"flattered" poems
Beach
You
Me
Watching
Walking
You
Running
Introducing
Asking
Me
Flattered
Blushing
Stars
Twinkle
Moon
Shine
Sand
Swishing
Beach
Yearning
Boy
Wanting
Kiss
I
Never
Kissed
Till
Us
Dancing
All
Alone
Head
Resting
On
Chest
We
kiss.
We
Leave
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
Being a girl in my day and age,
you get used to all the horn honks,
the wolf whistles,
and the "hey baby's",
and the guys saying "you're too pretty not to smile",
as though not having a smile on my face at all times is a sin.
But why should I smile when harassment becomes normal,
when a girl can't report it because even the police thinks she should be flattered,
but why should I be flattered that a guy wants to see up my dress so much that he 'accidentally' pushes it up,
why should I be flattered when a guy can't even use words so he whistles at me like I'm a dog.
But I am not a *****
I cannot be won over by a whistle and sweet words,
no scratch behind my ears in the form of some misogynistic pick up line,
will give you a chance.
And if I laugh at your poor attempt,
it is not consent,
just because my lips curl into a smile,
does not mean you can come curl up with me.
My self worth does not exist on how fuckable I am in your perverted eyes,
it is not existent on if you want to 'hit that',
if you were to hit anything it should be your mindset that that is okay,
right out of your head.
Because I am not an object for your pleasure,
and I object to you treating me like I am.
I AM!
I AM!
I AM!
A WOMAN!
Built from all the things a man could never be.
And don't you ever ******* forget it.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
Tears fall down
to a puddle
on the
ground
the world is spinning
and you stand
in front
grinning
Trust is shattered
like glass smashed
on the ground
I hope you're flattered
that I realized you
no longer
mattered
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
1317
Abraham to **** him—
Was distinctly told—
Isaac was an Urchin—
Abraham was old—
Not a hesitation—
Abraham complied—
Flattered by Obeisance
Tyranny demurred—
Isaac—to his children
Lived to tell the tale—
Moral—with a Mastiff
Manners may prevail.
6.8k
Are you afraid?
Do you not at all care?
Are you merely flattered?
Do you even want to love me?
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Hello to the guy in the white polo
the formal black slacks
and polished black shoes
You could've noticed a little girl around
who is utterly attracted to you
You look at me every now and then
and I ignore those looks of yours
you don't know I'm secretly giddy
flattered, enthralled, enamored
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
we can all pretend we’re perfect
that church ain't worth it
that drugs and alcohol make us worthy
wait
worthy of what a debate?
so what’s on your plate?
nothing but emptiness and hate
and that’s great
at least i know why you treat me this way
so here’s to saying i’m no different
drugs and alcohol
i’m with them
and i can’t change even if i tried
but wait
what do i have to change
you don’t even know me
but you pretend i’m the only one who’s gone through the worst
me?
i’m flattered but
you see
i’m just a stereotype
trying to get past
but i get beat down by the headlights
i’m a drive by
trying to drive by my future
but i can’t
because my past is trying to tell me that i’m horrible
but i can’t
i can’t stand that people try to tell me who i am
i can’t stand that i’m horrible
for telling you who i am
and on land
i’m a bad influence
but in water
i’m the man
you don’t understand
that i’m a fish trying to find it’s way in the ocean
and those mistakes
are just my gills
i breathe them in and stop breathing
because someone is always pulling me out of water
it’s like the Mexican border
Protected by what's within
it’s a sin
for me to be where i’m supposed to be
but see
it’s not me
it’s the stereotype
and its trickery
it makes you think that you know me
but what you don’t see
THAT’S NOT THE WORST THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME
so let me be
let me speak
i have to get it out of me
that hate in my gills shouldn't be there when i breathe
so go ahead and stereotype
but i’m not the only one who has to get something off my chest
but i’m the best
because I've made it through every test
and though you think you can bring me down
I've made it through every test
so let me speak before you think i’m just the same as the rest
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
In conversation with my cousin,
she says, 'Oh my God, my
brother-in-law still remembers
you
as my cousin with the 'nice ass';
the 'hottie' from my wedding.
Still talking about me after
all these years, I see.
I couldn't help but think,
'wow, quite the first impression
I must make, or is it the
impression I leave BEHIND?'
and I felt the wheels spinning
in my mind, as they always do,
trying to decipher what the
appropriate response to
such an admission should be...
in this...particular...instance.
And I heard this voice in my
mind, shout, in its softest tone,
'I...AM MORE...THAN JUST...
A...NICE...ASS, if you take
the time to know me.'
So I realize that I find
the observation anything but
flattering.
Amusing, predictable,
redundant...yes.
But am I flattered, am I
even intrigued, or...
impressed, in the slightest?
Not at all.
For me, it is just...
inevitable entertainment,
among other things I
won't freely admit at this
time.
But if, and when, I happen
to lose any components
of my identity,
I can always remember,
that if nothing else,
I am...
(not my name, or even
my fetching idiosyncracies,
but...)
the 'Hottie with the
nice ASS', and
I wouldn't be able to help,
but smirk.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Quite a picture of a happy woman ... in love ... or falling in love perhaps - two rows across me. Her earphones are plugged to her ears, but she is listening to no song. She is busy; typing messages - perhaps whatsapp!. Someone is teasing her ... must be quite adept at it. It has to be a boy ... not yet her boyfriend. Her smile ... her blushes ... are giving away the truths hidden in their secret flirtations.
She has to wrack her wits ... she must win this war of words. She purses her lips and her cheeks cave into a lovely dimple .... that flattered glitter in her eyes has enough for a novel to begin. She is determined to reply to this message and is scanning the lounge through the corner of her eyes as if we have a cue to offer. Her head tilts and a strand of hair falls across her temple curling in a single curve from her thick eye brows to her lips, presently secured between a thoughtful bite of her teeth.
The dimples are back again ... and her smile tells me that she finally has won this conversation ... and my mind tells me that while the war of words is her to win ... she has pleasurably lost the battle of hearts.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
5? 6? 7?
(can’t be certain when exactly)
14.
17.
18.
He told me that it was okay.
Some will flinch at the touch.
Some will go into a daze.
Some - I - will crave the touch of strangers, and many at that,
to replace those days.
He told me that I was special.
I became careless and reckless
with love on accommodation sheets.
While I mistaken their meticulously placed words
for love that I thought was finally peace.
He told me that it wouldn’t hurt.
It’s 2:52am and my timeline is flooded
with girls and trials and underwears passed around in court
as if it mattered for the verdict.
The bags around my eyes are flooded
with tears of anger and hatred
as if to beg for some kind of justice.
They told me that I should be flattered.
But the thing is we haven’t been okay since.
It did hurt but we still needed ******* evidence.
We were already special before they took away our innocence.
And now all we can do is get angry and hurt and wince
at the stories like ours that social media has evinced.
We hope to god our daughters will never have a jury to convince.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
She picked it up from the seashore.
He encouraged her,
Flattered her with indulgence
To bring back her dying flame.
A girl once again,
She brought it home
In whimsically ebullient innocence!
On the polished floor
In a faraway city
It found it hard to walk
With the load of mollusk
And made a funny sight!
It strained its ears
But there was no sound of the sea,
No saline smell in the air,
Instead the water was sweet and insipid.
It went thirsty.
The food was alien,
It went hungry.
Soon they polished the shell
And celebrated addition of
Another showpiece in their room!
The crab had at last
Found a new home.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
You said the right things
You flattered and charmed
Convinced and promised
Until I was disarmed
Your words were golden
They sparkled and shined
They shined so brightly
I must have gone blind
I invested myself
In the words you sold
But all that glitters
Is not gold
I've always heard
That talk is cheap
Well my words are diamonds
And yours are free
You don't mean what you say
You don't do what you mean
Your words are free
But they're costing me
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
“Beautifully Oppressive”
she called my work
“beautifully oppressive”
did she mean like the stifling pall
of equatorial heat?
what lines had I writ
to elicit such truthful and prodigious
adverbs and adjectives?
I can not recall being more flattered
or believing more that it mattered
what one said of my
delirious desultory delusions,
my petty pecking indulgences…
I believe I was recalling a dream
that spoke of elusive, fickle salvation,
the perennial curse of the chosen ******
and their haunting hunger for implacable peace
when I evoked that response from her
“beautifully oppressive” to feel such a fate?
the promise of heaven for those trudging through hell?
what other beautiful oppressive story could I tell?
