"egotistic" poems
He was looking at me
But I was looking at the waiter
He finally lose me
He was so egotistic
His ego got in between us
It sawed right in half of our bonded heart
Last night I left him
Last night I left him in the dark
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
While referring to me
She previously used it to mean a
Very Important Person.
But now I've realized
My mistakes & worth in her life as a
Very Idiotic Person.
I used to care so much for her
I was protective for her future
My directions were my misgivings
This is what she thought of my advice.
She grew sick of my advice
She used to not follow it and suffer
She wasted eons stuck in the bog
All that after eating Punjabi junk food
And guess what, she prefers suffering health problems
And wasting her precious time in pain
She ditched me instead of abandoning junk food.
But to tell my young girlfriend
To follow a discipline in her life,
Is it such a grievous crime by me?
Whatever you might say,
She ditched me for it,
Like she did 2 years back.
She will think, *'Atul is a true lover,
He'll wait for me to repent,'*
I am neither that ever forgiving God,
Nor I'm an idiot to again forgive,
I have moved on bearing at helm the self-respect I managed to preserve,
But she's surely not the one for me,
And I no longer care who's mine,
I'll live with that apparently egotistic persona.
Because I have kissed death once,
I realize what my standing in life means,
To me, I am the most important person now,
I'll live my life on my own terms,
Alone if I must.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
The exploration of womanhood,
viewed by a child, who had failed to birth an heir
and was auctioned amidst a war,
to lay beside the man who Lyrnessus heard before it saw,
and felt, before they felt nothing at all.
Plucked from childhood to motherhood,
failed motherhood, into obedience and slavery,
despised by her husband's mother for the absence of life she yearned to grow.
Then veiled in a soft pearlescent,
that blurred, but did not hide, the reason she survived,
and her brothers and husband did not.
Her barren belly proved a blessing when the girls in tents sprouted kleos from their swollen stomachs,
to carry the son of foreigners, bloodthirsty for their native home.
These girls, they are just girls, brainwashed by glory and trauma,
carry children that will slaughter their brothers of blood,
in the name of a woman seen only as a measurement of egotistic revenge.
And what of Briseis?
Aristos Achaion, they cried.
To them, he will always be: the best of the Greeks,
even after Apollo favours the hand of Paris and forges fate to impale the accidental hamartia.
What is her legacy?
Aristos Achaion, they cry.
As the boy who carries his blood rises from the fire and carries forward after his father's body hit the ground.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
I love you like I love fish
I catch it in the open ocean
Bring it to kitchen
And cook it with such devotion
Then eat it with pleasure with no end
Though it sounds wrong to love fish
By killing it
By boiling it
putting seasoning on it
And swallow bit of pieces of it
So, I can't say I love you like I love fish
"I love eating fish" would be better to say
Though I realize its egotistic
That I indulge myself eating fish everyday
What about the fish that I picked?
The fish that I picked have feelings too
Did I ever asked for its feelings?
I need to feel the fish
feel the fins that clings
And try to fulfill its wish
Blub blub it says
Blub blub it cries
Blub blub I reply
Blub blub till the morning rise
Blub blub don't know why
It came to a point
where I don't know what to do
To The fish I'm holding
What should I do
To the fish I'm not eating?
I will tell you
We shared an amazing moment
On the open, sea the fish and I
On this ship event
Saw eye to eye
The eye that stared back
Never once blink
Tears filled in my eyes
And there's no more time to think
The calm weather cries
I put the fish back to the ocean
Its body waddled about
I slowly looked away
And tried not to look back without a doubt
It was a very emotional day.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 10:32 AM UTC
Rock: Ridgid and tough
Wood: Natural, eventual decay
Glass: Fragile and transparent/colorful
Paper: Lightweight and flexible, yet tears easily
Copper: Less expensive, down-to-earth
Silver: Shiny, allergic to my skin
Gold: Self absorbed, obsessed
Platinum: Tending to try for perfections or egotistic, ADHD or OCD
Air: Invisible and wayward, nomadic
Water: Flowing and graceful
Fire: Warmth and passion
Earth: Round and supple
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
All Blatant Critics Depicting Egotistic Fishing Gimmicks Hissing Ignorant Jipping Kissing Lying Missing ****** Obviously Picturing Realist Sickest Technician Utilizing Visions Witness Xenogenic Zeal
Adjectives Build Courage Determined Earning Faith Giving Hidden Illiterate Jilted Kindred Living Mission Nitwit Oblivion Picking Resentments Sickening Tension Ultimately Vigilance Xray in Zillion
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
I think that I might've been wrong this whole time
and that all my life's been an endless road of false imagery
about myself and the ones surrounding me.
