"detestable" poems
Ashen doves float within the waves,
slinking like silent demons in the night.
They curl around my body,
jaws operating like steel machines,
gnashing at my limbs.
I begin to scream for help,
but they ****** my breath,
they drag me under their tides of black,
unleashing my unremitting fear of water predators.
their teeth, sunken into my flesh,
gnawing at my mind,
painting me my new mortality.
These are my demons,
the sharks in the bath when it comes to hygiene.
the fear of the below and the depths of human mentality,
the untraceable percentage of human worthlessness,
the detestable attraction to the demise of our minds,
I float lower into the aqua,
pressure building,
unforgiving and foreboding
I close my lids, and dream of the sand,
praying it to be underfoot when I open my eyes,
but when my lids open, the doves loom closer.
The irony of a hydrophobe,
dying at the hands of the sharks.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
You couldn't relate to my life if you tried
Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died
I took a trip, slip from the front door
Walking to the house of a man with some more
Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father
My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting
It gets harder
I'm a martyr
But I fall farther
Brown brings ardour
In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves
To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate
Try and place blame, struggle to get straight
But straight to the point, you're a mate
Pass the plate, and the joint
I'll do a line, get straight
Straight to the point...
Where was I?
Back in the house, forgot how I got here
The emptiness too much to bear
I miss my family being here
My mother the seer
My father drinking beer
I close my eyes, open, hope they appear
The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer
I pop a few pills and realise its been a year
Since I saw them here
Fading to black and I awake in a wrack
Fiending for some smack, panic attack
Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack
Keep me going on this lonesome track
So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack
And get back on the beaten path
To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump
Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump
Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk
Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt
and returns to her bunk
To her lifelong funk
before being packed into another John's trunk
The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze
What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed
Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed
or is this mournful delay
A year ago today,
my love took my family away
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
some say im cynical
satanical
that my minds mechanical
diabolical
spoken essence erotical
detestable
jaded imagery hypnotical
unstoppable
liable to solve the unsolvable
while prodigal poets drown in their nautical modules
im a criminal
a cannibal
storming the street like an animal
shooting cannonballs
through prison walls
splattering the generals
in bathroom stalls
hostil
leave you poppin pain pills in the hospital
uncontrollable
my temper is flammable
mumbles illegible
choking you with your pentacle
leaving onlookers speckled
the abominable
mental protocols unstoppable
the unfeasible constable
shooting up the card table
willing and able
to call your fables
and smash apart a label
i raise babies in unstable cradles
let you bleed out
like cracked ladles
engorged in unholy wars
exploring
the corruption of the core
deplored
uniformed for
the clash of the double edge swords
taking control of vocal chords
a meet of the hordes
of the horned
misinformed
adorned
in sunlight
trying to shine
just 1 line
at a time
until my life signs decline
almost time
light and shadow combined
Horus and set
by hindsight blessed
yet to contest
to the rest of this mess
by melancholy caressed
as i arise unrest
from the cess
of the un confessed
blessed
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
I am one to have my emotions under control.
Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.
I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.
Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.
I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.
Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.
I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Apollonius was talking about
proper education and conduct with a young
man who was building a luxurious
house in Rhodes. "As for me" said the Tyanian
at last, "when I enter a temple
however small it may be, I very much prefer
to see a statue of ivory and gold
than a clay and ****** one in a large temple".--
The "clay" and ****** the detestable:
that already some people (without enough training)
it deceives knavishly. The clay and ******
1.9k
Child
You just want you own way
Child
You are passive aggressive
Child
You need guidance and safety
Child
To grow up and become healthy
Bad parent
You give too much then nothing
Bad parent
You care too much or zilch
Bad parent
You don’t work and then push too hard
Bad parent
Your relationship stinks
Child
You don’t meet all my needs
Bad parent
I don’t like the look of you
Child
You smoke and you drink
Bad parent
Your life’s on the blink
Child
You waste hard earned money
Bad parent
You just need some space
Child
You're just so **** embarrassing
Bad parent
Please get out of my face
Child
I want the other one
Bad Parent
Well I’m all you’ve got
Child
If you weren’t so detestable
Bad Parent
That’s enough now just stop
Child
Just leave me alone
Bad parent
We could have a hug?
Child
Never, I think you are horrible
Bad parent
Ok, fair enough
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
selfish boy
took what wasn't his
young girl
more than a stolen kiss
deceitful boy
somehow gets his way
naive girl
wants him to stay
convincing boy
says all the right things
innocent girl
to the words she clings
irresistible boy
fills her head with lies
rebellious girl
morals she defies
detestable boy
destroys her heart
hopeful girl
love was short
thoughtless boy
drops her, he's gone
poor girl
still holds on
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
I have a lot of pent-up fear;
many things really do terrify me.
I’ve never really been comfortable in the dark,
my imagination has never granted me that luxury.
Phantasms from almost 15 years ago follow me in the shadows.
I’ve always enjoyed looking out at a cityscape
from the top of a tower or building
but I’ve never let go of the railing.
I haven’t let myself come close to the edge,
my back against the wall.
I’m too scared of falling.
I’ve been harrowed by many things,
but one demon reigns over them all.
I’m really scared of disenchantment.
I’m scared that the very reasons that I was initially loved for
will eventually become the reasons I am detestable.
I’m scared my determination and perseverance
will turn into me being stubborn and close-minded.
I’m scared that my sweet thoughts and caring nature
will transform into me being clingy and suffocating.
I’m afraid that all the reasons you love me
will turn into the reasons why you regret.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
Love too strong for
those who bear it
is a curse invoked
by a deficit of worth.
It is not enough to
seek validation through
a proxy designated
Heaven on Earth.
With no center of gravity,
no anchor in character,
obsession is the limit
of the capacity to love;
Projecting impossible
desires and untenable
expectations amounts
to blasphemy of.
True love may not be
forever or easy;
parting may never
be pleasant to bear;
Love is not merely
what's pleasing or comfortable;
love is a crucible;
love is not fair.
Those fleeting failures
and moments of error
are chances at triumph,
a challenge to change.
Breaking our boundaries,
ballooning outward:
love is inevitably
savage and strange.
Unbefitting to cling
to the bridge that enables
a star in its wand'ring
to cross the abyss;
To carry the ballast
of vast insecurity
over that chasm,
untenable risk;
Or swallow the poison
of foolish dependence
on whimsical paramours,
obesiance thereof,
To be hung from the neck
by detestable premises,
weak and debased
by untenable love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:
To think away the grass, the trees, the clouds,
Not to transform them into other things,
Is only what the sun does every day,
Until we say to ourselves that there may be
A pensive nature, a mechanical
And slightly detestable operandum, free
From man's ghost, larger and yet a little like,
Without his literature and without his gods . . .
No doubt we live beyond ourselves in air,
In an element that does not do for us,
so well, that which we do for ourselves, too big,
A thing not planned for imagery or belief,
Not one of the masculine myths we used to make,
A transparency through which the swallow weaves,
Without any form or any sense of form,
What we know in what we see, what we feel in what
We hear, what we are, beyond mystic disputation,
In the tumult of integrations out of the sky,
And what we think, a breathing like the wind,
A moving part of a motion, a discovery
Part of a discovery, a change part of a change,
A sharing of color and being part of it.
The afternoon is visibly a source,
Too wide, too irised, to be more than calm,
Too much like thinking to be less than thought,
Obscurest parent, obscurest patriarch,
A daily majesty of meditation,
That comes and goes in silences of its own.
We think, then as the sun shines or does not.
We think as wind skitters on a pond in a field
Or we put mantles on our words because
The same wind, rising and rising, makes a sound
Like the last muting of winter as it ends.
A new scholar replacing an older one reflects
A moment on this fantasia. He seeks
For a human that can be accounted for.
The spirit comes from the body of the world,
Or so Mr. Homburg thought: the body of a world
Whose blunt laws make an affectation of mind,
The mannerism of nature caught in a glass
And there become a spirit's mannerism,
A glass aswarm with things going as far as they can.
1.6k
I don't get why your ****** eyes can't see
I don't get why your short frame can't grasp
I don't get why your semi-average mind can't understand
I don't get why it can't seep in your dark skin and chubby belly that
I l o v e y o u
because you care for your friends with utmost loyalty, sincerity
because your eyes shine with fire for the things and the ones you love
because you never run out of wild stories and theories
because your laugh is more than enough to make me laugh along
because your crazy ways take me in an adventure, not chaos definitely
because you would rather be odd in this apathetic world for the sake of chivalry
because you give me more innumerable insane reasons
but actually, simply
because you
You may see yourself as someone unlovable, detestable
but please get rid of that nonsense
because I am here
and very soon,
distance and time would get in the way but
I will always be here and
I l o v e y o u
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
Dearest Mother
I love you so much, so deep.
Why do your Children make you weep?
You adopted me, with a broken past
Filled with hateful ideals.
Thus, saving my heart.
Although Im not your aesthetic child,
I love you more than those,
Who claim your side.
My bloodline, an embarrasment, they **** your body.
They steal from you, a detestable history.
Engraved on the future, a history past.
Of foreign Politics, your new prison Mom.
And why do your children embrace this lie?
Why are they standing idly by,
While you wither and die?
For fame?
For Fortune?
For Self..
For GREED...
This is NOT your teachings!
"UBUNTU" is...
You taught me to Love beyond the colour of skin.
And to love profoundly, my Rainbow Kin.
Your Spirit, dear Mother, I will defend till Death.
Help me return your babies
back to your breast.
Forgive my Ancestors, they have no clue what they did.
Their greed, their hate, their fear, killed your Kid.
Forgive your Children,
My brothers and sisters.
For their hearts are violent and full of blisters.
And Mom, I know this is not your way.
You show love and respect, the opposite of pain...
Though I may not be biologically yours,
You blessed me in your love,
Showed me that with you, there are no borders.
My Mother I love you. Im sorry for what they do.
Though Im not your birth child,
I know you love me too..
so WAKE UP my Sister
WAKE UP my brother.
Stand up with me.
Defend our Mother.
She is bruised and hurt,
Cant you hear her cries?
Because Her children are greedy,
And dont care if She dies.
Our "Leaders" **** Her out
For personal gain.
She is NOT for sale!
I wont play that game.
So Mom, I love you.
I cry because of what they do.
They claim your being,
They claim they own YOU!
But you cant be owned, or sold by any,
Because you are loved,
By oh so many..
Again I pledge my Love to you.
Im not alone, many of your Kids are good.
They embrace your teachings.
They keep your ways.
To live life in your Tradition,
And not in shame.
I love you too, my sister, my brother.
In Truth and Respect, another gift from our Mother.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:38 AM UTC
Didn't learn much from school
but for a poker-face, how
not to **** in his trousers
and the surpassing value of quick getaways
'Twas losing that did the trick
especially that business of losing in love
I van detestable, desirous of love but
minus mandatory leveragables
Ends up instead, in a specimen jar
at his local sleep lab, filed under
'Good for REM Experiments'
and HAARPs started playing at night
Couldn't keep up with gollums
pimps or clockwork candymen
dispensing their oranger shade of pale
so he called up the creator of love
Himself ..... got the real deal
Seems the goodly church retailers
excommunicated him, for knowing too much
So, finally, he decides, to read and write
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
Drip dropping
Down to the abyss.
Drowning in the dark;
Drooping towards the depths.
It's dank and detestable,
Dreary and disgusting.
But it's doubtful that you'll determine
That deprivation of this disaster
Will deter your distasteful feelings.
So you decide to disguise it all
With one decent smile,
And dance into the deceitful.
And join the ******
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Despite your resignation and sudden departure,
shooting in the direction of Not Me as soon as my lips parted
and those fateful words escaped,
you never left.
The refuge of cool bedsheets in bedclothes on a bed too big for me
houses nightmares and a silent love affair,
neither tangible nor real,
but when the sun peers through the curtains and my REM becomes
remember, I do it; I sit up, kick back damp bedsheets and bedclothes
and let my feet dangle from the heights.
A cantaloupe, a fragrant pollen drenched lilly, ginger beer,
these are my companions in a desolate Whole Foods.
I stroke, smell, drink, relive the ecstasy of my own reveries,
the ones I created before I lay eyes on you,
before, when your name was merely a source of laughter,
like some fat obnoxious cartoon on television,
lovable and detestable in one viewing.
I walk to my car and turn the ignition-- that makes my fetal position
in fifteen minutes
significantly more realistic.
Somewhere between the interstate and the inter state of my mind,
the threads unravel and dissolve,
and the knot that stated not, no, never,
says yes, you **** well can, now, and always.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
She hides behind herself,
picturesque scenery flashing
before her sad doe eyes
only to crystallize before her
like memories
life washes over her
but not through her
at any given moment
she could fade away
gone with a fluttering
of butterfly wings
what is love
(baby don't hurt me)
but a rush of pheromones,
a shotgun blast of hormones?
a necessity
a necessity she doesn't know by name
or by face
but by the lingering aroma
of cigarette smoke
and detestable good byes
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
My stomach began to hurt about two days ago. That was the morning I woke up to an empty bed and throbbing head and no messages from you, no "hey darling I got here in one piece," no "goodnight dear." But then again I never date guys who talk like that. My stomach hurt all day and I wanted to talk to you so bad I gave into temptation and you said everything was good and you had "forgotten" to text me and I brushed it off later and didn't ask for the story when your friends kept teasing you about "the married woman you hit on."
