"disparagers" poems
She wore endurance as a cloak.
Tried ever so sorely and wrongly,
she committed all to the Vindicator.
In her resolute quietness, she spoke volumes.
For her ardent disparagers,
her payback was tireless hours of intercession.
As she stoically embraced undeserved tribulations,
she gained character, wisdom, and tranquility.
Who dares put out the brilliance of a star?
Her sublimity resonates evermore in the
darkest patch of the night.
Though seared with scars,
her stellar virtues are glaring,
illuminating hearts and inspiring minds.
She can’t feign ordinariness,
even if she hides behind her own shadow.
Detached from a frenzied world,
she derived her essence from heavenly fire.
Oh, had they known the fount from whence she drank,
they would not have, in malignity,
ensnared their own souls
in a bid to put out her luminous radiance.
They have murdered sleep through their ignoble gestures.
Behold the star as she abides in the firmaments!
Purified by the trials and tribulations,
she stoically endures and thrives.
The sky may be bespangled with twinkling stars,
but her brilliance stands out in luminary distinction.
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 8:11 PM UTC
in this stressful society we have,
so much slanders,
sins,
scandals
have been scrutinized *over
and over
again*
for the satisfaction of sardonic,
scornful,
"sacred"
disparagers.
nothing shocks me more
than the so-called "spectacular" sculpturing of others
based on the dehumanizing standards
of mankind.
shackled
by the scalding hands of screeching vermins,
why do we keep on letting ourselves be scarred--
stuttering,
shuddering,
screaming
*for help*
because simple succors are never,
have never been,
will never be
enough?
why
do we keep letting ourselves be singled out
as stigmas
when "failing" society's endless scans for
superficial perfection?
(how sickening.)
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
How can I love myself
When the voices in my head tell me I don’t deserve it?
A constant companion of self doubt that won’t quit
Telling me it hates me and that I should ******* die
A hundred thousand critics residing within my minds eye
You tell me that I’m strong
You say that I’m a hero for being able to survive
Yet my league of disparagers makes it easy to contrive
A million different reasons for me slit my wrist
If only the voices in my psyche and I could coexist
So how can you say I’m pretty
When my long term phantoms disagree
I’d cut my veins and swollen pills if I could only guarantee
That every voice, flicker and spirit would evacuate my soul
Because at least if I **** myself, then I’ll be in control
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC