"criticised" poems
Not another flipping cooking show,
On the telly, it's all go,
Weird concoctions in their heads,
What's up with good old meat and veg?
Judges frowning, watching on,
The clock is ticking, must get done,
Sweat is dripping in their pies,
So some top Chef can criticise?
I'd love that job, the eating bit,
They never eat up all of it,
Sometimes they are just simply rude,
So if they criticised my food,
I wouldn't put up with that ****
The buggers would be wearing it :)
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
As each day passes I hate myself more
Why does it seem like I’m always in the wrong?
“Know your place”, “you forgot your place” has become an axiom in my head,
I cannot help but think that I’m such a burden, inferior, useless, and shouldn’t live instead
I hate myself so much, everything is my fault no matter what I do
My character is criticised every single time, the shadows on the wall chiding me for being such a fool
My heart’s so pain, I can’t breathe
With every breath, the more I hate me
The shadows haunt me, criticising every part of me
I need to change my entire self, the more wrong in myself I see
I hate every inch of myself, I don’t deserve to live
Why is it so painful to be criticised continuously, staying positive while taking all these in is a myth
The light casts on the shadows, bringing much happiness into my life,
My heart is full of joy during these times, the sadness and hatred becomes a lie
But when the shadows form and haunt me around at times,
I’m trapped - hatred for myself and depression hides in my cry
“You’re weak and immature so you cry easily” was what I was told,
Weakness and immaturity adds on to my list - of the lowest lows
I can’t stop crying and wanting to self-harm, am I weak?
Or maybe those words has caused me to fail to accept any part of me
The shadows overwhelm me and engulf my sleep,
“You’re undeserving of anything”, is all the shadows have bestowed upon me
I always feel like I’m at fault even though I’ve tried, why is this so?
My character is questioned - I hate every part of my soul
I can’t help but wonder to myself…
Is the day that my tears dry,
Also the day that I die?
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
"I painted a picture today"
I'm hoping it inspires people in a similar way that my poetry does
No ! I hope it does more than that
I've scrutinised and criticised it from all angles
Til my energy drained
It's of a sunset
The colours are vivid n just right "or are they"?
My local gallery's displaying it at a fair price or is it?
I'm not sure if it's hanging in the best place?
Does that matter?
It's taken a long time to complete
I'm surprised they thought it was good enough ?
I am my harshest critic
A perfectionist ......
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Judge a woman by her lovers
just another one after others
Wouldn't do that to a man
welcome to bed who he can
Judge a woman by her clothes
her material and fabric throws
Criticised for what she wears
doesnt matter still gets stares
Judge a woman by her hair
try it different if she dare
It shows now, nerve reveals
surely you know how she feels
I Judge a woman by if she cares
deals with life and how she fares
In what she has a sense of pride
and the feelings she has inside
Judge a woman how dare you
exam her and what she do
It does more harm can't you see
to look at her so judgementally
© One man
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
Is there anyone else annoyed by Thee Artiste, someone myself and others find an egotistical narcissist?
Comment or message me, WickedHope or Kaitlin Molden if you've been criticised or deemed mediocre by this 'master poet'.
Ok so thats the nice version here's what I was originally going to post.
"Hey who on this site actually likes Thee Artiste?
Comment or message me if you've been criticised"
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Albums, collections of songs,
A collection of words
brought together
to right, wrongs
or just to hurt
they're there forever.
Somewhere.
Old recordings
on vinyl
or hand written on papers.
New recordings
still on vinyl
but more objected to haters.
To be
easily accessed
and heard by everyone
fans or not,
torn to shreds
when criticised, a song
is unappreciated for what
amount of effort
the artist went through
to create something new
and original
just for you,
for your ears. To view,
to be a signal.
That originality
isn't dead
or dying
or even injured
but instead
living
to be heard
by millions around the world.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
It started when she said Hello
Over forty years ago.
She was the only one to do so I suppose.
My heart was twanged
And I wanted her so bad.
Still it pains me so today,
I couldn’t find the words to say.
All I got was unrequited-love sick blues.
I couldn’t eat a thing
For weeks on end.
At a party she sat alone,
Seemingly aloof,
‘Til someone else stepped in...
Hindsight says she didn’t like me anyway:
She criticised my teenage spots
And the way I danced.