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
don’t call me pretty
don’t call me sweet
i won’t be flattered –
it’s not what i need;
don’t call me beautiful
don’t call me hot
i won’t be flattered –
i know i’m not;
but then so what
it isn’t like I give a
****
beautiful won’t draw the stars
upon the night sky,
pretty won’t write you a poem
twenty lines long,
slam and bitter-sweet,
beautiful won’t inspire
another soul to love me,
pretty won’t immortalise
my swift and shining mind,
beautiful won’t taste like
coffee and cigarettes
when i kiss you on the
mouth,
pretty won’t make you
laugh with a coarse voice
at 3 a.m.
under the stars,
beautiful won’t make you
stay awake till dawn
reciting frost, then plath
and then bukowski,
pretty won’t make you
crave for my
mysteriously gentle touch,
beautiful won’t make
my absence sting and
leave a burning scar,
pretty won’t feed you
with homemade crusty
cake glazed with chocolate
and raspberries,
beautiful won’t make your
body ache when you
wake up and don’t find me
in bed,
pretty won’t make your
head hurt with all the
existential questions
i ask before i’ve even started
to drink,
beautiful won’t cuddle you
under the sound of
heavy metal screams,
pretty won’t soothe you
when you need to cry,
beautiful won’t dance with you
with no music,
pretty won’t hold your hand
like i will though it’s
december and i have no
mittens,
beautiful won’t win
wars for you,
pretty won’t stay up all
night long to marathon
lord of the rings with you
and then maybe star wars
and then read some marvel,
and then make up
asoiaf theories,
beautiful will steal a glance,
but I will steal your mind.
hot might earn you a body,
with other words
you will enter my heart.
pretty might be enough
for a one-night stand,
but i can make you
be hopelessly,
tiredly,
desperately
in love.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
4k
I had the funniest dream the other night
I was doing something with paintings in the dream
I was picking them up and looking at them
I was in a public place, there was other people around
In the corner of my eye I could make out this girl
She was sitting on a table talking to another girl who was sitting down
She was a Goth girl, a real life Goth girl
She had these big laced boots and the fishnet stockings
She had necklaces and jewellery and the black dress on
She had the black eyeliner and very pronounced lipstick
And she had her hair done in a funny way that I didn't particularly like
But I can't remember now to describe (maybe it was short or shaven a bit)
Now I wasn't staring at her, I was only regarding her clandestinely out of the corner of my eye
It's like I was saying "Wow! There's a real Goth girl
I'd never met or spoken to a Goth girl before
Suddenly it's like... it's like she notices me for the first time
And she starts watching me... she's looking right at me
Now I'm a bit chuffed by this...flattered
I'm wondering why she'd be interested in an old geezer like me
Anyway just then I decide to glance at her pretending I've only just seen her for the first time
For a moment our eyes they meet
And y'know, she slips me the sweetest smile I've ever seen in my whole life
It's so warm and endearing/welcoming, open and innocent.. so cute
It's like she's saying "Hello there you, I'd love to get to know you"
Me! I don't know what to do, I'm blown away,
Gulp! I'm all at sea and I'm floundering
But I got to do something... so I kinda smile back at her and give her a little wink
Then I quickly look back at my paintings
The next time I dare to look over she's right there, right in front of me, this fabulous creature...in all her wonderful terribleness LoL
It's obvious she wants to make herself known to me
It all proves too much though... I chicken out
I pull out of the dream
I guess... I'm only a Shy Boy really.
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 1:33 PM UTC
he was philosophical
the way any person is when they're high.
he wore black framed glasses
and talked too much;
which i kind of liked.
he said my name made me sound like a classy stripper.
i chose to take it as a compliment.
i didn't ask his age
though i wish i had.
he talked passionately about
aquatonics and molly.
he said he was starting up a business.
maybe i was flattered that he thought i was cute
or maybe he was generally interesting.
i'm not sure though.
all i can remember is the way the hookah tasted
as the music faded out.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
A child wakes up , to mosquito bites,
and Christ-on-a-bike-it’s-diwali , the fiesta of lights.
the welcome vibes of halcyon tarried
as hugs and gifts and smiles are carried,
and waving her wrinkles mid-air ,daadi
says today! god , to his land was ferried.
Afar, the bronze herald of worship time,
the temple bell goes off in a celestial chime.
and cometh the priest , for the fire-ritual,
line my pockets now , come on , be spiritual.
but duh! your dhoti hast no pockets , saintly dummy;
tsk.. fret ye not , for it goes straight into my tummy.
mid-morning now , and mummy’s high-strung;
‘dust it well and dust it thorough and dust it till you burst a lung’.
‘garam pakode’ !! cries papa in his croaking tenor ,
‘but one by one’ and now he begins with the manners.
mummy is the last one , picking over the bones,
she always has been , for what a family she owns.
A muezzin somewhere cries the holy decree
heads bow down and a pigeon flies free,
from the onion dome , below the staccato claps
‘Ooparwala ! … ‘ the muezzin gasps ,
and ‘Ooparwala!.. ‘ a crowd chants in tow ,
and ‘Oops ! … ‘ the bird sheds it’s something and *****
soars high , and takes a bow .
hey presto! the night has come.
the moonless night of the homecoming lord.
sweetmeats and sugars and syrups and us ,
laddu-barfi , well , that strikes a chord .
Lakshmi , her owl , the glutton god with his mouse ,
revered an’ pleased an’ fed an’ flattered ,
and coaxed never to leave the house
while out there , bombs and crackers burst and batter.
The witch’s hour already , and the man ain’t home yet
the lord is home , to get things straight,
while the men all out on a greedy conquest;
pennies on the dollar , unwavering faith still,
for the beckoning bait .
A child wakes up , to mosquito bites
gone now is the carnival of lights.
a goddess fled , a father bled
a child scrapes off the waxy remains ,
the leftovers of candles ,pains, and no gains.
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
In my mind,
I was flattered-
flattered at what
the world sees;
what I saw
no picture can compare.
Yes, I must be right-
right crush has been
sent back to the thought-
the thought of love.
No love can dispel-
without hate- what other
can love?
In my mind,
the right crush
becomes reality
in my mind-
there she finally is.
In retrospect,
you can only believe
your suspicions
of a drained ear
of sorrowful advice-
that advice was clinging
at the point that no
right crush-
is not right for you-
unless you see past
your suspicions of wasted love.
Did you not learn your
lesson- of freedom not
to be joined or forced
by other forces-
but the force to dispel hate.
Otherwise, there is none
other than hate that rules-
there is no right crush!
The right crush-
is what is in your mind
to dispel hate-
and with love comes peace.
This love is the right crush!
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
Next two years, college, poetry, poetry,
You, me, *** condoms, birthcontrol?
Mother, permission, cleaning room, cleaning life, windex, lemon scented windex.
Windows, escape, Ani Difranco, 32 flavors, 32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some.
My grades are 1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds?
Atleast I vary. Colleges look for variation.
I can cross my eyes. Only one other person in my family can cross their eyes.
This was my last quarter to make an impression.
Impress. Smile. Eye contact. I have to meet your mother.
I have to go shopping
With your mother.
I lied to my mother
Mothers dont like lying
My parents asked me if something tragic happened to me
I used to wish that something tragic would happen to me
Nothing tragic has happened to me
Unless you call immense boredom with tiny people on a tiny state tragic
Which for a matter of fact I do.
You ask me whats going on
I’m a smart girl
Im flattered that you think so
But I doubt your surgeon parents will agree
How many AP classes am I taking...
0.
This is so out of character.
Youve never avoided your problems like this before
Silly parents
You’d avoid your problems too if they were
Life ambition, college, *** condoms, birthcontrol?
1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds, cleaning room, cleaning life
Cleaning out my character
Because I have to impress your mother.
Should we get you a therapist?
We shouldve gotten you a therapist last year
Dealing with stress is hard for anyone
You just need help.
I do not want your help.
Dealing with stress is not hard
Put your head in the sand and listen to Ani Difranco
32 Flavors
32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
skipping rocks and skipping meals
magazines are teaching her to eat less, no matter how she feels
models on instagram, tiktok, youtube, and twitter
setting unrealistic expectations with their photoshop and glitter
in size two jeans, hoping to squeeze into ones
it looks like she's living the dream, but in reality, it's not a good one
1000 calories or less, isn't it nice?
she's living in an eating disorder nightmare disguised as paradise
she's losing weight, but not feeling as though she's won
she doesn't want this anymore, when will this be done?
she's dropping pounds, but feeling so shattered
compliments left and right, but it's hard to feel flattered
she's eating nothing at lunch until she's too light to function
the cafeteria starts to feel like a dungeon
feeling sick when she eats "too much"
kneeling in the bathroom using the toilet as a crutch
and then she overcompensates with exercise
when will the people around her start to hear her cries?
things are out of control, it's becoming too much for her to handle
her world feels as though it's starting to dismantle
her mental & physical health is deteriorating as she loses the weight
when will they see what it's doing to her? hopefully before it's too late
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 7:56 PM UTC
Women have so much to fear these days
We learn that when we're walking to our car in the dead of night
We should have our key jammed between our fingers in the fist of one hand
Poised as a weapon
And a jar of mace in the other
We learn to take catcalls as compliments
We learn that it is our fault if we get *****
Because when people hear about it, the words that should cross their lips--
"Is she okay?"