My stomach still hurts and it's been two days now and today I told you it hurt and you said "I'm sorry" when all I needed to hear was "I love you, I'm here" and I cried harder than the sky did all the way home and tried to take a nap but now I sit here trying to scrawl down thoughts in the messy way I do when my mind screams with the need to spit them out. I can't understand how it always ends up like this, always hurts like this, LOVE ISNT SUPPOSED TO FEEL LIKE THIS. You've taken my mind in your hands and molded it and my body bends easily to your will and my words will never tell you how much you hurt me because I can't lose you and my head needs to get it out and everyone tells me that my poetry is best when it feels the most real well it feels PRETTY ******* REAL RIGHT NOW and the sickest part is that its when I am most ****** up that I can create the most beautiful things.
You're an artist. Finger-paint my messy mind because no brush strokes could do it justice. See the way that side is always a little smudged, darling? See the way my hands always shake a little, spiderweb lines that map out my grotesque sickness? See my broken inability to understand why you couldn't possibly love me, I know you can't love me, I've seen me I've felt me I've heard me.
You were perfect. Take that label and shove it up your *** hahahahaha. Or maybe stick it on my chest to be worn like a badge of detestable irony, I wish I could hate you but every time I try to breathe out the words "I'm leaving" my mouth says "kiss me" instead.
And all my friends and their cookie cutter boyfriends live their days in warm snuggles and cookies and I breathe blood bubbles and think about throwing my toaster in the shower just for ***** and giggles.
You were mine, are mine? Never mine.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Well, let me begin my announcing to the HP community that I just pulled my ex-best friend's child's mother's hair out of my mouth without realizing how it got there since I haven't seen her since Saturday. Yeah, good luck pondering that breech of physics. Also, I realized that I've been breaking the magic rules of drinking at work as laid down by Cracked.com with impunity since before that majestic article was written, which kind of makes me feel like a badass and also like a terrible alcoholic whom the gods will eventually strike down. Or perhaps, everybody at work with me is also drunk and/or high all the time, a suspicion I've had for about a year now, but have not been able to prove, despite careful observation. Sure, the typically WOW playing awkward dude gets a box of not one, not two, but three bottles of beautifully crafted wine delivered DIRECTLY TO THE OFFICE every month notwithstanding. And does our supervisor say anything even remarkably reprehensible....no, not while she's on the clock. But she did steal my Don Corleone hat, and by thunder she still owes me for that thing, since I'll bet all the money I made this year that she got some fantastic head because of that hat. There are minor arguments in the breakroom over how ****** the coffee actually is, whether it's police station or AA meeting detestable, and on slow days people are chucking gigantic medicine ***** across the room while laughing at the destruction they cause. Then, Monday through Friday, woe unto you if you call the 24/7 line between 10 and 12 at night, since you will be picked up by me, the 3-midnight guy. If you're an idiot, or loud, or from New Jersey, or can't seem to be able to wipe that bleached ******* of yours without assistance, DO NOT CALL. I will be drunk, and while drunk I will take whatever ****** excuse you have for being a worthless and pointless human being and very tenderly, very politely, shove it up your *** on the end of a very thick nine iron. This is real life, and this....this is where I work.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
There was a young man who sat by the Sea
Without fail, everyone knew, he would go every morning
The youth sat there to think and it made him feel free
Free to dream or not dream. When in bliss, when in mourning
He loved the Sea for its surface
Wind-kissed waves distorting starlight
He loved the Sea for it's depths
Churning into thick ink when absorbing the night
A love that began in small boyhood
Burying tiny toes within her cool sand
Though with the strong passion of man
The first time her wet silkiness tickled his hand
Oh, how he adored her! Through torrents and sun
Her whispers and shouts only separate intensities
But he would not go into her, for he feared just as much
She had told him, one by one, of her darkest propensities
So a sailor in heart, but in soul a wise lover
The boy, now a man paid respect to her glory
He and she, now and then, liked to play with each other
But she kept him from harm where she showed others fury
This went on, sunrise, sunset, and day after day
Until all the young man's friends were stooping and gray
Still the lull of the sea seemed to pull him away
From reality and back into it, he'd gone mad, some will say
And the time had come finally to confess all his desires
To do what he had refrained from for so long
On a particular eve that seemed wilder than any
The hour to usher in his destiny, and feel her sea-song
The storm caused curling foam,
Both entrancing and detestable
But to him, it looked like home
Like a restful sleep, quite testable
He thought, could this tumult be wrath of the Father?
Or is this a sign--the return of the Son?
Perhaps, 'tis a warning from the Holiest Ghost
He was wrong, but just right. 'Twas all this, but in one
And nearby sirens sang
For the bravery of their hero as he was swept from the shore
And far-off sirens rang
For the fate of the old man, the sailor, who watched the sea no more
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
The Rose That Grew From A Crack In A Concrete
Black Rose That Grew From The Fertile Roots Beneath
Out The Crack Of The Earth
Blossoming Into A Fashionable Valuable Flower Of Worth
It's Not Impossible To See It's Possible To See The Rose Passion Of Thirst
Roots Planted To Be Phenomenal An For Search
Ones
Before Me Laughed At The Illogical Joke
But Knew The Astronomical Growth Would Be Abominable An Uncommon With His Philosophical Approach
See I Breed Off Diabolical Emote
The Detestable Weeds I Choked
It's Inevitable To See What Heretically Was Wrote
I Blossom And Bloom
Even In The Darkness Or Gloom
Wanna Rob Me With Doom
Ima Tsuanmi Typhoon
Purest To Water
You Can Tell By My Posture
These Thoughts I Can Not Harbor
Smile On My Face But Inside My Eyes Is Trauma
Don't See The Darkness In My Ocular
I'm Simba Trying To Be Like My Father
King Mufusa
Rose From The Concrete But I'm Just A Little Darker
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
His heart is a power plant
Infinitely generating
Love
---Electrifying.
Night and day
It pulses
Its beat
That makes anyone who hears it
Sing
Away all his fears and troubles
And dance
In sweet joy and perfect peace.
My heart is a light bulb,
Merely a piece of glass.
I am cold, empty
I am fragile,
But when I plugged to the source
There was a click,
An explosion rather,
Of light
Raw, untamed
And it set fire to every inch of my being,
Not sparing even a single crevice.
The insecurities and weaknesses
I kept most secret,
All burned away.
Once, no, was always
Frail and futile
But now by the energy that surges in me
I am powerful,
And I love
Even the horrible, detestable
Because He loved me first.
My hollow heart
Gains purpose, meaning:
I live to shine
Bright
For all the world to see,
To emanate a warm, rare glow
That will draw you
Away from the cold darkness and
Not to me
For I am merely a void vessel,
But to the ultimate source
So that your life as well
Will be full of light.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
“Do I love her?”
Still this question haunts me,
Each second with her, thinking of her
Doesn’t go without its presence
“Do I love her?’
My lips go numb at the prospect,
My palms drenched with sweat
It feels as if she has a grip of my heart
And she’s squeezing each time
I attempt to wring myself free
“Do I love her?”
God ****** what a stupid notion
No, this is lust, erratic hormonal passion
I don’t find bliss in her detestable smile,
Nor her intoxicating laugh, and the
way her lips slightly quivers when
she pouts, it’s all vile. I just
want her body, not her heart
I repeat this lie to myself
To the point of redundancy,
Even my own lies have become
Pathetic to me
“Do I love Her?”
I’ve lost breathe, she’s swiped it from me
with her presence, how I can I be so weak,
so fragile, a person made of bone and flesh
shouldn’t have this control of me.
I refuse! Next time I see her
I’ll declare my hatred, purely out of spite.
“Do I love Her?”
I approached her so ready,
Prepared to cut her out of my life,
To free myself of the infection she is.
My moment of liberation was upon me,
Until she ruined everything by talking.
Being the thief she is, she stole my power to hate
“Do I love her?”
I’ve accepted my damnation to this question,.
now, when the thought returns
I nod
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
I fell in the past
while the agony embrace me tightly,
I wail silently, only for the echoes to come back to me,
As nothing fills in here,
Because everything is back to the present days
My heart is an anchor,
Attached to the past
Trapping my mind,
To replay the detestable dreams
I slipped away from the dark,
Only to bring me back in the past,
As I follow the path, it just slips back,
Because everything is back to the present days
Why am I left alone?
When did I realize that I am here alone
When we are supposed to climb out together
I kept on wandering,
Wondering,
If I should swallow the misery,
So I could send my heart to you
Why am I the only one trapped in the past
when the earth keeps on spinning,
Did the time stop or did I?
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 12:03 PM UTC