I wasted so much time on her,
Spurning others for my senseless crush.
Giving up only when her long distance boyfriend appeared.
Since then I’ve always guarded
Against getting emotionally involved
Before being socially involved.
It has been said that I’m aloof,
Staying on the fringe,
Avoiding commitment.
You have to take that risk
They say,
There is no other way.
I’ve seen the pain that “Love” can bring,
Romantic songs I will not sing.
I’d rather stay here on the shelf,
Peacefully living with myself.
Paul Butters
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
you know the avatar of vishnu
sitting pretty,
pretty calm,
he sat there, lost his hair,
became a bald & fat idol in china
miles away from nepal...
became an idol with that famous waving cat
(maneki-neko): ola ola... hello to you too.
so the avatar of vishnu is sitting
peacfully pretty,
but this avatar of shiva ain't...
he's on a windowsill... head-banging while
the supposed meditation takes place...
he's on to it, the next vogue of mindfulness
and feminism... he's like: **** it...
let the zeppelins in, london on the fork fried,
give us bacon and other assumptions
of king above all beasts.
but at the bus stop i met four would-be ballerinas,
four lolitas nonetheless,
aiming for a party, went into the shop
were asked for i.d., but the look of them
no more than 15...
smoked my cigarette in the umbrella of
the bus shelter... true to feminism got *****
'can you buy me some vodka?'
i don't care about your lies, you don't
have to lie to me,
'but honest, i have a picture,
i'm over the age of consent! look!'
my moral compass is missing on this matter,
plus you're so petite one of your musketeers
gave you away, flesh that never grew to the bone...
'but please! we're going to a party! we can't
go empty handed!'
o.k.
took the 10 quid note and went in,
they wanted a medium sized bottle,
under 10 quid of ***** and 4 women?
no chance. put the note in my wallet
and bought them a 70cl bottle of *****
3 quid extra so they could, just, shut, up.
apparently there was no party when i handed
them the confidant compliment of uncle...
you know that bit where nietzshce criticised
socrates for engaging in dialectics to create
a rude society? i think not engaging with dialectics
creates rude societies... where children
are above and most opinionated...
and the elderly are below and exposed to sadism:
as england row row rows the boat for an iceberg
to thus sink.
yes, the four of them, happy enough
to be believed to have discovered the ********
and happy enough to have almost lost it.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Apparently we belong to
The "minority"
Some kind of "riotry".
Because we love someone of the same gender
Or perhaps we're not cisgender.
Suddenly loving is a crime
Harmless expression of what's within- is the biggest blunder there ever could be.
Heart's content is criticised.
They brand us names,
FREAKS! DISGRACE! OUTLAWS!
Make mockery out of innocence
Demean our mere existence.
They want "normal"?
Then maybe it's themselves who are the problem.
They want us to hide and blend in,
Go back into this "closet" we "came out" of?
(Ha, good luck with that)
They think we're alone
But we are not.
There's one love
In all our hearts,
Beating together
Creating art.
We show the world
Consented love needs no apology
Expression needs no **** apology!
So much cruelty
So much hate.
But, you know what?
We can't back down
And be another statistical figure.
Take pride in loving each other
Take pride in being true to yourself.
Pay no heed to those who say otherwise,
Take a stand, you glorious beast.
All in all, we come in peace.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
The longest word in the English language
Is also the shortest, stupidest and most solid word.
it was Invented in 1500 and something by a young William Shakespeare
He actually discovered it on the back of a packet of chewin' tobacco.
Somewhere amidst the indigenous ingredients
So , the ****** actually plagiarized
the world's most funkiest,
fearsome word
Claimed it as his own work
Copyrighted it
And made a **** load of money
Made a truck load too
Yes I know, trucks didn't exist in his Era
But ****** did
Male ones
Ugly, uneducated, unnerving ones
Ones from the back alleys of nowhere
who dressed as ladies then as guys
But their disguise was hideously, horrible
I mean, 'ideously 'orrible
No "H's " for those fine, fortunate, fellows
And I will be criticised for my use of the english language
But, that language is a mongrel
A mangy, malnourished mutt, named Fritz
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
The conversations on the post-its we share
Aren't
Lame.
They're just constant denials and
Occasional encouragements;
The exchange of unanswered questions because
For some reason,
I'm not comfortable answering
When everyone is staring.