"Is the attacker doing time?"
--don't
Instead we hear "What was she wearing?"
Because if we dress a little less provocative
Maybe they will target someone else
Because we asked for this to happen
We are all learning the wrong way about everything
Instead of "ask consent" it's "don't get *****
Instead of "be respectful" it's "you should be flattered"
Instead of "don't attack someone" it's "protect yourself"
Does society not see how backwards this it?
Instead of preventing the crime altogether, it's "make sure it's someone else"
Because if it's not us, it's not happening
We say "ignorance is bliss"
But really ignorance is being stupid enough to think, over and over
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
Because it can
It can happen to anyone
At any time
And we need to try our ******* best to stop it
Because she didn't dress that way for you
And she most certainly didn't ask for it
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
Life is naught but a gimmick,
Is taken for granted,
And is a means of society proclaimed glory and greatness.
We blame God for the things that are wrong with this world when it falls only on us.
Do you miss when times were simple,
The small things mattered,
Women took pride in being flattered
And men took pride in their approach to these women.
Where life was more than a means to please,
But was something that we knew couldn't be passed with ease.
There were no cheat codes back then, life wasn't a game
There was less of a need for us to rise to fame.
There was less of a need to have the next best thing,
And couples took more pride in a diamond ring.
Big brother wasn't watching us and we felt no need to be watching it,
There was no place on the street where black boys felt they should loiter and sit.
The sun seemed brighter and winter was when winter was,
A woman did not feel she should change to what a man is,
They were quite content in keeping their vaginas.
Was it the fault of the hierarchy top
That gave the choice for them to just stop
Being what they're supposed to be
Or was it always in wanting and just I did not see.
Music was better; back then it had more meaning
To this day I still wonder what happened to it,
I think a few more years for more real music I'll be feening.
What happened to TV,
Cartoon Network,
BBC,
ITV,
What foolishness is on nowadays,
Made for us to judge other people on their looks,
Their talents and skills,
But let's see,
Who are we to look down on others who try,
Look down on yourself,
And about yourself just try not to lie.
What happened to game?
It seems that these days,
All we need is a pin not a key to the heart.
People claming to be in love,
But do you know what love is?
New girlfriend tomorrow,
Did you sign up to have kids?
What happened to love?
Not just for man but for God?
Do you not remember how He came through when you lost?
When you were alone,
Lust for life was but memory,
How you came through but thought it was on your own?
What happened to the world,
Tell me if you had a little girl,
Would you treat her like a pen,
Let her be used by whoever would ask,
Discard her once done with knowing she wouldn't last.
Or treat her like a flower in the desert,
Treasure and savour with hope it will last,
With love and a prayer,
That this moment is forever.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
strike my eyes lovely
for S. B.
by way of introduction,
when you have gone to confession,
freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest,
no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable,
there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs,
one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem,
a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction
so months later you snicker for you have been seriously
self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies,
trite and yellowed overused, and you read
really good poetry and are
slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of
your own no-winsome word-smithy,
no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note,
and it’s the only lasting quality is the
genuine nature of its intent
but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality,
a victim of your dissatisfaction
let me explain better
she messages you while the time difference works in her favor,
she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted,
she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation,
as she cherishes this forgotten one,
with words that cannot be ignored
the poem**
strikes her eyes lovely
daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged
for this a compliment that any poet would
weep for, be inspired by, stung into action,
provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better,
what writer could want for anything more!
who can own this ability
accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification
to strike down lovely
the readers eyes, almost all once,
almost excuses me forever
for trying and failing so many times
you smile
but not in the chest where
lovely
needs to strike you
for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then...
let the moment gleam, and then disappear,
again and again, stored but not restorative
11/21/18
Miami
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
*Bury the blame in your chest and twist it,
do that for me friend, we’ll call it even.
I’m flattered that you came for me,
but if I could, I would have cut your throat with dolphin teeth.
You want to show me around like a prize,
it made me sick
so in seven weeks I’ll die*
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC