Fuckload poems on Hello Poetry

Devon Webb Nov 2014

All I ever got
out of loving you
was a snog and a
fuckload
of poetry.

Devon Webb Feb 2015

Look at me.
I'm peeling back my skin
for you,
can't you see my heart
all black and bruised and
covered in burn marks
from the cigarettes I
never told you I smoked?
You turn away because
it's kind of gross but
here I am,
exposed,
tearing myself open
because I don't know
how to keep things inside.

And I spent so long
trying to tell myself
that I am strong,
that you cannot
break me
- but I'm already
breaking.
I'm fragile and
I'm weak because
I took my backbone and
built it up at your feet
like a Jenga tower which
you dismantle so recklessly,
never guessing it might
fall.

I will fall because you
built me up so tall,
tall enough to get a grip
on the expectations I
set for you
- left hanging there -
feet kicking helplessly
through thin air
when the
hands that lifted me
so high
move away to
see some
better sights.

I am not afraid of heights
I'm just afraid of
not being able to get
back down.
But you've already
taken what was
left of the
solid ground.

And you let it
rain down on me,
all those sticks and
stones which
pierce my soul,
you let it shatter me
like the bathroom mirror
in which I never saw
beauty.
You let it break me,
and I will let myself
be broken
because I've already given
that power to you.

But what you
don't understand
is that
I have a fuckload
of superglue.

And I will stick myself
back together.
It doesn't end
here.
This is just another
scar
on my already
blemished surface.

And each scar will
line itself up,
branching from each
other like the
wrinkles on the palm
of my hand.

And each one will be a
reminder that I
survived.
I am still here even after
being broken
time and
time
again.

You were not the end
of me.
This was not a loss,
but a victory.

Bell works Dec 2013

From my core to the top of my lungs

I'll say it once,
once very loudly,
and then never again.

Being sick doesn't excuse bad behaviour. It doesn't mean you're allowed to forget about others; what they want, what they need, the fact what they want might compromise what you might want.

And that is perfectly fine, because the world won't stop spinning just because you get dizzy.
It can't,
otherwise we'd never keep moving.

I love you with all my heart, more than I can express with words before turning into a sobbing mess, because I loved you before and just as much after.

I love you because you stayed, when all you wanted to do was leave. I love you because you tuned out the other voices and listened to the only ones that really mattered. I love you because even after the years of hurt and suffering from unseen forces, you still smile at me, even when I know you don't feel like it.

I love you so much,
but that doesn't mean that you aren't a giant **** sometimes.

It doesn't mean that you get to pick and choose when you want to be involved in people's lives,
and it certainly doesn't mean that you can be wholly self-centered at times for the sake of 'recovery'.

Because we both know there is no such thing as recovery. There is only management, only tolerance, and that means learning how to deal with other people's **** as well as yours.

Because believe me, we're learning how to deal with this illness just as much as you.

So don't be a ****.

Ask us about our day went BEFORE you launch into a rant about people on public transport.
Sleep in until 3pm, but stack the dishwasher or make the bed before we get home.
Tell us that you've had a really dark day instead of starting a fight about something you don't care about, because I guarantee you, we've got a fuckload of grievances we won't tell you about, so don't pull out ours because you want to fight.

Most importantly, tell us that you love us, because sometimes it's hard to tell.
Don't follow it with how we couldn't possibly understand or reciprocate it, just a simple 'I love you' will carry us for longer than you think.

samuel nathan Aug 2011

magnet fun

where i one easy ****
i could get no easy ****
always hard pretty fantastic *******
it is absolutely nothing
as is authority
or a fuckload of monkeys

constructed entirely with word magnets that adorn my refrigerator

Barton D Smock Jun 2016

ravel

you’re not the twin
I thought
you were.

in looking at my life

a fuckload
of sleep

the dirty poet Aug 2018

RANDOM ******

easy access to guns certainly factors into mass shootings
but an equally disturbing issue is why so many of us
feel compelled to slaughter vast quantities of strangers
i mean, it’s because we can
with all that delicious weaponry floating around
but still, it makes you wonder
i work with a guy who had a son at Virginia Tech
during the shootings there
my wife’s boss had a cousin who died
during the church massacre last year
i was coming to work five years ago
as the cops were swarming the building
on a hunt for the maniac
who’d just gunned down three people, one fatally
these incidents of random ******
have become so ubiquitous that more and more of us
know someone directly affected
that said
the way our government kowtows to the NRA
would be pathetic if not so flabbergasting
i assume the gun worshippers are against mass homicide
though i suspect they admire the firepower
but just as there’s a lot of car accidents because there’s a lot of cars
there’s a shitload of shootings because there’s a fuckload of guns
i believe that; i could be wrong
but i guess we’re lucky there’s no National Nuclear Bomb Association

— The End —