It's almost as if
I'm going to write this
Secret essay full of love and concern and
A script expressing all I feel.
All the bottled up worry about you would be
Matched from thought to term,
Scribbled down onto that
Tiny piece of paper but
Who am I kidding?
I **** with words.
I **** with expression.
All I do all day long is
Sit behind this stupid screen at 3am in the morning
Typing down this hell of a poem (is it even one?)
And regretting everything I hadn't done
When I was still
Face to face
With you.
I should have sat down and
Thought a little longer and
Maybe my brain would come up with some
Wonderful solution or word of encouragement
Like the powerful ones you always give me.
I should have, at least,
Gone over if I needed your help instead of
You always coming over to my side
And then ending up getting criticised.
I should have given you a
Huge hug and asked
You
How you were feeling but
I'm just a fudging coward
And a fudging selfish creep so I
Sit there every morning and
Wallow in my own sadness,
Fighting a seemingly non-existent battle
And I neglect you again — ******
I promised.
I promised I wouldn't do it again but
All I ever do is make you
Worry and worry and worry and
I don't seem to be there, ever.
When it's time for me to help you
I DO FUDGING NOTHING.
.
.
.
The conversations on the post-its
Aren't
Lame.
They're just little bits of hope that
Maybe one day, the replies would both be honest ones,
And even if it says "No, I'm not fine" and
The other one says "You want to talk about it?"
It's a glimpse of hope.
And it'd be true hope for once,
Not just a mirage for disappointment.
It'd be the beginning of understanding,
It'd be the beginning of another beginning,
It'd be the beginning of starting over, you and me,
Closing up that gap
But most importantly,
It'd be the beginning of
A New kind of Happiness
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
what keeps one from taking the first move?
not one's ego,
it's the fear of getting disappointed afterwards...
what keeps one from certain people?
not the fear of being judged,
it's the fear of being criticised afterwards........
what keeps one from togetherness?
not the fear of being used,
it's the fear of being misused and thrown afterwards...
what keeps one from love?
not the fear of getting the love faded,
it's the fear of being unloved afterwards...
actually the biggest fear is not "the present",
it is the fear of "the afterwards"....
can we live in the moments? and fear afterwards?
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
He tasted dry,
When licked with sour spit.
His scent was foul.
Broad hands rejected
Curling feet.
Met by scowling eyes,
He criticised me with love.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC
ah, but indeed, the conscious effort, the twin tongues in the eyes making eyes less passive, to talk in remote places of silence, to decode the encoding, and still doubling up the silence, indeed the conscious effort of lost colours with too many contorts, with only a few comparisons to understood mathematics of a U or parabola.
why do i have to read a poem?
why do i have to read a poem?
why can't i just look at it?
why do i have to give you a start
and finish interpretation
with a genealogy of lifting up
the first sound like a crying baby
and laying into the cold earth
with a tombstone of a full stop?
why? why? why?! can't i appreciate
a poem like an x-ray of paintings
with the two opposites? can't i
grasp a poem on the outlines of curves
and attach myself somewhere in between
not necessarily at the beginning
and making me into a river of narration
following you? poetry can't be music
any more, bob dylan tried and was
criticised for attempting a qualifying degree
of the index pointer and a nodding approval;
poetry now akin to painting...
i don't want chronology or genealogy,
i want the scattering, the lost paragraph,
the never attempted paragraph...
where i begin or end is up to me...
disown me poems... i want my poems
to make me an orphan - completely rejected
by the hands that tilled the blanks of
what became unearthed and poached
into pun plump potatoes of eager jaw and
rattling teeth: i want paintings! i don't want music!
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
Lately I’ve been sinking into an infinite abyss of perspective reflection
I’m afraid I will never be able to trust myself
I’m afraid I will never become enlightened and that my conscious will sink deeper into my subconscious
I’m scared witless that I will-become a chain smoker , one day
I’m afraid that one day I’ll die lonely
I’m terrified of being patronised
I’m fearful of chronic nightmares
I’m panicky of being criticised
I’m afraid I’ll die a pessimist
And I’m scared of anxiety
Its all beginning to make sense now ,
I’m afraid of getting warped into societies superficiality
I’m afraid of growing into an apathetic and sadist human being
I’m horrified of getting ****** into humanities conformity and contentness
I’m horror-struck by the fact that this youth is not eternal
The public can never know I wrote this.