Everyone's sayin' these days:
"just do your thing!"
"be more egotistic!"
"risk it!"
"live a little!"
"give less ***** about what others think!"
"you're on your own!"
"don't get involved in other's lives, as they don't get involved in yours"
and I seem more and more confused,
not getting any of the words they're sayin';
feeling silly all of a sudden...
like I imagine some people in those pictures
or videos where they put a black box over someone's eyes.
I feel like I've been livin' as a small,
odorless flower in a big garden,
all a long waiting for the right gardener
to thin out the seedlings around me and now
I've ended up alone in the most beautiful vase,
in the house of the most gifted perfume creator,
that normally feels every bird ****
but now feels nothing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zGRQsYZE7U
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Misconception. Misconstrued. Misdirected. Misinformed.
I may be mistaken, but I won’t miss you.
I. Don’t. Understand.
I’m not playing your little game of cat and mouse.
Go find a rat to infect with your false charm and winsome character.
My IQ may not be 130 but I know a thing or two.
And I’m not likening the likes of you.
You are in hiding; don’t deny it … I know you are.
I can see it behind your eyes.
There are doors and bolts and locks galore.
You often change them when you don’t want to feel anymore.
Maybe it hurts you to feel. Anything?
I’m not sure, not sure of anything now that I know that every lie you make could be as easy as the breathes you take.
Your lips may say happy but your eyes reveal who you really are: dead, weak and false.
You know far too much to tell, yet your lips stay sealed, as if magically sustained of repeating information, well about you anyway.
You never want to talk about yourself.
Egotistic ?
You ?
NEVER.
Yet you speak non of it.
I can feel it radiating of your skin
Your pride.
It’s quite maddening.
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 7:09 PM UTC
Poets are liars.
We are never honest and even if we seem to be honest and raw,
We are not.
We are selfish and egotistic and make ourselves out to be victims.
We only write about what hurts us.
We write about our pain and suffering.
On top of that, we blame it on the lovers after lovers that have gone wrong.
You've already read it a thousand times,
The story of a how a person broke our hearts and tricked our innocent minds.
However, what we never write about is the hearts we break and the pain we cause.
I am not as innocent as I've made myself seem in my poems.
Yes, I fall in love with fools and they break my heart every time,
But sometimes I wonder if it’s just what I deserve.
Let me tell you about this girl,
There’s been a girl willing to set herself on fire for me but I handed her the matches and left…
I never saw the beauty of her flame burning for me.
I’m cold now without anyone to warm me.
Oh God, there was this girl who I let starve because I thought she had already ate too much.
I didn't want to be another bittersweet revenge on her plate…
Only to find out that she was honestly hungry for the love she thought I could give her.
I've read her cooking books,
She makes sweets for an honest guy now.
And now I’m the one who’s hungry.
And oh, there was a girl with a broken heart but with strong mind that wanted to touch me.
I thought I was too opulent for her ***** soul.
Later on I found out she had mines of gold and diamonds running through her thoughts.
I've hurt a lot of people.
I've hurt them the way this girl is hurting me.
And now I am screaming for forgiveness.
I've been so ruthless with their good hearts.
I am down on my knees begging the ghosts to stop haunting me every time I try again.
I’m a liar.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Why do we want to be read?
Is it just to feed our egotistic
fame obsessed mind?
To engorge and devour
positive criticism
like lustful hormonal
teenage boys
************ and whacking off
to every semi naked female?
Or is it to share?
To hope that somewhere
out there,
that there is someone that feels
the same way you feel.
That there is someone that sees
the same way you see.
and there is someone out there
that knows what your going through.
Because in the time that I've been alive,
I've noticed
For a planet with 7 billion people on it
it's really easy to feel alone.
I've learned
That if someone can hear you
it doesn't really mean he's listening
that if someone can see you
it doesn't really mean he knows you're there
that if someone can touch you
it doesn't really mean he feels you.
I've learned that whether
it be inches or miles
distance is distance.
It's all the same without effort.
And it'd be the same with.
I've learned that even if it's summer
even scorching hot
and the heat is making you sweat buckets.
It's all too easy to feel cold.
so for whatever reason
you're reading this
or writing this
or listening to this.
Keeping reading
keep writing
keep listening
keep looking.
Cause you'll find someone
Someone that can see with you
be with you
feel with you
and exist with you.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
I loved you...I really loved you.
But that "D" at the end of the word love,
is liberation.
Past tense freedom, from feeling dumb,
and tense and tired,
and numb and dense ,
uninspired love needed that "D", for proper punctuation.
Ending a love that faded,
with too many tries, wasted time, and de ja vu goodbyes.
It’s not just you I leave behind, it's the person that I was when we met.
Two of us, two years in,
in two years, we both grew, into fears
and far from respect.
That "D" at the end of the word love,
means love is possible again, just not with you.
And unlike just being friends,
or sticking with it until the end, of time,
I’m, being realistic, and finding truth.
Who made who so sadistic?
Angry and twisted, just 2 misfits throwing ***** fits.
Is true love truly so egotistic?
Asking a biased source, so of course it is, kid.
Passion ran it’s course, now my pain is specific.
A lack of reciprocation, mixed with a growing distance.
Because as I grew, I grew farther from you,
as I tried so hard to stay close,
in hopes, that if properly approached,
I can fix us both.
But I may have just been fixing something that wasn’t broke.
With time, you stole parts of my heart, soul, and mind that can never be returned.
A third of my heart is left inside lessons learned, so the next 3 words that come out of my mouth,
are “I loved you”.
And that "D" at the end of love,
is the only way that I can rise above, what we are, and call it was, cause it’s history.
And if I don’t learn from it, I’m doomed to repeat it.
In tune with what I need, in need to seek out me, and lose the we.
It’s true that I loved you, but the God's honest truth is I never loved you as much as I love me.
And I hope you understand how that could be.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:34 AM UTC
I want to forget you ,
I want to forget you,
but what is forgetting anyways,
Is it when a bird flys away and never returns to her nest
Is it the way the world shifts faster and faster in one directions
never returning to its original speed,
I'll never see you again
I want to forget you ,
It became consuming
Having you always in my brain
It became obsessive
The way your appeal dug into my soul
turning it black as coal
Feeding it massive matrialisism and egotistic
I didn't want your virus
Your disease,
The very thing that makes us both sane and insane
I never held your hand
and the good moments were fleeting
yet you buried yourself into my heart
into my soul
always tearing it apart
jack rippered me to pieces
and I still can't find all the parts.
I want to forget you,
I loathe and detest you
I want to forget you
I don't know you, and I never did,
You never had me, and I never stood up for you.
I hate you .
I want to forget you,
You remind me of what a stupid person I was,
No stance on love ,
letting you let me drag out all the corners of my heart
and my ideals and my values and morals
until I realized that I had none.
I want to forget you
because I am not the girl I was once.
I want to forget you
I do not regret you
nor do I forgive you
I never met you .
Who are you ?
It's nice to meet you .
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
*Heavy Rain,
Under the umbrella in vain,
Exigent and ostentatious,
An egotistic hostility,
Filling the purge atmosphere,
Rain drops ebbing,
Conceiving an enchanted assault.
Fenced with free fall,
Falling into zero,
A faith so sick,
Ready to twitch.
Sanctified reminiscence of a remorseful purge,
Hateful conscience of a disgusted now.
Don’t know how,
A will to amend,
A limitless descent,
Wandering in extent,
Chaos down the ascent.
Extremity too proximal,
Grey beyond despair,
A reverence so brisk,
I’m frittered and devoid of retention.*
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 2:55 AM UTC
Dragon fire come burn me,
Turn my thoughts into carbon.
My purest intentions will extinguish your flame,
Your mythology grants me the wish
To climb the mountains of despair,
To conquer the hills and make love
To the people with my thoughts
Gaining supremacy is not my aim,
Nor is victory by default.
My measure is to teach,
To hold the universe in my grasp
And shake the evil and the egotistic
Taste the goodness of universal love
Quell the fiery breath of the dragon
To a whisper of man's destructive force
The green scales of his skin slowly falling
Realising his strength is waning.
The knight of the natural world
Has shown how giants and dragons
Can be brought to book
By common sense and love.
By Max Hale
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
Someone’s favorite color says a lot about them.
If the color they love is blue,
They could be sad.
Or happy.
If the color they love is yellow,
They could be egotistic.
Or creative.
If the color they love is red,
They could be mad.
Or overtly passionate.
If the color they love is green,
They could be jealous.
Or hopeful.
If the color they love is purple,
They could be immature.
Or covertly heartfelt.
If the color they love is orange,
They could be impatient.
Or adventurous.
If the color they love is pink,
They could be shy.
Or romantic.
If the color they love is black,
They could be depressed.
Or determined.
One color has many different meanings.
We can try to understand someone through colors,
Or even actions they do.
But we truly cannot know how someone feels,
Until we ask them.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
They reveled in the madness of their creations
Drunk with glory
Blinded by the ecstasy
of their unique love story
Sipping from an egotistic goblet
While Mary transformed into the harlot
Marked by a letter
Some feared it to be scarlet
Yet she praised the Lord
Him, her ****** target
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
I scurry to the bathroom, shutting the door of the uncleaned world behind me and I just stare in the mirror.
I see myself, but not only myself, but what I have become.
I see blood and tears shattering down to the purist of sinks.
I have become Sweeney Todd, a man forsaking his lost world.
A man who doesn't even see himself anymore.
It just comes to show how much this cruel world can change someone, making them think that there’s No Place Like London. Their own creation of their own world.
Here with a mask, portraying what I have become; this man.
A man who kills for passion and with love and with no scarce for bleeding over the white dove.
A man who is mistaken by a fellow Judge, a bias judge who has ruled his final destiny, my final destiny.
I see myself becoming more lost, slowly slitting my throat by this man with white hair; dead bodies filling up the floor. I’m losing control.
Just like The Worst Pies in London, I’m disgusting, I am revolting; like an unsold bottle of elixir.
I have been tossed and used and if I dare take one step out of place I will be beaten.
People expect so much from me and I've tried my best to be worthy in their presence just like
my childhood, nothing but a blurred line, controlled by an egotistic, vile Italian wanna-be.
I've grown into a killer.
Not only on myself, but those who even dare to care for me.
I stare in the mirror with a forbidden soul I call my wasteland, my graveyard, my sewer; this man, this man has shown me the ways of disgrace and having an unloved life.
I scream in horror as this blade takes control of my new life.
Am I evolving into something I have wanted? Or am I following the footsteps just like the customers did when they lined for their funeral?
I glance at the puddle of blood I have created and wonder if this is the life for me.
I take a taste of what is yet to come of this new life and all I can do wait.
Wait Down By the Sea for this man to become, this man who lives this life of Sweeney Todd; the man of my creation, me.
I stare in the mirror struggling to open that closed door, wondering and thinking what it’s like out there, out there in the real world and question myself, is it the world for me?
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
2.1.
There ain’t a
chance
My Baby can
dance
But he’s always
looking handsome
in his black t-shirts
of 90s grunge
bands
This is a
Dead mans
land
Taking hits
I can see the
lipstick on the
back of your
hand
Snow White
flesh
My hearts
frost bitten
Noir Princess
It’s been a few
total solar
eclipse since
I’ve been
a rich mans
Mistress
Maybe God is
lonely Baby
Maybe God is
tired Baby
God is lining up
the shots
knocking on
my window
He wants me
to be his lucky
little lady
He likes a
bad *****
who can admit
she’s a little bit
egotistic
My Mother keeps
askin
“Samantha
have the voices
come back again”
Well ya Mom but
this time it’s moving
in a different
direction
Were singing in
harmony
Dancing in
ashes
Holding each others
with cold grip
hands
Pale sunrises
And misfortunate
lost souls are
digging for gold
Beware of the
mauvais martyrs
who sacrifice
wilted marigolds
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
With a whisper and whine they muttered their speech,
with a glare they constantly watched.
With a menacing shout they made all aware,
of that which they wished to make out.
With an egotistic air they pushed all aside-
in their minds, as their self-righteousness, obliged.
With a fistful of wrath they intended to finally
**** strike and shatter -why?
Were they even aware of the harm they would cause,
did they ever consider the pain?
The fact that the spirit would diminish and fall,
through the void that defined it so well?
For the sake of themselves, no they did not,
or was this their intention so fair?
Was this their main, fruitless, harsh aim?
Was this the sad truth, all in vain?
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 8:04 AM UTC
Egotistic *****
You're that and nothing more
Malice towards other
Fondness for you
and your little friends
Let this end
Be known to all
Ill-bred
Ill-fed
Ill-read
Dumb as a doornail
All hail
To the witless
******
Insolet
Teenage Queen
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
If wanting you more and more each day or
If wanting you for myself and myself only is bad,
Then call me egotistic.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
Americans scramble about
like hyperactive lemmings
trying to fix themselves.
Vanity; egotistic futility;
pointless self-obsession.
How can you fix yourself
when you are already you?
- mce
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC