will never leave"
fray narte Jul 2019
Let's cut the crap and all that sweet **** — we weren't those kind of people. We weren't made for romance and sappy poetries, weren't made for love songs, and cringey sweet nothings and gazing at the sunrise after camping out for the night on a hill. We were made to hold hands and a few almost-kisses during drinking sessions and forget about it the next day, to smoke and lie down a little bit too close to each other on rooftops and talk about depression and anxiety attacks, and deny everything in the morning. We were made for my unsaid "I miss you too's", that want to escape my lips the moment you say your drunken "I miss you's". We were made to see each other break down in between a pack of cigarettes and two bottles of local ***. We were more like two ****** up souls recognizing each other; more like two faultlines causing an earthquake and taking everything down with them, more like the first raindrops to fall apart before a thunderstorm, like two planets out of orbit crashing on each other in a brief but destructive way.

You see, maybe we're just drawn to people similar to us, and maybe, we're just drawn to each other because we're equally messed up. Maybe it was just the strong urge to save the other that borderlined to romance. But I guess being messed up wears people out, and sometimes I find myself wondering who got exhausted first. Where did the talks about "wanting to die together" go? When did the conversations about our saddest secrets cease? What stopped "Man, loving you is a disaster I won't mind being struck by," from coming? Was I too depressive and sad for you? Were my breakdowns suffocating? Did my fuckedupness stop feeling like home and started looking just plain ****** up? When did you start fading away? Why would you do that? Stupid questions.

You should know, it beats the **** out of me to say it, but I was perhaps a little bit desperate for you to stay. Perhaps I got too comfortable with your demons, I almost adopted them as mine. Perhaps the fact that you were willing to give me your ******-up all was comforting. Perhaps I was selfish, and I kinda wanted my darkness to be the only darkness you'll wanna light. Perhaps I miss you and it feels like I'm a chainsmoker on withdrawal from her cigarettes, and what ***** more is that I don't even know if I still cross your mind as that same sad girl you were happy being sad with, as that same sad girl who had always been your destination, and the very same one you apparently stopped coming to. And perhaps, thinking about all of these is *******. We weren't some modern-day knight and damsel. You weren't the guy with the beautiful blue eyes, and I'm not the girl with the blue washed denim they sing about. We were just misfits who made a mess out of the messed ups we already are, as if that isn't already enough. We were just planes thrown in the air, hoping to land, but ending up crashed and burnt. And that's how it always worked for people like us.

I was never worn out by your sadness as much as I was worn out by mine. And clearly, you were my favorite messed up, but, you're just not worth it anymore. And this — this is a just an unpoetic musing about the wrecks that we are, an impulsive attempt of detoxifying you out of my system. This — this is me, disowning your sadness; this is me disowning your demons. So let's just cut the drama and all that sweet **** — we weren't those kind of people. We were the almost-but-not-quite's, the could've-beens, and the never were's. We weren't the kind that bags the happily ever after. We weren't the kind that makes it.

All we are is everything short of lovers. All we're made for is everything short of I love you's. And this is everything short of love.
Ricki Apr 2022
I still miss you.
I miss the kisses, the cuddles, the ***.
I miss your cheeky little grin and your wispy beard against my skin.
I miss how your eyes would glisten and your voice went higher,
As I listened to you tell me about dragon ball, or how work had been prior.
Without you, there are highs and lows, and
Every day is too fast, yet too slow.
If you had asked me early March why I’m here,
There would be nothing else to hear, except gushing over your curly hair
Or, how you walked me home from school every day when I was 15.
****.
Why did you have to be so mean?
It went and ****** up everything.
Why’d you do that **** to me?
I couldn’t even just be and exist as me,
And everything is just the worst
Because I had to put me first.
I still miss you.
And, honestly I don’t know what to do
Or even who the **** I am.
I’m a phantom of myself.
I’m a ******* basketcase,
I’m a useless waste of space.
I can’t stop messing up everything.
And ever since we broke up,
I’ve worn your jacket to work.
And, I’m the **** that dumped you, but
My heart ******* hurts.
I still miss you.
I see you in every spring flower rising from the dirt.
And, I think they wrote every song about you, too.
Why does every beautiful piece of art look a lot like you?
I hate that I love rom coms.
I hate that you wouldn’t dance with me at prom.
I hate that I’m not Sally, and you’ll never be my Harry.
I hate that I wanted to marry you.
I’d rather die than be your spouse.
You’re still trying to say who I should talk to and what I should do.
I hate that I’m stuck 2 minutes from you and your stupid ******* house.
Because of you I can’t breathe and I shake.
Every time someone yells at me, I ******* break.
I hate that you’re so ******* bad to the core
I hate that you called me slurs and said I looked like a *****
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I still miss you.
Remember when you smacked my face?
That’s something you can undo or erase.
Remember when I tried to exit a moving vehicle because you were keeping me against my will?
Rather you like it or not, that was meaningful.
Remember when you took my keys so that I couldn’t leave?
I genuinely can’t believe I let someone do those things to me.
Remember when you didn’t get me anything for graduating, turning 18, Valentine’s Day, anything.
You owe me so many ******* dates that you cancelled because it was getting late.
Remember when you berated me in front of all of my friends over and over again?
You called all my interests stupid and you never gave a **** about my art.
You wrote your name across my heart, but you never would dance with me
Because you thought I was cringey.
I still miss you.
And boy, you haven’t a single clue how to treat a woman, or even any person.
I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I hate that I still love you.
I hate that my identity is so entangled in you.
I don’t know what the **** to do.
Why am I here?
Why am I stuck in this perpetual state of fear that I can’t live without you?
You should get out of my head.
****, these intrusive thoughts want me dead.
I hate my stupid ******* brain for filling myself with disdain towards who I am alone.
I want to text you, but I’ll refrain.
Now, you’re nothing more than a name in my phone.
You’re not the boy that makes me swoon, giggle and moan anymore.
You’re not my baby, my qt, mi amor; you aren’t someone I want to adore.
I still miss you.
Why am I here?
What am I doing?
Deep inside me something’s brewing.
Every day I’ve sat here stewing.
I need to be someone new,
I need to figure out what to do.
Why can’t I ******* stop thinking about you?
But I’m still breathing; I’m not dead.
I keep forcing myself out of bed.
And I even dyed my hair red.
I’m here.
I’m where I’m supposed to be
And until my heart mends
I’m surrounded by lovely friends.
I’ll run away to be an artist.
Even though I’m not the smartest, I’ll figure this **** out.
I’ll learn to live without you.
I quit that job I hated.
My heart throbs for something different.
And **** love; it’s overated.
I still miss you.
My whole life was infiltrated by cupid’s stupid arrow.
My trust in life is so near narrow, and
I’ll never let a boy treat me like a barbie doll.
I am my own;  I won't be toyed with and I won’t fall
for some self obsessed, egotistical, adorable, little *******.
I wake up in my own bed and I own my own legs.
You can cry and you can beg, but I will never be your girl again.
And ****.
I’m here now, and I’ll allow what I’ll allow.
I’m going to just live for me
I’m here to just simply be.
I’m lost and I’m unknowing,
But ****** ****** boy, I’m ******* growing.
AND I’m here now.
I’m figuring out how to say no,
And I’m trying to go when and where I want to go.
I’m going to run away from you,
And you can stay in this **** town.
I know I won't let me down.
Why am I here?
One day I woke up on this blue-green sphere, and it didn’t mean a single thing.
I was a lump of flesh and blood; my mind was fresh and not corrupt.
I learned pain and I learned love. They both came and went abrupt.
I’m here now scorned and torn, and my heart and mind are worn.
I’ll live without you.
I’ll do what I have to.
What does it even matter why or how?
I’m here now because I’m here now.
I still miss you.
But, one day I won’t.
I’m here to see that day I don’t.
I’m here to hold my own heart.
I’m here now to make my art.
I still miss you.
This is so long, but This is my magnum opus of poetry. I dated this guy for 4 years and he meant the world to me. I love him a lot, and I only want good things to go his way. I was in a toxic relationship, but he has a good heart. This poem is me pouring my soul out, and I wrote it for a school project.
Jade Nov 2023
TW: Self-harm, suicide, drowning
-
Poor ophelia.

Silly ophelia.

Mad ophelia.

Too-Sensitive ophelia.

Crazy ophelia.

Curses-Too-Much ophelia.

Sad ophelia.

Mentally ill ophelia.

Naive ophelia.

Attention-Seeking ophelia.

Slit-Her-Wrists-In-The-Bathtub ophelia.

Melodramatic ophelia.

Bat-**** ophelia.

Baby-Girl ophelia.

Clingy ophelia.

Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl ophelia.

Extreme ophelia.

Drunk ophelia.

Alcoholic ophelia.

Sloppy ophelia.

Bleeding ophelia.

Unrequited-Love ophelia.

Furious ophelia.

Warped ophelia.

Disobedient ophelia.

Fragile ophelia.

Unwilling-To-Get-Help ophelia.

***** ophelia.

Borderline ophelia.

Took-Too-Many-Benzos ophelia

****** ophelia.

Clumsy ophelia.

Severe ophelia.

**** ophelia.

Burden ophelia.

Obstinant 0phelia.

Selfish ophelia.

Hormonal ophelia.

Obsessive-Compulsive ophelia.

Bruised ophelia.

******* ophelia.

Horrid ophelia.

Useless ophelia.

Delusional ophelia.

Made it up ophelia

Cuckoo-For-Cuckoo-Puffs ophelia.

Broken ophelia.

Tempest ophelia.

Cringey ophelia.

Terrified ophelia.

******-***** ophelia.

No-One-Feels-Sorry-For-You ophelia.

Suicidal ophelia.

Traumatized ophelia.

Stop-Your-Crying ophelia.

CPTSD ophelia.

Suicidal ophelia.

Water-Logged ophelia.



Dead! Ophelia?

-

We never saw the signs, Ophelia.

-

Forgotten: Ophelia.


-

Semantic satiation
[Ophelia].

-

Your name has begun to sound like nonsense, Ophelia.
spiral-whirl Apr 2018
everyday i would sing
rather it be a note or a full song
someday i was going to be a singer
it was my destiny i heard my parents say

however, as i grew older kids start to tease me
they started to realize my voice wasn't following my imagination
i could write a song
but my voice was not fit for it
they said

i slowly stopped singing to others and hid in my room
where i would sing riptide to just me, myself, and i

i remember it clearly
when someone asked me to stop singing
because i sounded so cringey
i tune my voice down
just like i always do

started to get anxiety over singing on a stage
even though i loved it
adored it
i let their words get stuck in ears' cobwebs

everyone has at least one person that did something
they left a mark on you for the good
she told me one thing

"i like your voice because when you allow it, you can sing like a angel but your expression is what amazes me, you seem so happy."

now i'll never stop
because of those words
you can scream at me to stop
however i won't
for my voice is not your's to control but mine to wield
and i'll sing when i please
Odd Odyssey Poet Mar 2022
In a lonely room; walls feeling like mirrors
in every empty corner.
Reflecting, on cringey moments,
points for past arguments. And of course, enjoying
the benefits of being the casual loner.

Pulling myself to the self doubts for tomorrow,
"will I wake up in the morning," the question
I have before I rest my head. I say a silent prayer;
and maybe try not to focus on death.
But instead, my focus is the pretty petty moments
of life; soon to fade like a flower.

The greatest overthinker when I'm all alone,
balancing insecurities, pleasure, and life's pressures.
Music of past songs, still ringing in my buzzing ears.
Phone full of playlists setting the mood for what face
I'm sleeping with tonight.
And wondering which one of my dreams I'm living to
be leaving for a successor.

Yes sir!

My mind alone; takes me further from home,
when I'm all alone.
So quiet in there, that you could drop a stone and
it would echo down to my soul. Entertaining the
crowd of shadows peeping through the window.
Tree branches digging into the walls, with my bed
in the middle.

I think about love, I wonder about hope.
I yearn for calm, I search for control.
I fight battles alone, I set my life's next goal.
I motivate my soul, and I push myself into being whole.

All of which happens in the dark room,
sitting on my own.
David Bojay Jun 2018
after all we've seen
the things experiences we've lived
the poems i've written
to soften your existence
to make everything a little more romantic
with words to describe what i can't describe
after all my kisses
the hugs
the meals we've shared
the moments we'll look back on, the moments we've looked back on
the cringey moments
the broken smiles
after all the music we've listened to, it'd be hard for me to listen to again
the lingering vibe in my car
every fight feels like a break up
every argument makes me want to sew my mouth together
shut up david
but we are both wrong
and sometimes your words hurt me
(they're not supposed to, yet i'm crying while typing and my throat feels choppy)
the things you've done for me don't reflect what you said to me in absolutely certainty
"******* idiot"
i feel dumb
because of you, for this moment, i do.... feel like a ******* idiot
i look around with watery eyes
i look down with hope i've built for us, and it disintegrates
i look in the mirror and my reflection is blurry
i read "******* idiot" when i look myself in the eyes
for the moment
my ego is hurt, and something bad happens when it is


i have to let myself go


"self"
NAME May 2019
oof
look at these old poems
of grief and hatred
sadness and tears

i cringe as i look
old poems of mine
so cringey

a rip and an oof
hats off to you who've read them
uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggg SO MUCH CRINGE >:((((
Lady Misfortune Apr 2019
I regurgitate all the cringey moments of pain I felt for some pompous fool...
I thought you were gone.

Not getting caught up in the cyclone of infatuation, was useful
Cruel treacherous whispers for a time
Until the next drama is pulled from the side lines,
Guess I was wrong.

Your off in the corner drifting off...
Into daydreams about me
While I think it's astounding
You could feel anything after drilling your screws into my head

Echoing screams you turned your back on,
Now you're wondering how I'm doing,
Digging up old feelings,
You must really want to **** me,
Seeing you won't leave until you have every piece

Forefront or unseen
I disappeared for a year
Screenplay
Action, were on, scene.

Will I get caught in a hurricane of forgetting
And living in a fairytale prairie?

Where you go pick daisies from the grasslands wishing with the intention of giving,
Pleading,

Attempting to do so in secrecy
While I await an apology
That is never coming.
Once again I've taken my brilliance and splattered it on a canvas to depict what I feel for someone so undeserving, who doesn't know how much I was hurting, when they weren't worth my love and energy. I asked for ice from whom I thought was a stranger, until I saw a slight head **** and my heart plummeted into my stomach, suddenly empty, bearing the worse burden of fearing, a problem I'd let dissolve with time was just sitting in the pit of a glass. Lollygagging and putting on a show when there's this little ping of me knowing, this earthling will always have my attention. At least I can choose whether or not I listen. The puzzling affliction of loving someone but not being in love, anymore. Thin lines between every emotion, I could so easily cross a boundary, depending on my decisions. I will begin at the finish, that is also the start, where all my coping and art to get through the dark, mean nothing. The torture of your screws will be of no use, because I threw it all away when I greeted you with laughter and smiles, knowing good and well for me your just another hell I've longed to avoid. Shoved into denial, I try to bury the dial making all the noise. Ping. Ping. Ping. How can I still have love for you after it all?How can you claim to care about me when you weren't there to carry me?
Ella James Apr 2020
Oh, how funny it is to be in love

Intense emotions of belonging, falling

Smiles and tears, make or break

I was in love once.  



Piercing green eyes, like the dark forest

where he used to ride

Then there’s me, of course

Sitting on the sidelines, watching him break up the dirt  

beneath him with the tough rubber wheels

I was in love once.  



We sat, hand in hand on ‘our’ bench

E + C engraved, isn’t that cringey

Talking about the future,  

married, travelling the world together.

I was in love once.  



When everything was perfect, he didn’t see the same

Didn’t feel the same.

He questioned. He judged.  

I was left behind, staring at a blank wall while he

was on the other side making it higher.

I don’t love you anymore was written on the knife

that plunged into my heart

But I was still in ******* love once.



As days go by, tears dry

Feelings fade, love falls away

Memories turn to a haze, but when I see his face,

it all floods back, to haunt me again
WhatIHopeToFeel Jul 2018
It was strange
But not because I felt excluded
Not because I felt judged
But because for the first time
I felt like I  fitted in
I was part of the crowd
Not just looking at it
They accepted me
Because I was like them.
I was always a black person
My clothes were devoid of colour
And I thought my soul was black
But they showed me the rainbow
That I was part of it
Black is the mixture of all colours
That's why it's my soul
Not because I'm dull
Because you have to understand to see my colours
And they understood
I was content
I talked to stranger's
I felt like crying for people I didn't know
Because they made it possible
For me to feel
Like the rainbow I am.
That might be cringey
But I'll allow myself to be
Just this once.
Ryan P Kinney Jan 2020
by Michelle Galmarini

You will be seen

Even your side that’s mean
the one that screams
the one that’s hiding behind the scene

the one that’s quiet
the one that’s cringey
the dumb-witted one
that’s sloth-like and bingey

but you have a team
the rest of the world
that’s been

Be proud, Be seen…

Additional content assembled from works published by Beautiful Blasphemy
Emily Jo Dec 2018
love is like going to the convenience store
spoilt for choice
love expires with one too many dates
like a bag of rotten artichokes
we choke on cringey first-liners
And fill our heads with expected desires
Of one hit wonders and lifetime memberships
To a loyalty card that doesn’t exist



29/08/08
Anine Nov 2019
To the guy I'm going to date in the future,

I don't know where to start this. Umm, hey, how are you? Okay, this sounds cringey. You know I’ve no expectations regarding your stay. Cause a long time back, life made me realise that no one's gonna put those Cinderella shoes in my foot and no prince charming on a white horse is coming in search of me. Oh wait, I did wanted that to happen.

I've confessed to some guys older then me, but they rejected me. Well, I never got into relationships before. So yes I’m a newbie in relationships.

Just so you know, I'm not expecting you to be perfect- but to be the perfect guy for me. If you already knew all these, I think there'll be no war and just love. :) I don't know if you'll ever find my note here. But just incase if you do, lucky you! You have found another piece of me.

❤️❤️❤️
This ain't a poem, just a note for him <3
thoughts to dump Aug 2022
there are some nights
when you can’t be asleep
you’re out there partying with your friends
sipping every glass of champagne
jiving to the echoing soundboxes
owning the floor, like a dancing queen
and then, there are also nights
when you should be asleep but you aren’t
you’re there on the cold **** floor
thinking all of the crazy stuff you did last summer
sipping the bottle of beer from the fridge
listening to the cringey music
from the old record player
occasionally tiptoeing,
as if waltzing with an imaginary partner
and finally, there are nights
when no matter how hard you try to sleep
for no reason your eyelids won't heed
you stare through the dark night, across the ceiling
maybe, somehow, you’re awake in someone else's dream
he kept saying your name, whispers in the thin air
and then you sigh, “oh please, let me sleep.”
in the middle of the night
I was young.
I could walk for miles without getting tired.
My thoughts could send me flying elsewhere.
I can put holes through a wall with a single punch.
I can control others' minds and make them act silly.
There were no clocks in my head!
I can compete with fast gods or go toe to toe with
stronger enemies.
All those possibilities. . .
and none of these.

It's not a mystery to me that I keep
having this fantasy to be young again,
rewind, nothing in mind;
not a single thing to be reminded of.
of any specific steps to take in order to make it;
all nothing but pure grandiose on the spot.

no ******* critics to tell you their boring bigotry
because for ****'s sake,
all the sake's for our innocent poetry.

rhyming is allowed, spacing and misspelling,
no viewers, awkward, anxious...cringey.
you name it!
these things basically, if not, partly make
our youth meaningful.
deprived of all the terrors of the world
and what people say.

If given a chance to relive them all
I'd do better
but maybe,
I am just helplessly
drifting away again
in this coping mechanism.

god if this is a theatre,
splash an epic ending for me
before you close the curtains.

I am drunk
and I have work tomorrow
just like everybody else.
Don't feel sorry.
I did this to myself.
I was careless.

Now, I am going to sleep.
sanjeevni May 2020
We met as some mutual connection
I never knew you might be my future addiction
We had that best friend tag all along
I never thought you might be my first love for so long

You have been so troublesome
Yet our memories have been a wholesome
I tried to get over the past
But this love for you will forever last

I've never liked being too cheesy
But cringey words from your mouth can make me needy
You made my first kiss seem so easy
Now for those soft kisses I can be greedy

Well I did find a guy
I say I like him but I know its a lie
You will always be the reason for my smile
I want you to be the person to walk this life long mile

I just wish to hug you tight
In your darkness, I want to be your light
I just wish for you to be mine
I'm even ready to call you my lifeline
Dale-sensei Mar 2021
Who writes poem these days?
I know, I know
it's old fashioned
cringey, cliche.

can't help it
as this time, it's different.
To pen down my thoughts
for my love

You are a riddle.
To decipher you
is a gamble
I'd pursuit endlessly

Your voice is a melody
I want to hear daily.
Your tone - the sea,
it calms me.

You mind is a forest
I don't mind getting lost.
are we opposite?
but I love it the most

Hoard all these memes;
none can compete
the happiness I feel
when we meet.

Butterflies when you say
you love me too.
Last year was better
because of you.
Sarah Spencer Jan 2022
Valentine's day is looming closer
and I can't wait to be the only one
who doesn't get one of those boxes of chocolate
with all of the assorted flavors to pick through.
I'm looking forward to not be given
one of those teddy bears that are as big
as a seven-year-old going through a growth spurt.
I'm so thrilled to not receive
a cringey Hallmark card
with a "Roses are red" poem hiding inside.
Hell, I'm even happy
to not get a kiss from a lover
or a hug from a friend I've known since elementary.
Valentines day is dumb and disgusting
and the people who celebrate it are just suckers.
Feel free to pass me up Cupid!
I'm totally not jealous...
Wasn't sure if I should have waited till February to to post this. But yeah I'm 18 and every year since middle school I've never gotten anything or even acknowledged by anyone whether I was in a relationship or not. And no, I don't hate Valentine's day. I'm just extremely jealous of all of the action and that I've never been a part of it.
Odd Odyssey Poet Feb 2023
To a starving child
would you offer food for thought
To a mute
would you offer a caring word
To a quadriplegic
would you offer a step ahead
To an insomniac
would you offer them a bed
To a shadow
would you offer it shade in the summer
To a drum
would you offer a beat for unnecessary drama

But no on a serious note; we're offering things
often to force ourselves in offing our heads/
—overthinking a gesture, is as good as to pretend

Playing your mind in chess,
a game of war that none can escape the draft
We're checkers until we're being examined for our past
Imploding cringey memories; a grenade for a present/
all the gifts beforehand a thought's delivery; all pre sent

Pretty less, on feeling less after the care I get
sort of a mind set to care less, seeming careless
on revaluating any of my regrets:
Hurricanes for past events, destroyed by past missteps
...tell me what's next, and what to expect?

Offer me a starving child,
and I'll feed them well in help,
and knowledge to never starve again
Offer me a mute,
and I'll voice their pain in an echo,
that simple words can't explain
Offer me a quadriplegic,
and I'll take the steps to help them
stand proudly on their outstanding worth
Offer me an insomniac
and I won't rest until they find a lost comfort
of all their dreams, spoken on with ill words
Offer me a shadow
and I'll shed light on the dark corners
of not only myself, but those lost in darkness
Offer me a drum
and I won't beat around the bush, on
making a load roar of one's injustice

                 ...these, these are all my world offerings
Man Mar 2022
cringey stuff
what is it about
my emotions
that i gotta
express them
through this method
say less
in the coming days
shut my mouth
keep my head down
and just stay quiet
until i die
dice roll
snake eyes that cry
next roll, sevens
eleven, slurpees
blueberry ice
nice dreams
chong with the ****
and that makes me cheech
can't never win
gotta stop trying
busted
gambling
love is a high stakes game
leave you
broken, lost, roaming
and rambling
i ain't happy here
Hank Helman May 18
If I make a donation,
I get a standing ovation,
Yet scrimp and be stingy
And I'm treated as cringey.

Or maybe I'm lost,
And my work just gets tossed,
A lost poet who pouts,
For sure on his way outs.
Does making a donation to HP improve one's trend performance. Or am I just writing dumb **** now. I have no ******* idea.

— The End —