"forcefulness" poems - Hello Poetry

I-AM-NOT-A-DOG. Today, I cut loose from your leash of degrading comments. My ears have learned to ignore your whistles and the only thing I am going to fetch is my dignity. We all have cracks. People’s words creep into our most foreign parts And bother us like gnats in our food. However, At a young age my mom welded me by hand. Sealed off every corner so Your undignified vernacular wouldn’t disturb my peace. Your mother must’ve had deleterious effects on you. She told you that love can only be found through intertwining genitals. I have iron fists and your forcefulness will not supersede my strength to protect what I own. Let me tell you sir, Obeying men is an archaic practice And I wasn’t born yesterday. I endure life with fortitude even with the threat of your loaded fist 2 inches from my face. Your catcalls sting like the hearts of mother’s who have lost their daughter’s to the streets. I hold my mace like a loaded gun walking in the petrifying night. Apparently big butts lie, they give you the impression that you can squeeze, but back off the anatomy. Remember that all women embody beauty and grace, not for you, but for themselves.

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC

vanessab2

I Bite

I-AM-NOT-A-DOG. Today, I cut loose from your leash of degrading comments. My ears have learned to ignore your whistles and the only thing I am going to fetch is my dignity. We all have cracks. People’s words creep into our most foreign parts And bother us like gnats in our food. However, At a young age my mom welded me by hand. Sealed off every corner so Your undignified vernacular wouldn’t disturb my peace. Your mother must’ve had deleterious effects on you. She told you that love can only be found through intertwining genitals. I have iron fists and your forcefulness will not supersede my strength to protect what I own. Let me tell you sir, Obeying men is an archaic practice And I wasn’t born yesterday. I endure life with fortitude even with the threat of your loaded fist 2 inches from my face. Your catcalls sting like the hearts of mother’s who have lost their daughter’s to the streets. I hold my mace like a loaded gun walking in the petrifying night. Apparently big butts lie, they give you the impression that you can squeeze, but back off the anatomy. Remember that all women embody beauty and grace, not for you, but for themselves.

24

Political correctness has reached a brand new low It has now reached good and evil And has changed things down below The devil is still the devil, That much has not changed But, the food is all organic And the meat is all free range I didn't know the changes 'till I made a plea last week To sell my soul for increased wealth And other things I seek I expected a commotion When the devil came from hell But, there was nothing quite so flashy When someone...rang my bell I answered thinking nothing much I looked outside to check I am wary of the Mormons and Jehovahs on my deck I looked outside and there I saw A man dressed all in grey A poll taker, election geek Let's see what he may say "Good day, kind sir, I come to you" "You wanted to be rich" I thought he isn't from no bank of mine He said "Sir, just call me Mitch" "Mitch", I said, "I don't know how" "you'd know I want to sell my soul" He told me that was why he's here To get a deal done was his goal I said, "why use the door bell" "Why not the cloud of smoke" He said "with budget cuts' "Pyrotechnics made us broke" "The PC folks got wind of us" "of our tricks and double speak" "Now, you sign away your soul to us" "but, you can get out within the week" "We can't go by the same old name" "Hell is not allowed" "We're H...E...double hockey sticks" "Try saying that aloud" "It doesn't have the forcefulness" "That the other word once had" "we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch" "You can see, it's got quite sad" "The contracts are all readable" "You don't have to sign in blood" "With *** and STD's" "It may as well be mud" "A soul still has some meaning" "But, as you yourself can see" "The devil stays at home now" "And sends his minions out...like me" "I have a small brochure for you" "You have choices, please pick six" "It's more a club, a health resort" "In H...E...double sticks" "I can't get out, I'm stuck for good" "I signed my deal before" "The PC people got us good" "And now...we use the door" "Please look over the contract" "Take your time, and read it close" "You'll find it is a real good read" "With language, non verbose" "If you should have some questions" "change your mind, or want to tour" "Just call me on my cell phone "I'm at star66 extension 4" "I'm sure you'll still come down to us" "It's not so bad, you'll see" "Just call me when you're ready" "You've got time, now we're PC"

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Jun 12, 2013

Jun 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC

roger-turner

Politically Correct Soul Selling

Political correctness has reached a brand new low It has now reached good and evil And has changed things down below The devil is still the devil, That much has not changed But, the food is all organic And the meat is all free range I didn't know the changes 'till I made a plea last week To sell my soul for increased wealth And other things I seek I expected a commotion When the devil came from hell But, there was nothing quite so flashy When someone...rang my bell I answered thinking nothing much I looked outside to check I am wary of the Mormons and Jehovahs on my deck I looked outside and there I saw A man dressed all in grey A poll taker, election geek Let's see what he may say "Good day, kind sir, I come to you" "You wanted to be rich" I thought he isn't from no bank of mine He said "Sir, just call me Mitch" "Mitch", I said, "I don't know how" "you'd know I want to sell my soul" He told me that was why he's here To get a deal done was his goal I said, "why use the door bell" "Why not the cloud of smoke" He said "with budget cuts' "Pyrotechnics made us broke" "The PC folks got wind of us" "of our tricks and double speak" "Now, you sign away your soul to us" "but, you can get out within the week" "We can't go by the same old name" "Hell is not allowed" "We're H...E...double hockey sticks" "Try saying that aloud" "It doesn't have the forcefulness" "That the other word once had" "we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch" "You can see, it's got quite sad" "The contracts are all readable" "You don't have to sign in blood" "With *** and STD's" "It may as well be mud" "A soul still has some meaning" "But, as you yourself can see" "The devil stays at home now" "And sends his minions out...like me" "I have a small brochure for you" "You have choices, please pick six" "It's more a club, a health resort" "In H...E...double sticks" "I can't get out, I'm stuck for good" "I signed my deal before" "The PC people got us good" "And now...we use the door" "Please look over the contract" "Take your time, and read it close" "You'll find it is a real good read" "With language, non verbose" "If you should have some questions" "change your mind, or want to tour" "Just call me on my cell phone "I'm at star66 extension 4" "I'm sure you'll still come down to us" "It's not so bad, you'll see" "Just call me when you're ready" "You've got time, now we're PC"

75

swimming with horses, running with dungeons, playing with dragons, hiding behind a fake forcefulness, like a synthetical lioness, that artificialness, fake greatness, fake lustiness, fake lustre, lying on them like a mattress, or with covered up, less than what really up to in them minds

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Jan 27, 2023

Jan 27, 2023 at 1:13 PM UTC

iremx

hide n seek

swimming with horses, running with dungeons, playing with dragons, hiding behind a fake forcefulness, like a synthetical lioness, that artificialness, fake greatness, fake lustiness, fake lustre, lying on them like a mattress, or with covered up, less than what really up to in them minds

13

How am I to teach myself that rage is not love that abuse is not love that hurt is not love that forcefulness is not love when that is all i have ever known when you are gentle you do not speak in anger you never raise your voice you always smile you always make me laugh only kindness ever leaves your mouth i feel like a child again when i am with you before all the badness took over my life i am hard rough around the edges but you oh my you you are so soft your edges aren't even edges at all they're soft landings like the way a dandelion falls onto the grass so gracefully in the middle of spring you are my hope again you are my new beginning

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Dec 5, 2017

Dec 5, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC

Herr

New beginnings

How am I to teach myself that rage is not love that abuse is not love that hurt is not love that forcefulness is not love when that is all i have ever known when you are gentle you do not speak in anger you never raise your voice you always smile you always make me laugh only kindness ever leaves your mouth i feel like a child again when i am with you before all the badness took over my life i am hard rough around the edges but you oh my you you are so soft your edges aren't even edges at all they're soft landings like the way a dandelion falls onto the grass so gracefully in the middle of spring you are my hope again you are my new beginning

26

Everyone loves the comedian. He can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of darkness for decades. He feels the sadness emitting from another person, even from their heart, and can chase it away with a joke about an interrupting cow or a dog and sandpaper or with the punchline being the lyrics to a song that when said is played in the head of the listener and its beat revives their heart with an electric shock. He can put in order the right words and can say them with such perfect deliverance that it can make a crowd keel over, laughing so hard they can barely breathe and applaud with the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests. People like to laugh. He can make them laugh. But what if the comedian no longer walks with a spring in his step? What if that cloud of sadness that he chased away found its way and circled back towards him? What if it just so happen to be that, when he walked off the stage, he pulled off a mask that no one knew was there in the first place because he hid it so well by distracting the attention from his face and onto to what happiness he could provide them with. That by mending other broken spirits, none of them would notice his, even more broken than theirs. And in the silence of my- his- own misery, he is left to rage war with himself that he can only feel on the inside of me- him- and gives no hint to it on the outside so as to remain the jester. My- his- heart and mind is a warzone fought between him and his fears. The insecurities that reach out their withered hands to paralyze me- him- from the heart down are fought only with the will to press on as normal. And while I tell that joke about the rabbi, the priest, and the atheist that walk into the bar I’m on the other side of it drinking myself into a protective pit trying to forget the other joke I told about the chicken who crossed the road as if trying to paint me- it- with some amount of courage to cross the road when deep down inside I know the truth that I am much less than a coward unable to cross a dead road for fear of getting run over by myself. My insecurities and fears that I warded off for so long have finally grabbed hold of my ankles, ripping the supports from underneath me so that I fall and crash to the ground, blood spilling everywhere, all the while keeping a calm composure and a smile taped to my face so no one will know it kills. Yet still I press on. Why? Because everyone loves the comedian. I can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of sadness, emitting from their heart, coming in to save the day and chase away that darkness and revive their heart with an electric shock that has the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests that will leave them breathless and with a smile on their face. And so they press on. And so I press on.

0

Jan 28, 2016

Jan 28, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC

angela-celona

The Comedian

Everyone loves the comedian. He can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of darkness for decades. He feels the sadness emitting from another person, even from their heart, and can chase it away with a joke about an interrupting cow or a dog and sandpaper or with the punchline being the lyrics to a song that when said is played in the head of the listener and its beat revives their heart with an electric shock. He can put in order the right words and can say them with such perfect deliverance that it can make a crowd keel over, laughing so hard they can barely breathe and applaud with the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests. People like to laugh. He can make them laugh. But what if the comedian no longer walks with a spring in his step? What if that cloud of sadness that he chased away found its way and circled back towards him? What if it just so happen to be that, when he walked off the stage, he pulled off a mask that no one knew was there in the first place because he hid it so well by distracting the attention from his face and onto to what happiness he could provide them with. That by mending other broken spirits, none of them would notice his, even more broken than theirs. And in the silence of my- his- own misery, he is left to rage war with himself that he can only feel on the inside of me- him- and gives no hint to it on the outside so as to remain the jester. My- his- heart and mind is a warzone fought between him and his fears. The insecurities that reach out their withered hands to paralyze me- him- from the heart down are fought only with the will to press on as normal. And while I tell that joke about the rabbi, the priest, and the atheist that walk into the bar I’m on the other side of it drinking myself into a protective pit trying to forget the other joke I told about the chicken who crossed the road as if trying to paint me- it- with some amount of courage to cross the road when deep down inside I know the truth that I am much less than a coward unable to cross a dead road for fear of getting run over by myself. My insecurities and fears that I warded off for so long have finally grabbed hold of my ankles, ripping the supports from underneath me so that I fall and crash to the ground, blood spilling everywhere, all the while keeping a calm composure and a smile taped to my face so no one will know it kills. Yet still I press on. Why? Because everyone loves the comedian. I can bring a smile to someone’s face that had been covered with a cloud of sadness, emitting from their heart, coming in to save the day and chase away that darkness and revive their heart with an electric shock that has the forcefulness equivalent to a stampede of wildebeests that will leave them breathless and with a smile on their face. And so they press on. And so I press on.

14

I let my hands slip from your shoulder blades only a few seconds after your arms had dropped to your sides. Feel better, have a good night but you can't cry to me anymore you said it with your bloodshot eyes the forcefulness of your voice proclaiming that you've loved her for longer than anyone else. I stood there, biting my lip thinking does it really matter how long you've loved someone for or is it all based on how hard you fight, the passion in your words and the taste of your lover printed all over your skin. Two years of dim comfort cannot combat two months of struggle, constant kicking down of walls and kisses with smoke in between. Letters miles long with the word "never" attached to "stop" connected with "loving you." Mattresses with sheets and easy sleep won't compare to uncertainty of where to rest my head, being more concerned with the state of yours and your self worth. Two months of loving passionately does not even need to fight against two years of rest. It always wins.

0

Dec 4, 2012

Dec 4, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC

lauren-8

Time vs. Struggle

I let my hands slip from your shoulder blades only a few seconds after your arms had dropped to your sides. Feel better, have a good night but you can't cry to me anymore you said it with your bloodshot eyes the forcefulness of your voice proclaiming that you've loved her for longer than anyone else. I stood there, biting my lip thinking does it really matter how long you've loved someone for or is it all based on how hard you fight, the passion in your words and the taste of your lover printed all over your skin. Two years of dim comfort cannot combat two months of struggle, constant kicking down of walls and kisses with smoke in between. Letters miles long with the word "never" attached to "stop" connected with "loving you." Mattresses with sheets and easy sleep won't compare to uncertainty of where to rest my head, being more concerned with the state of yours and your self worth. Two months of loving passionately does not even need to fight against two years of rest. It always wins.

32

I found my safest, sagest guide When once my sorry soul had died There was nothing of it left Of life it was savagely bereft But ending my soul’s stark December She kindled, fanned and stoked the embers That burned at the bottom of my sad soul’s pyre Her forcefulness sparked and spread the fire Warming me throughout my core I didn't feel dead any more My lucky life now filled with jest And I tackle it with zeal and zest I have grown quite amorous, fond Of our special, divine bond Electric, it kindles in my heart And lives once more again in art

0

Nov 29, 2016

Nov 29, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC

megan-sherman-1

Sage

I found my safest, sagest guide When once my sorry soul had died There was nothing of it left Of life it was savagely bereft But ending my soul’s stark December She kindled, fanned and stoked the embers That burned at the bottom of my sad soul’s pyre Her forcefulness sparked and spread the fire Warming me throughout my core I didn't feel dead any more My lucky life now filled with jest And I tackle it with zeal and zest I have grown quite amorous, fond Of our special, divine bond Electric, it kindles in my heart And lives once more again in art

16

I sit in a pile of marketing and economics papers And my exams are in one week. Lethargically, I stare at these papers Wishing I could throw them in the air And follow my dreams . Father, when I graduate and receive my degree, when all you will see is my blank stare on the pictures on your wall, when I endure your dream, when you accept that I am not you, when you listen hard enough to hear my distaste for your forcefulness, how would you feel if you were in my shoes?

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Dec 6, 2016

Dec 6, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC

poetroyalee

When

I sit in a pile of marketing and economics papers And my exams are in one week. Lethargically, I stare at these papers Wishing I could throw them in the air And follow my dreams . Father, when I graduate and receive my degree, when all you will see is my blank stare on the pictures on your wall, when I endure your dream, when you accept that I am not you, when you listen hard enough to hear my distaste for your forcefulness, how would you feel if you were in my shoes?

13

My bed So safe So comfortable The home I actually enjoyed living in In the house I hated The pillow that I used to scream into When I was frustrated Because they didn’t understand But Oh so quickly that bed Changed When my once lover joined me in that bed Because I didn’t ask him to I wish hedve followed along like a vampire when coming into my home Can’t come in Unless you’re invited My bed My safety My comfort My home His aggression His forcefulness His malicious intent His home So every time I sleep in my bed which is no longer my home I find myself waking up Screaming help And sweating Scratching my own skin off I’ve always wondered why I’ve started sleeping better elsewhere This must be why Because even in a bed of thorns I’d sleep better It would feel the same I’d wake up, stabbed and bleeding.

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Jun 20, 2018

Jun 20, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC

Bellscoviello

Bedtime

My bed So safe So comfortable The home I actually enjoyed living in In the house I hated The pillow that I used to scream into When I was frustrated Because they didn’t understand But Oh so quickly that bed Changed When my once lover joined me in that bed Because I didn’t ask him to I wish hedve followed along like a vampire when coming into my home Can’t come in Unless you’re invited My bed My safety My comfort My home His aggression His forcefulness His malicious intent His home So every time I sleep in my bed which is no longer my home I find myself waking up Screaming help And sweating Scratching my own skin off I’ve always wondered why I’ve started sleeping better elsewhere This must be why Because even in a bed of thorns I’d sleep better It would feel the same I’d wake up, stabbed and bleeding.

34

You will surely soon become the sacred animal for sacrifice, to cleanse the land and purify the abominable acts of our people, instigated by the unreasonable ignorant elders. And for those that have died on account of their ignorance, have paid with their blood to cleanse our land. These sacrifices are not willingly given. Will the gods accept such a waste of human lives to ameliorate their anger? Or will another sacrifice be performed to appease their already inflated anger over these ethnic cleansing by a group seeking for dominance. These strangers in the land could not tolerate our differences in this forced relationship. Their greediness and overbearing attitude is frightening. With hidden intent, Cunning and Forcefulness, with intimidation they unleashed mayhem to our people. Dazed as if hypnotized, with voodoo and hoodoo at work. no one is doing anything about it. Everyone is watching as our families, Our friends, youths, children, women, the elderly,our farms, barns are destroyed, properties burnt down by these strange ones. You will soon be the next if you still stand and do nothing. Do not be an unwilling sacrifice, do something. ©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

0

Apr 30, 2018

Apr 30, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC

Emekamokeme

DO SOMETHING.

You will surely soon become the sacred animal for sacrifice, to cleanse the land and purify the abominable acts of our people, instigated by the unreasonable ignorant elders. And for those that have died on account of their ignorance, have paid with their blood to cleanse our land. These sacrifices are not willingly given. Will the gods accept such a waste of human lives to ameliorate their anger? Or will another sacrifice be performed to appease their already inflated anger over these ethnic cleansing by a group seeking for dominance. These strangers in the land could not tolerate our differences in this forced relationship. Their greediness and overbearing attitude is frightening. With hidden intent, Cunning and Forcefulness, with intimidation they unleashed mayhem to our people. Dazed as if hypnotized, with voodoo and hoodoo at work. no one is doing anything about it. Everyone is watching as our families, Our friends, youths, children, women, the elderly,our farms, barns are destroyed, properties burnt down by these strange ones. You will soon be the next if you still stand and do nothing. Do not be an unwilling sacrifice, do something. ©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

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