- Wanda
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
To the ones who are imperfect,
If anyone perfect is reading this please stop reading and go back to your amazing life. Yup life has to be amazing if you are perfect. Well if it's not that amazing read on maybe you can relate to some of it.
Nobody is perfect. Everyone has his or her own imperfections. But is life just meant to be spent on trying to be what you are not?
Good grades, dream college, well paid job, excellent personality with a good social circle and of course a beautiful and loving wife. PERFECT?
Basically someone who has excelled in all possible fields of his concern. This type of a guy would be perfect right? This is the perfection that everyone tries to achieve. Oh wait! I should say the society tries to make us achieve.
But what if someone was to step outside the circle? What if someone doesn't try to achieve this ideology of perfection?
A person with low grades or someone who isn't in a good college or doing a job he loves but pays less is called incapable or incompetent. Why? Because he didn't achieve that mark of excellence or because he didn't try to achieve it.
That's it, everyone around you starts to advice you, criticise you and breaks you to a point you can't handle anymore.
They blame you for not being perfect.
And to top it all you feel helpless and trapped.
It's impossible for people to not judge you but it is up to you to be affected by their judgement.
Your imperfections make you unique. You may have bad grades or end up in a low paid job but there is something in you that makes you special. But you know what those who criticise you just can't see it.
Make sure that you perfect that unique thing about you. Cherish it and make sure that someday the people who criticised you can only see that perfection. Maybe you yet haven't found your speciality but the day you will maybe even 10 years later will be when you will realise that YOU ARE PERFECT THE WAY YOU ARE.
P.s: There may be many out there who feel they are emotionally and mentally strong but still may fall prey to those who criticise you. To all of them, what you think about yourself matters the most, be yourself and shine so that world is forced to look at you!
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC
Amidst the sea of people
suffocating in the calumnation of their realm
ringed within the despair of others around them
and solemnly existing alongside the control of civilisation
Lay individuals heeding to their own opinions
shunned, ignored and stamped on by their peers
labeled as a nobody, as worthless and useless
and understood as not one of them
only as an error in the production of mankind
Free and unconstricted of the anguishing order
released as someone whom does not belong
condemned as not right in their head
and mentioned as unusual, absurd, crazy
Criticised as a dreadfully contrary being
memorised as a faulty move in the game of chess
expeditiously withdrawn from the establishment of humanity
and obliterated from the existence of their kind
Eyes judging from afar
fearing for their presence to be near
disgusted by their demeaning manner
and forced to abide within their deficient companionship
Once bound to free the shrieking tears
sobs and wails heard from others
begging for acceptance and help
and chasing the deemed worthy for assistance
Metamorphosed into a satisfactory compliance of themselves
buoyantly striding into the halls of the accounted worthy
neglecting the insults and protests of others
and middlingly acclimated to the continuance of being the hated
Disrespected, despised and dishonored they may be
but blithe, wild and free-spirited incorporated
effectively enhancing their blessed individualised life
and liberated from the provocation of those unwilling of exemption
forcefully claiming their unrighteous place in civilisation.
As they are, and always will be the outcast.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Nothing's left but it's alright
Have a voice
Give an opinion
Express yourself
Lay yourself bare
I'll tell you a story of a boy
His family are farmers - conservatives
At the bottom of the lane, the pub used to burn a cross on bonfire night. It held the letters KWW - Keep Waterside White
His Grandma is agoraphobic, xenophobic and racist who told him in no uncertain terms not to marry a black girl
Before he passed away, his grandad would shoot at people searching for magic mushrooms on their land
His father liked Thatcher, criticised the miners and the unions and was a casual homophobe
His mother judges women by appearance and thinks Nigel Farage is a decent bloke. Her place is in the home.
His brother works for the police
His sister rides horses
One uncle is a millionaire and CEO
The other believes that mental illness does not exist and its treatment is dangerous
The boy is christened, confirmed, went to an all white, Christian primary school and predominantly white, Christian secondary school.
He left secondary school and college with no qualifications through the arts. Only the important subjects.
There is another story about this boy but for now we will look only at these facts.
It may create an image in your mind
It would be easy to condemn this story
Sure enough it was condemned
By those who held the moral right
Opinions stronger than people
The boy grew fearful of people
Tried to hide his story
Became silent
Shut off from the world
Thought of the ways he could end the pain
Sought to become a different person
To deny his past
Outwardly this worked
Inwardly...
People believed the moral of the story was that he had overcome
They missed the point
Inwardly... Sometimes, the majority ... Can feel like the minority
If I said all of that, could I still express myself?
Would you listen?
Or would I be condemned?
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
I tried my best to be a better man
I do the best I can
But here I am
Hurting everyone around
I try with all my might
To love with all my heart
But they said I'm doing otherwise
That my art is never right
I walk the path of the wise
Write scripts that truly inspire
But all I get is just great torment
Harvested from their hate-comment
I work hard, never disabled
To fend and put food on table
But still I get criticised
And was tagged as "lazy ***
I try to improve my profile
Be a better and less-rough guy
But life never permits
Instead; my trial emits afflict'
Family labelled me hellish
Friends tagged me selfish
Haters wish I perish
Neighbours gossips and blemish
I will overcome I guess
But If I ended up diced to pieces instead
By this sharp knife edge
Just be aware; I tried me best
Wish me well
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 5:00 PM UTC
I was a wobbly little girl
Tortured by my devil
She chased and chased me
Hunting me down
Criticised my success
Laughed at my victory
Shortened my smiles
Prevented my laughs
My first tear
My only snap
My loudest sob
The whitest flag
I cried for help
there she was
I called emergency
there she was
I raced to school
there she was
I ran back home
there she was
Darkness flowed through her veins
Jealousy kept her running
Black magic empowered her
Sorcery concealed the naked
my head ******
my hands tied
my face torn
my vision blurred
Now she shoots and shoots
and shoots right through me
She strikes and strikes
and strikes up my smile
Protected by my love
I realised right then
I tried to die once
Never again.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
Inside, I’m screaming out, “look at me!”
“Notice me!”
Too, long, too long,
I’ve neglected to see me because I was lost, looking over at others.
Such wasted years, such waste to fears, discouragement in my ears, the many times, I’ve wiped those tears
Stained eyes, they were closed for a period of many, many days, to get new sight, and
To hear the truth within; “darling, I see you; you are my beloved.”
Deep senses quieten, even though tremmers still pulse,
Claiming life within thriving for expression.
I can’t stop; I allow you to be seen, heard, criticised, discarded...celebrated, yes, honoured, revelled, desired, loved.
Because that’s who you are, who you’ve always been, when you were off, waiting to be seen.
But now I am here, and now I begin again,
New steps, new paths; enjoy, embrace joy!
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 8:31 PM UTC
The truth that we thought was the truth
fell like the pack of lies that it was and
the odds that we thought were even,
were even more crooked than that.
So we dropped off the radar
and went under the grid and
slid off the end of the rainbow.
Same thing there
gold everywhere
and diamonds that
coloured our eyes.
In the morning after the morning last night
still tight with the alcohol, coke and some Demerol
we glued back the curtains to look at the sky,
it was raining.
And I know it always rains in February,
but something told me that
Summer was on the way.
Being criticised constantly
and ostracised eventually
September seemed like a good
time to go
but
as it's dry now
think I'll try now
to rejoin the
hive,
staying alive is easy
it's the living
that's hard.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
Sticks and stones leave cuts and bruises, but words go deep, and feelings it chooses .
Wounds go away as times go by. But saying words don't hurt. That is a lie .
The intense mellows I hear in the voice. It's as if I have to make a choice,
to let it flow by in the wind or let it replay over and over again .
The sorrow I hear when someone regrets , they know the pain they cause you.
Even when they move on and forget, the cut still seeps inside you .
A broken record you hear the same parts , a chorus of a song .
The simple words that pierced you deep, were there all along .
You can't erase what you heard, the permanent ink bleeds through your soul.
It becomes so heavy you can't take the pain then it imprint its hole .
What you once thought of words, things you use everyday can damage and destroy when used the wrong way. My freedom of speech is just as good.
But you wonder why its criticised when I don't tell a lie.
When I'm real, its wrong.
When I'm right, It's passed along .
But when I hurt someone time stops.
Time stops fot them as it once did for me when I seen that imperfection they pointed out .
And when I realize that it will never go away .
It's easy to be observant than admitting, because once you admit its set in stone and the denial all fades.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC