"criticizes" poems - Hello Poetry

How can I live happily, When my mother constantly criticizes me, Refuses to admit when she is wrong, Rejects all of my friends. Calls me hurtful names, Under-estimates me, Invades my privacy, And demoralizes me?

0

Apr 1, 2016

Apr 1, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC

anonymous7d

Emotional Abuse

How can I live happily, When my mother constantly criticizes me, Refuses to admit when she is wrong, Rejects all of my friends. Calls me hurtful names, Under-estimates me, Invades my privacy, And demoralizes me?

8

& tomorrow morning while she opens her eyes, kiss her neck to make sure she wakes up with a smile. Don’t get up & cook her a fancy breakfast that she’ll only eat half of, instead lay there & play with her hand as the sun rays bright up the room. As the smell of her skin enlightens your life. Despite of how much she criticizes her hands, let her see how much of a perfect fit they are for yours. Of how after long days of sailing her hands are the lighthouse your boat will always follow in search of home. Play with her hair until she falls back asleep & listen to her heartbeat, watch her dream. & while she’s slipping away from the world tell her everything. Of how you at times miss her even after just seeing her. Of how you melt every time she says your name. Of how every letter to hers has become everything to you. Of how she completes you. Tell her how you bruised your knuckles in breaking your walls to have her come in & sat there for days & watched them bleed out every bit of doubt yet you never emptied them out. How you refused to show her fearing she’d hurt in trying to fix them & realizing she couldn’t heal all of me. But tell her she was always enough for me. Tell her 10 or 40 years from now while wheelchair shopping, I’ll still look at her & feel the world stop. How I’ll always carry a piece of her & how she’ll always have a hug saved with me.

0

Aug 1, 2013

Aug 1, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC

jas-2

Hug

& tomorrow morning while she opens her eyes, kiss her neck to make sure she wakes up with a smile. Don’t get up & cook her a fancy breakfast that she’ll only eat half of, instead lay there & play with her hand as the sun rays bright up the room. As the smell of her skin enlightens your life. Despite of how much she criticizes her hands, let her see how much of a perfect fit they are for yours. Of how after long days of sailing her hands are the lighthouse your boat will always follow in search of home. Play with her hair until she falls back asleep & listen to her heartbeat, watch her dream. & while she’s slipping away from the world tell her everything. Of how you at times miss her even after just seeing her. Of how you melt every time she says your name. Of how every letter to hers has become everything to you. Of how she completes you. Tell her how you bruised your knuckles in breaking your walls to have her come in & sat there for days & watched them bleed out every bit of doubt yet you never emptied them out. How you refused to show her fearing she’d hurt in trying to fix them & realizing she couldn’t heal all of me. But tell her she was always enough for me. Tell her 10 or 40 years from now while wheelchair shopping, I’ll still look at her & feel the world stop. How I’ll always carry a piece of her & how she’ll always have a hug saved with me.

1

She sits at the dinner table Flattened lips Tightly-fisted hands Neutral face She is disgusted As she lifts the spoon to her mouth Immediate remorse fills her body as the taste buds get the first feel of the warm food She is disgusted As she continues to eat, she can see the food turning into fat traveling to her cheeks and to her jaw and to her arms and to her shoulders and to her chest and to her stomach covering the bones that she wants to pierce through her skin She can see it travel to her thighs, largening in size, making them touch, covering the huge gap that she wants situated in the middle She is disgusted She gets paler and paler with every chew and every swallow And so to escape this torture, she lies and tells her uncle and aunt that her stomach is upset and she feels sick But she wasn't lying Because her stomach was truly upset because it did not want to be filled It wanted to stay tiny It wanted to stay beautiful It wanted to be more beautiful She goes straight to the bathroom and locks the door Washes her hands before sticking two fingers down her throat Removes them once she feels the disgust rising through her esophagus Closes her eyes as her upset stomach throws away everything unwanted She is disgusted She secures the lock in her bedroom Thinking maybe it will keep the demons away Or at least long enough for a second of sanity But they are too gruesomely evil because the disgust that was once in her throat has now traveled to her wrists She criticizes how her wrist bone isn't showing enough Disgust travels to her chest how her ribs aren't piercing enough Disgust travels to her hips how her hip bones aren't showing enough Disgust travels to her thighs how the space between isn't big enough Disgust travels to her fingertips Tension building up in her palms The demons' silence turn into screams She gives in Picks up the knife and writes an new poem on her body I am disgusted

0

Oct 1, 2013

Oct 1, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC

coffeestains

Written Disgust

She sits at the dinner table Flattened lips Tightly-fisted hands Neutral face She is disgusted As she lifts the spoon to her mouth Immediate remorse fills her body as the taste buds get the first feel of the warm food She is disgusted As she continues to eat, she can see the food turning into fat traveling to her cheeks and to her jaw and to her arms and to her shoulders and to her chest and to her stomach covering the bones that she wants to pierce through her skin She can see it travel to her thighs, largening in size, making them touch, covering the huge gap that she wants situated in the middle She is disgusted She gets paler and paler with every chew and every swallow And so to escape this torture, she lies and tells her uncle and aunt that her stomach is upset and she feels sick But she wasn't lying Because her stomach was truly upset because it did not want to be filled It wanted to stay tiny It wanted to stay beautiful It wanted to be more beautiful She goes straight to the bathroom and locks the door Washes her hands before sticking two fingers down her throat Removes them once she feels the disgust rising through her esophagus Closes her eyes as her upset stomach throws away everything unwanted She is disgusted She secures the lock in her bedroom Thinking maybe it will keep the demons away Or at least long enough for a second of sanity But they are too gruesomely evil because the disgust that was once in her throat has now traveled to her wrists She criticizes how her wrist bone isn't showing enough Disgust travels to her chest how her ribs aren't piercing enough Disgust travels to her hips how her hip bones aren't showing enough Disgust travels to her thighs how the space between isn't big enough Disgust travels to her fingertips Tension building up in her palms The demons' silence turn into screams She gives in Picks up the knife and writes an new poem on her body I am disgusted

46

We were drinking coffee when depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding. Eviction notice in hand, your soul parceled out into donation bins. Foreclosure sign, caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year. I sit out in the sun to bleach the tan line from my ring finger. I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands to erase the mould of your grasp from mine. I want to sear off my palms. I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed. So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong); your ghost in this house still criticizes. I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do; my only way of getting into you, a vector. As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched, like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love. Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes. I only wish this were a bond that stayed, that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears: when I screamed and screamed that I loved you, that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep. I went to the doctor about this dizziness. He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red. This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life. I am a bag in your wind. The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee, because you don’t know, but I have it memorized. My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change, as you drive farther and farther away. Our love is a child I’ve carried, now I’m bent over, sick. Loss took your place in our home, but it’s unsteady on its feet; I have to walk it from room to room. My name has been yours, possessive. And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech, My thoughts are still ‘we.’ I still think about your lungs when I cough. So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).

0

Oct 16, 2017

Oct 16, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC

allisonkp

This vertigo

We were drinking coffee when depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding. Eviction notice in hand, your soul parceled out into donation bins. Foreclosure sign, caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year. I sit out in the sun to bleach the tan line from my ring finger. I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands to erase the mould of your grasp from mine. I want to sear off my palms. I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed. So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong); your ghost in this house still criticizes. I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do; my only way of getting into you, a vector. As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched, like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love. Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes. I only wish this were a bond that stayed, that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears: when I screamed and screamed that I loved you, that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep. I went to the doctor about this dizziness. He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red. This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life. I am a bag in your wind. The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee, because you don’t know, but I have it memorized. My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change, as you drive farther and farther away. Our love is a child I’ve carried, now I’m bent over, sick. Loss took your place in our home, but it’s unsteady on its feet; I have to walk it from room to room. My name has been yours, possessive. And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech, My thoughts are still ‘we.’ I still think about your lungs when I cough. So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).

41

Life, in a mannerism, they proclaim Is fragile, untouchable, limitless, rather a chain Life, the folks sing, as delightful and indescribable as it is, is only here to stay I do not know where, I do not know why But thoughts mingling within my nerves apply A paradox of significance within the definition Of the purposeful journey we call life Albeit the good, we choose to focus rather unwisely Precisely of course, over delusional mastery Understanding only comes in hand when necessary When it threatens our existence, calling Bravery You see, humans as smart as we are perceived to be Might as well be a laughing stock to the rest of the scene What we value, we fail to pursue, what we preach, we fail to reach Would it hurt to let go of Prejudice? An individual who has been imagined by generations beforehand, woven by bits of uncertainty and; well, where is he? Hold on, here comes another Violence and Destruction stand on the porch Should we let them in? Should we not? They are there, ready, ready anytime temptation hits now Humanity degrades what she has created Humiliates what she has achieved, and criticizes her dignity Worth has lost its value, hence wonder What have we done to help save her? Sense has lost all contact With wicked games being played, selfish pact Response no longer yearns for Suffering Such that, we deceive our own sect Where is Understanding when we need her? A few doors down the street, go ahead and wake her She has not heard from us for a while now Last time we spoke, I reckon, was when our own path was in danger

0

Aug 20, 2017

Aug 20, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC

poemangel14

Understanding

Life, in a mannerism, they proclaim Is fragile, untouchable, limitless, rather a chain Life, the folks sing, as delightful and indescribable as it is, is only here to stay I do not know where, I do not know why But thoughts mingling within my nerves apply A paradox of significance within the definition Of the purposeful journey we call life Albeit the good, we choose to focus rather unwisely Precisely of course, over delusional mastery Understanding only comes in hand when necessary When it threatens our existence, calling Bravery You see, humans as smart as we are perceived to be Might as well be a laughing stock to the rest of the scene What we value, we fail to pursue, what we preach, we fail to reach Would it hurt to let go of Prejudice? An individual who has been imagined by generations beforehand, woven by bits of uncertainty and; well, where is he? Hold on, here comes another Violence and Destruction stand on the porch Should we let them in? Should we not? They are there, ready, ready anytime temptation hits now Humanity degrades what she has created Humiliates what she has achieved, and criticizes her dignity Worth has lost its value, hence wonder What have we done to help save her? Sense has lost all contact With wicked games being played, selfish pact Response no longer yearns for Suffering Such that, we deceive our own sect Where is Understanding when we need her? A few doors down the street, go ahead and wake her She has not heard from us for a while now Last time we spoke, I reckon, was when our own path was in danger

32

It was my birthday 2 weeks ago so of course we have to celebrate this completely arbitrary date two weeks late My uncle talks about killing things smaller than him My aunt smiles and laughs but she doesn't mean it My step dad glares at me My step sister sighs my step brother is oblivious My mom drinks too much as do I my grandpa tells me how I'm the black sheep of the family Criticizes me "She's just not right" I drink gin in the kitchen come back smiling and docile ready to take a beating

0

Sep 22, 2013

Sep 22, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC

hadley

Family Gathering

It was my birthday 2 weeks ago so of course we have to celebrate this completely arbitrary date two weeks late My uncle talks about killing things smaller than him My aunt smiles and laughs but she doesn't mean it My step dad glares at me My step sister sighs my step brother is oblivious My mom drinks too much as do I my grandpa tells me how I'm the black sheep of the family Criticizes me "She's just not right" I drink gin in the kitchen come back smiling and docile ready to take a beating

20

One thing we know about Trump is that Whenever he criticizes someone, It's often for something that he himself Does or previously has done. When he campaigned, he criticized Obama for golfing. Such a crime! Now that he's the president, Trump is golfing all the time! He blasted Obama for lack of transparency And accused him of being feckless. Trump's own transparency comes To light only because he's so reckless. Trump says the media should Be less hostile and model civility. Then he attacks the press and others And carries it out with utmost hostility. Our national security: An issue to Trump, yet now it's known How much the hypocritical man Loves to use his unsecured phone. Hillary's emails were often a target Before and even since the election. Trump's fake concern and constant Complaints: examples of his projection. Emails are now in the news again. This time daughter Ivanka is using Her private email account for government Business! Isn't that amusing? Oh, you hypocrites! You act as though For you the rules do not apply. But if there's any justice at all, You'll get yours by and by. -by Bob B (11-20-18)

0

Nov 20, 2018

Nov 20, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC

bob-b

Oh, You Hypocrites!

One thing we know about Trump is that Whenever he criticizes someone, It's often for something that he himself Does or previously has done. When he campaigned, he criticized Obama for golfing. Such a crime! Now that he's the president, Trump is golfing all the time! He blasted Obama for lack of transparency And accused him of being feckless. Trump's own transparency comes To light only because he's so reckless. Trump says the media should Be less hostile and model civility. Then he attacks the press and others And carries it out with utmost hostility. Our national security: An issue to Trump, yet now it's known How much the hypocritical man Loves to use his unsecured phone. Hillary's emails were often a target Before and even since the election. Trump's fake concern and constant Complaints: examples of his projection. Emails are now in the news again. This time daughter Ivanka is using Her private email account for government Business! Isn't that amusing? Oh, you hypocrites! You act as though For you the rules do not apply. But if there's any justice at all, You'll get yours by and by. -by Bob B (11-20-18)

33

Listening to them Arguing Swearing at each other She criticizes his every move He can't do anything right He screams unforgivable things at her She cries And he never cries But he leaves For hours Grudging Clearly upset I inherited her inability To ever let things go And when I get angry Just like her I scream profanities And say what's on my mind Letting it all out I also inherited his grudging nature I never forgive I leave when I am furious And I don't come back I never accept an apology I never give one either Both traits I inherited From each of them respectively Are horrible characteristics Will I be twice as bad When I am married If I am married Will I fight like this Say hateful, awful things And never say I love you anymore? I don't want to end up like that I know it won't be sugarplums and glitter I am not that delusional But I believe I can make an effort To keep the romance Alive Even when I have promised forever And I hope My relationship Never descends To what they have because what is worse than hurting to one you are supposed to love?

0

Dec 6, 2014

Dec 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC

ember-evanescent

Listening to them fight

Listening to them Arguing Swearing at each other She criticizes his every move He can't do anything right He screams unforgivable things at her She cries And he never cries But he leaves For hours Grudging Clearly upset I inherited her inability To ever let things go And when I get angry Just like her I scream profanities And say what's on my mind Letting it all out I also inherited his grudging nature I never forgive I leave when I am furious And I don't come back I never accept an apology I never give one either Both traits I inherited From each of them respectively Are horrible characteristics Will I be twice as bad When I am married If I am married Will I fight like this Say hateful, awful things And never say I love you anymore? I don't want to end up like that I know it won't be sugarplums and glitter I am not that delusional But I believe I can make an effort To keep the romance Alive Even when I have promised forever And I hope My relationship Never descends To what they have because what is worse than hurting to one you are supposed to love?

51

I hate perfection I hate its debilitating clutch As its voice criticizes and demands in my head Its hands crushing my soul Mercilessly And I’m sick of it pushing past Cleverly wriggling its way into everything I ever do Anything I ever create Because its not good enough ‘Your not good enough’ It speaks Driving needles into my heart Poisoning me with its venom Possessing me Manipulating me Until my voice succumbs to perfections wrath Giving in Giving up Because why bother trying If your not good enough?

0

Jan 23, 2014

Jan 23, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC

silver-wolf

perfection's wrath

I hate perfection I hate its debilitating clutch As its voice criticizes and demands in my head Its hands crushing my soul Mercilessly And I’m sick of it pushing past Cleverly wriggling its way into everything I ever do Anything I ever create Because its not good enough ‘Your not good enough’ It speaks Driving needles into my heart Poisoning me with its venom Possessing me Manipulating me Until my voice succumbs to perfections wrath Giving in Giving up Because why bother trying If your not good enough?

20

Beauty runs along the coast n core of the heart Many mistake that by the soft color of the skin Every night she reflects on the faces she's seen And she stares at the mirror Right before her she sees no beauty Searching for a smooth spot is her desire Pimple free But her face is nucleated with pimples The faces she sets sight upon daily Haunt her She looks back n criticizes her face again She's not that yellow bone She's not a size 0 She is curvaceous She is darker than her knee But her skin is one of rare soil She could bleach Eat greens But she believes much that she was born to be different She learnt to Love herself She Felt it inside And it shone outside Outlining the curves of her dimples Surrounded with her beauty spots Her freckles Every one of those freckles retold a story of where she started When media was centre stage Questioning her whether light she wanted to be? Or dark as the cave of Africa was her desire ? She found light Saw her true beauty. She was once a victim A dark victim But now she is embracing her dark lashes n hazel eyes Accompanied by her gorgeous dark face She's proud I'm proud True beauty is rare

0

Aug 13, 2013

Aug 13, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC

palesasponge-cake

Beauty

Beauty runs along the coast n core of the heart Many mistake that by the soft color of the skin Every night she reflects on the faces she's seen And she stares at the mirror Right before her she sees no beauty Searching for a smooth spot is her desire Pimple free But her face is nucleated with pimples The faces she sets sight upon daily Haunt her She looks back n criticizes her face again She's not that yellow bone She's not a size 0 She is curvaceous She is darker than her knee But her skin is one of rare soil She could bleach Eat greens But she believes much that she was born to be different She learnt to Love herself She Felt it inside And it shone outside Outlining the curves of her dimples Surrounded with her beauty spots Her freckles Every one of those freckles retold a story of where she started When media was centre stage Questioning her whether light she wanted to be? Or dark as the cave of Africa was her desire ? She found light Saw her true beauty. She was once a victim A dark victim But now she is embracing her dark lashes n hazel eyes Accompanied by her gorgeous dark face She's proud I'm proud True beauty is rare

37

My Principal is forever ready to explore New things from students who implore And set a new goal for them to outscore In their own life. He is ready to restore Intellect and discipline in school therefore Stands out and administers students’ footsore. Cherian sir the one who is fighting war Against anxiety and worry on door, Which pester children and occasionally gore Their morale and self-esteem. They spoor Away from study which he sojourns before They reach to larger extent and be cocksure. Never he criticizes without any reason poor, As he is a positive thinker. All of us roar Which is pacified by him but for sure. He is the man of principles and decor Whose blessings on all of us ever pour.

0

Aug 14, 2017

Aug 14, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC

ksjpari

MONORHYME ON CHERIAN SIR

My Principal is forever ready to explore New things from students who implore And set a new goal for them to outscore In their own life. He is ready to restore Intellect and discipline in school therefore Stands out and administers students’ footsore. Cherian sir the one who is fighting war Against anxiety and worry on door, Which pester children and occasionally gore Their morale and self-esteem. They spoor Away from study which he sojourns before They reach to larger extent and be cocksure. Never he criticizes without any reason poor, As he is a positive thinker. All of us roar Which is pacified by him but for sure. He is the man of principles and decor Whose blessings on all of us ever pour.

17

There are chips in her armor, like a porcelain doll's face. Her eyes are dull with a heartless sort of grace. She's falling through the cracks like a little blade of grass. She's falling through the cracks, oh, she's falling very fast. The girl has a name that she wishes to be called. She has a personality that no one can recall. Who was she really, truthfully? Did we really know? And why was it that no one knew just where it was she'd go? This girl's been crying quite a lot, her eyes are proof of that. She criticizes her imperfections and tugs at baby fat. "Why can't I be pretty? Why can't they notice me?" "Why can't I be the girl of which he is so deserving?"

0

Jan 13, 2014

Jan 13, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC

kama_kameleon

Cracks

There are chips in her armor, like a porcelain doll's face. Her eyes are dull with a heartless sort of grace. She's falling through the cracks like a little blade of grass. She's falling through the cracks, oh, she's falling very fast. The girl has a name that she wishes to be called. She has a personality that no one can recall. Who was she really, truthfully? Did we really know? And why was it that no one knew just where it was she'd go? This girl's been crying quite a lot, her eyes are proof of that. She criticizes her imperfections and tugs at baby fat. "Why can't I be pretty? Why can't they notice me?" "Why can't I be the girl of which he is so deserving?"

12

I am a dreamer A pure dreamer Surround myself with the believers Still I find myself dreaming.. Surround myself with the thinkers... I dream still of rhymes and unpublished poetry Surround myself with the doers Been bombarded with a question... Is your life a poetry? I am a dreamer.. yes But I love to be with the doers, the believers and thinkers, but most of all, I surround myself with those who speak the truth when they criticizes so I could polish myself... till I shine... at least I could still learn... humbly educate myself... with the things I don't know or unsure about... I surround myself with those who see the greatness within me, when I myself fail to see .... I may be a dreamer but nothing begins... without first a dream.....

0

Jul 4, 2013

Jul 4, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC

sharina-saad

A dreamer....

I am a dreamer A pure dreamer Surround myself with the believers Still I find myself dreaming.. Surround myself with the thinkers... I dream still of rhymes and unpublished poetry Surround myself with the doers Been bombarded with a question... Is your life a poetry? I am a dreamer.. yes But I love to be with the doers, the believers and thinkers, but most of all, I surround myself with those who speak the truth when they criticizes so I could polish myself... till I shine... at least I could still learn... humbly educate myself... with the things I don't know or unsure about... I surround myself with those who see the greatness within me, when I myself fail to see .... I may be a dreamer but nothing begins... without first a dream.....

26

The world is a weird place First it compels you to change yourself And then when you do change yourself It criticizes you for changing yourself!!!

0

Mar 15, 2016

Mar 15, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC

sk-abdul-aziz

Untitled 214

The world is a weird place First it compels you to change yourself And then when you do change yourself It criticizes you for changing yourself!!!

4

To the girl who stays home from school because shes too depressed to get out. I love you. To the girl who stands infront of the mirror crying unable to fight the tears That criticizes every inch I love you. To the girl ,that can't keep her dinner down Because shes lost only two pounds I love you. To the girl who cries on the cold tile of her bathroom floor With a ****** razor in her hand. I love you . To the girl who wears long sleeve shirt in August To hide all the scars which memory leaves I love you. To the girl who pops a handful of pills in her mouth Just to feel normal. I love you. To the girl who watches the one person she loves Love someone else,I love you. To the girl who has a family which reminds her she is not good enough. I love you. To the girl,who gets critiscim for being just who she is, I love you.

0

Oct 12, 2014

Oct 12, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC

shyamsi

To the girl

To the girl who stays home from school because shes too depressed to get out. I love you. To the girl who stands infront of the mirror crying unable to fight the tears That criticizes every inch I love you. To the girl ,that can't keep her dinner down Because shes lost only two pounds I love you. To the girl who cries on the cold tile of her bathroom floor With a ****** razor in her hand. I love you . To the girl who wears long sleeve shirt in August To hide all the scars which memory leaves I love you. To the girl who pops a handful of pills in her mouth Just to feel normal. I love you. To the girl who watches the one person she loves Love someone else,I love you. To the girl who has a family which reminds her she is not good enough. I love you. To the girl,who gets critiscim for being just who she is, I love you.

25

Boiling Deep inside me, My rage turning and twisting me at its will, Her words sting me, She scolds me for who I am, She can't accept me, My rage slows down, The burn simmers and I realize I'm hurt, my eyes fill with betraying tears, Why am I never good enough? Why must I work so hard everyday to impress her? Doesn't she understand I feel pain just like her? Does she not understand that a piece of me breaks away from myself everytime she criticizes me? But I won't ever tell her this, I keep my thoughts to myself shes all that I have left, So I lift my sweatshirt hood and hide the dying girl, I put my headphones in and drowned out her jabs, Swallow away the lump in my throat and remind myself four more years and I can be free of this suffocating net, But I still love her, and she tries to love me,

0

Aug 31, 2012

Aug 31, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC

katlyn-orthman

Anger

Boiling Deep inside me, My rage turning and twisting me at its will, Her words sting me, She scolds me for who I am, She can't accept me, My rage slows down, The burn simmers and I realize I'm hurt, my eyes fill with betraying tears, Why am I never good enough? Why must I work so hard everyday to impress her? Doesn't she understand I feel pain just like her? Does she not understand that a piece of me breaks away from myself everytime she criticizes me? But I won't ever tell her this, I keep my thoughts to myself shes all that I have left, So I lift my sweatshirt hood and hide the dying girl, I put my headphones in and drowned out her jabs, Swallow away the lump in my throat and remind myself four more years and I can be free of this suffocating net, But I still love her, and she tries to love me,

16

Creatures dancing under stars gleam, shining luminescence s t r i p p ing their bodies d o w n to the core revealing hearts so bare. Boats sailing away to seas so wide s t r e t c h i n g o u t to infinities endless. But some stretch wider than others, eclipsing your shallow distorted view on reality. Shift your telescope just a little bit to the left, challenge the blankness between the margins like you actually care. Liberate yourself from the shackles of love, dream and PRETEND nothing is everything. And everything is nothing. Welcome to life epitomizing insanity. Hands guiding bodies this way until black abyss swallows whatever darkness remains. Darkness that peels away at your flesh with its unnerving stare as it criticizes demonizes you. I am Satan and I build friendships upon silver blades and fuchsia vials laden with venom for eternal sleep. Let sleeps hands gently carry you to clouds that absolve you of past shadows so you can float on. No one will find you no matter how much you scream screams fall on deaf ears whose eardrums have been perforated eons ago. your voice has been stolen along with your wings, lying torn and shattered. You h a n g hovered between the past and nightmares yet to come. But you stay there, forever a ghost while time m e l t s a w a y a strawberry Popsicle bleeding freely down the s i d e of your face. So go out fold your aspirations into paper airplanes let them soar f r e e l y before they crash land into your graveyard, a collection of: broken promises unrequited love Dreams of what could have been

0

Jan 31, 2015

Jan 31, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC

silver-wolf

Mindless self indulgence

Creatures dancing under stars gleam, shining luminescence s t r i p p ing their bodies d o w n to the core revealing hearts so bare. Boats sailing away to seas so wide s t r e t c h i n g o u t to infinities endless. But some stretch wider than others, eclipsing your shallow distorted view on reality. Shift your telescope just a little bit to the left, challenge the blankness between the margins like you actually care. Liberate yourself from the shackles of love, dream and PRETEND nothing is everything. And everything is nothing. Welcome to life epitomizing insanity. Hands guiding bodies this way until black abyss swallows whatever darkness remains. Darkness that peels away at your flesh with its unnerving stare as it criticizes demonizes you. I am Satan and I build friendships upon silver blades and fuchsia vials laden with venom for eternal sleep. Let sleeps hands gently carry you to clouds that absolve you of past shadows so you can float on. No one will find you no matter how much you scream screams fall on deaf ears whose eardrums have been perforated eons ago. your voice has been stolen along with your wings, lying torn and shattered. You h a n g hovered between the past and nightmares yet to come. But you stay there, forever a ghost while time m e l t s a w a y a strawberry Popsicle bleeding freely down the s i d e of your face. So go out fold your aspirations into paper airplanes let them soar f r e e l y before they crash land into your graveyard, a collection of: broken promises unrequited love Dreams of what could have been

75

If you praise me too much I will suspect you If you criticize me constructively I will respect you I am no longer a child To be pleased and appeased My vanity and ego Have almost been released A criticizing friend is better Than a flattering foe A friend criticizes you in your presence And praises in your absence A foe pleases you to fool you And make you forget your own view s/he will mock you at your back you will be deceived by his/her knack I prefer the piercing arrows To softening flower bouquets The arrows may make wounds in my body They will never touch my soul by anybody Flattery is the fools’ food It doesn’t do me any good I am ready to enter the dangerous wood I have an abundant faith in my LORD

0

Dec 25, 2010

Dec 25, 2010 at 4:45 AM UTC

jvl-narasimha-rao

I AM NO LONGER A CHILD

If you praise me too much I will suspect you If you criticize me constructively I will respect you I am no longer a child To be pleased and appeased My vanity and ego Have almost been released A criticizing friend is better Than a flattering foe A friend criticizes you in your presence And praises in your absence A foe pleases you to fool you And make you forget your own view s/he will mock you at your back you will be deceived by his/her knack I prefer the piercing arrows To softening flower bouquets The arrows may make wounds in my body They will never touch my soul by anybody Flattery is the fools’ food It doesn’t do me any good I am ready to enter the dangerous wood I have an abundant faith in my LORD

24

It is really complicated being inside my own head. There are numbers in there that have nothing to do with logic. There are fragments of memories that may or may not be real. There are completely intact dreams that I'm pretty sure really happened. Or, at least, they happened on a more real level than what's really happened. And then there's this bitter old man who criticizes my hypocrisy. And let me tell you - he is one unforgiving, miserable, person. Next to him is this sweet lady who's always telling him: "Oh shush, she's doing her best". But she's often too soft spoken to really make him listen. There's this crowd of activists who are usually screaming to be taken seriously. And a young teenage girl in the middle of them, who just wants to be like everybody else. Often, she's accompanied by her older brother who never fails to remind her of how idiotic her aspirations are. And all the while that they're screaming, and sighing, and crying, and keeping quiet, they are breathing the air of my mind - a swirling, whirlwind of passion and fear.

0

Jul 24, 2012

Jul 24, 2012 at 4:28 PM UTC

sarah-ramsay

Visiting My Mind

It is really complicated being inside my own head. There are numbers in there that have nothing to do with logic. There are fragments of memories that may or may not be real. There are completely intact dreams that I'm pretty sure really happened. Or, at least, they happened on a more real level than what's really happened. And then there's this bitter old man who criticizes my hypocrisy. And let me tell you - he is one unforgiving, miserable, person. Next to him is this sweet lady who's always telling him: "Oh shush, she's doing her best". But she's often too soft spoken to really make him listen. There's this crowd of activists who are usually screaming to be taken seriously. And a young teenage girl in the middle of them, who just wants to be like everybody else. Often, she's accompanied by her older brother who never fails to remind her of how idiotic her aspirations are. And all the while that they're screaming, and sighing, and crying, and keeping quiet, they are breathing the air of my mind - a swirling, whirlwind of passion and fear.

51

When your father hates you, You find no reason to love yourself. When your mother criticizes you, You dont love yourself. When your friend ignores you, You dont love yourself. When you fail, You dont love yourself. When you succeed, You dont love yourself. And when your time will be over, Thats when you want to love yourself.

0

Jun 6, 2019

Jun 6, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC

apporva-arya

Hate

When your father hates you, You find no reason to love yourself. When your mother criticizes you, You dont love yourself. When your friend ignores you, You dont love yourself. When you fail, You dont love yourself. When you succeed, You dont love yourself. And when your time will be over, Thats when you want to love yourself.

12

She praises me with all her pretty smiles; The ones she passes & winks to me daily; And even the ones she keeps to herself... She criticizes me so genuinely & sweetly; The harsher ones are sweet in her voice; And she doesn't even have to try for it... She breathes just soo-sweetly during calls; The warmth of her exhalation can be felt; And so I imagine it on a winter Sunday... She talks so softly that even roses'll blush; The words escape her lips so effortlessly; And the way she tells the three words... She complains so childishly which confuses; The tone of her voice tells me she's the one; And I plan who'll be cuter - her or the kids!

0

Jul 5, 2013

Jul 5, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC

Atul

How She Charms

She praises me with all her pretty smiles; The ones she passes & winks to me daily; And even the ones she keeps to herself... She criticizes me so genuinely & sweetly; The harsher ones are sweet in her voice; And she doesn't even have to try for it... She breathes just soo-sweetly during calls; The warmth of her exhalation can be felt; And so I imagine it on a winter Sunday... She talks so softly that even roses'll blush; The words escape her lips so effortlessly; And the way she tells the three words... She complains so childishly which confuses; The tone of her voice tells me she's the one; And I plan who'll be cuter - her or the kids!

15

Ex-KGB agent Vladimir Putin knows a great deal About spying and gathering info And making a person talk--or squeal. The FBI, CIA, And NSA have found a connection Between Putin and a campaign To alter the results of our election. To denigrate Hillary Clinton Was one of the hackers' primary goals. By hacking into email accounts And--with the help of Internet trolls-- Amplifying false reports, Putin's hackers aimed to block Clinton's chances of being president. That they did it is no shock. At altering Russia's election results, Putin's expertise is shining. Anyone who criticizes The tyrant is worth undermining. Consequently, Clinton became The target of Putin's wrath. A little manipulation and we Are now seeing the aftermath. Trump, instead of feeling outrage, Was really more concerned about who's Responsible for having leaked Some of the info to NBC News! The fact that Russia tampered with Our election doesn't faze him. What interests him is vengeance against Anyone who doesn't praise him. - by Bob B (1-7-16)

0

Jan 7, 2017

Jan 7, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC

bob-b

Odd Priorities

Ex-KGB agent Vladimir Putin knows a great deal About spying and gathering info And making a person talk--or squeal. The FBI, CIA, And NSA have found a connection Between Putin and a campaign To alter the results of our election. To denigrate Hillary Clinton Was one of the hackers' primary goals. By hacking into email accounts And--with the help of Internet trolls-- Amplifying false reports, Putin's hackers aimed to block Clinton's chances of being president. That they did it is no shock. At altering Russia's election results, Putin's expertise is shining. Anyone who criticizes The tyrant is worth undermining. Consequently, Clinton became The target of Putin's wrath. A little manipulation and we Are now seeing the aftermath. Trump, instead of feeling outrage, Was really more concerned about who's Responsible for having leaked Some of the info to NBC News! The fact that Russia tampered with Our election doesn't faze him. What interests him is vengeance against Anyone who doesn't praise him. - by Bob B (1-7-16)

33

no one criticizes me everyone just smiles and says that everything i write and share is good they nod and say i'm "talented" i ******* hate it they make me want to quit writing i read so much **** daily so many awful meaningless expressionless words every ******* day and i contribute to it someone tell me that i'll never be a writer give me a reason to keep going

0

Feb 9, 2015

Feb 9, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC

Listerineyedrops

Modern Writing

no one criticizes me everyone just smiles and says that everything i write and share is good they nod and say i'm "talented" i ******* hate it they make me want to quit writing i read so much **** daily so many awful meaningless expressionless words every ******* day and i contribute to it someone tell me that i'll never be a writer give me a reason to keep going

11

I saw your spaceship in the sky For the first time, I was inspired Whisk down myself from my pallor state Explore your traces on the other side I was told to not listen I was told to not deprive The agony's waiting For my ego and essence to combine Oh, how false it is to hear That the children know the answers We are saints who became sinners Viruses whom itself the healers Oh, how false it is to see The people down in the forest Singing a beautiful chorus Where anyone's forced to swallow phosphorus Flicker once, flicker twice Heaven turns, rocks will rise Remain untold and remain unwise A planet where else no one criticizes Flicker once, flicker twice March up to the sea Take me up, seal the door Though I don't want to march here anymore The pantaloon The silver spoon The lady walks Unto the moon Remembrance and escapades I will perish alone, Very soon

0

Mar 18, 2018

Mar 18, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC

feathernoises

"Flicker once, flicker twice"

I saw your spaceship in the sky For the first time, I was inspired Whisk down myself from my pallor state Explore your traces on the other side I was told to not listen I was told to not deprive The agony's waiting For my ego and essence to combine Oh, how false it is to hear That the children know the answers We are saints who became sinners Viruses whom itself the healers Oh, how false it is to see The people down in the forest Singing a beautiful chorus Where anyone's forced to swallow phosphorus Flicker once, flicker twice Heaven turns, rocks will rise Remain untold and remain unwise A planet where else no one criticizes Flicker once, flicker twice March up to the sea Take me up, seal the door Though I don't want to march here anymore The pantaloon The silver spoon The lady walks Unto the moon Remembrance and escapades I will perish alone, Very soon

31