"hurtfully" poems
XxxxxxX
OooooooO
()
() ()
It all depends where we actually are
••
I mean
You must have realized that you are falling in
Love
So prematurely
And
So hurtfully
Because you have been brainwashed
And are being emotionally destroyed
On purpose
Right ?
( Right ?!)
•••
It all depends where we actually are
••
Birth
On earth
Does NOT mean
Being assigned to a slave labor camp
Or
A loony bin
Right ?
(Right?'!)
----
It all depends where we actually are
••
We are always encouraging others to be like ourselves
That is our born duty
Now what is it you want me to do
With this here razor blade?
••
It depends on where we actually are
--
What degree of hell are you talking about?
••
Where do YOU think you are?
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
she likes to draw on her body like a permanent tattoo.
but she has to feel the pain for it result
it is not a drug,
but she finds it addictive
she knows that it needs to be stopped,
but she needs something to calm her down,
especially to calm her mind down.
;
/2.30am/
she was shaking on the last couple nights.
she can barely sleep.
her head was hurt.
her heart was beating faster than ever.
she covered her face with a pillow,
and screamed as loud as she could, in silence
;
line by line she draws
hurtfully satisfying
then she decides to draw a line on her waist
a long strong one as a reminder of selfishness.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
Written in blood
Footprints in concrete the barefoot boy
We stagger under false dreams
The truth is dead
•
San Francisco dawn awaits
The homeless hidden honeymoon
The child has no one to greet his
Search for goodness in your eye
Below the drone airplane
POOR LITTLE POOR BOY!
While high school girls with razor blades
Demanding to get laid!
Strip the world of dignity
•
Wander the earth forever
You end at Fukushima
Eating radiation
Dying so hurtfully
••
I am here
I and a few friends of mine
•
What to do?
Soon you really must decide
Perhaps yesterday
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
a girl found a crown on the street
clink, clank, and rolling to her feet
cold gold touched her pinkish toes-
during inspection the jewels bit her nose
she wore it all day long, in strength
found her chores list lessen in length
people blinded by it's brilliant glint
it gleamed eyes away, replaced the print
each precious stone reworked memories
envious green glass once enemies
now pink, mirrored, singular, hers
to match the crown, she wore silver furs
her cloak dragged upon the ground
other children picked it up, and found
themselves wrapped inside and gone
the village became smaller, the cloak became long
the elders dug deep at the edge of their home
while the girl was away, living alone
they discovered bones, gnawed to stumps
bugs and beetles, full, in mounds and humps
they fit the girl's old clothes perfectly
renewed dead flesh, but hurtfully
her eyes were gone, the crown's centrepiece
the flesh left again, puddled their knees
the girl had died and was eaten, long ago
it took some time, they cried, but now we know
the metal melted her fat and skin and sinew
pock-marked her bones, rotted right through
replaced a monster with her spirit, living dead
used her soul as the cloak's first thread
vacuumed others, knitted them close and thick
a pretty trinket turned poisonous trick
the elders chased the monster away
along with their children, that day
they cried and created new children, then
never let them wander again.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Some things are sadly poetic
Like the cougar whose boyfriend
Won’t come back outside and she’s alone
At the only table in the cold
smoking a pall mall,
Having a beer.
Some things are refreshingly poetic
like leaving the office for a bit with the boss
and going somewhere
where there are domes made of pure gold
and priests who pour milk on them from
helicopters.
Some things are interestingly poetic;
like the poet, turned novelist, turned artist,
who does landscaping to cover the spread.
Some things are courageously and nostalgically
And hurtfully poetic,
Like not seeing your family for nine years
Because the money’s good where you're at,
And plane tickets and passports are outrageous.
Some things should not be
poetic, but they are, because they are truthful
And that is verse;
like the waitress who was *****
when she cashed her check at a grocery store
after the night shift
and she wasn’t the only one in her car
when she got back.
Some things are poetry because they come
Into this world quietly
And bleeding internally,
and yet they survive
Even though their lungs are full of fluid,
And they can barely breathe.
Some things are poetry because they happened
And nothing can change that.
And because
Poetry is
unchangeable, immovable, and
grotesque, beautiful, uncomfortable, calming,
disfiguring, life-giving, ****** up,
Possibly ****** possibly a nectar
That God
or whoever the ****
allowed to be put on paper,
Possibly a way to talk about pain,
Possibly roided up with someone else’s words,
Possibly a way to talk about
the pure dream of a girl’s body
Without being a ***** *****
Poetry is love in the worst
and most unimaginable ways.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
A simple kiss upon your cheek,
A gentle, loving kiss.
Not amorous or passionate,
Not connoting love remiss.
Thirty years ago
we were an "item" as they say.
I broke your heart
with my callousness
when, hurtfully, I strayed
I'm not proud that I hurt you.
Sad that it comes to this-
To kiss you like a stranger
feels like the Judas Kiss.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 7:27 PM UTC
Sandstorm of Affection
We danced in our spheres
Kept the hope for happiness within
But exhaustion and time came and undressed our realities
Fate became inevitable
With a single blow
We ran into our separate caves
Left the sandstorm to tear down everything that once surrounded us
We survived in our safety pretext
But the sandstorm was all in our element, where it lingered
Throughout our quests for genuine safety
We left little holes
Like those of termites' hills
To peep through as we paid careful attention
To the hope of the storm's immediate resolution
But so sorrily,
The winds were cruelly stronger than our expectations
And the turbulent winds spun violently piercing grains of sand
That greedily and hurtfully clogged our spying termites' holes
And shun us from the only last thing
That the sandstorm in our element had spared
So now we can hope for survival in our isolated darks
Thus, with a single atom of hope left within
Will we ever see each other again?
The cruel wish
Mongi C. Nkabindze
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
**Of what purpose are wings to a caged bird?
Of what use is the light of dawn when her voice is hardly heard
and albeit sweet, alone she can't make the dawn a chorus?
of what use are her claws without moist and wormy soils to scratch
what's the point of waking early with no worms to catch?
of what use are her eyes when she can't watch
the big blue sky, of what use are thick canopies where she won't nest?
why does she sing? Is it a melody, is it a dirge?
Does she need a cage mate with whom she's forced to merge
while her bone and blood mate wanders somewhere in search
of the one who left him before their first eggs could hatch?
Of what help is, to a caged bird, a friend?
Is it just to share the agony that won't end
or help hurtfully peck the little bars that won't bend?
To a caged bird of what purpose are feathers,
one that suffers a cold heart courtesy of iron tethers?
why should she be warm when she misses comfort of her home
the comfort of intricately weaved grass and loving family
the warmth radiated when living with her own species happily?
Does a caged bird need loyalty when there are bars to enforce,
those charmingly curved to ensure her freedom's loss?
Tell me...
Of what purpose are wings to a caged bird?**
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
She could be hurtfully apathetic;
**** she was a poet.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
"Doctor Doctor, help me please!"
squealed Vince little hurtfully.
"What is it?", asked the doctor,
"Why have you come to me?"
"Dr. Lee, I think I swallowed
a little thing I remember not."
in a sheepish tone did he reply,
the only excuse he had got.
"Now now," consoled the doctor
while softly rubbing his back,
"it would help you ease out a bit,
first get rid of your anorak."
"Open your mouth, need to check
it may be removed ****** he said.
To ease the pain he thought something
"Lay your head down on the bed".
Using a flashlight he peeked into
the throat of little Vince Susie.
"It looks like some blue coloured piece.
Now you remember what it could be?"
"Actually," started Vince, "I know what
I had swallowed. It is a Lego brick."
"What?" gasped the Doctor in horror,
"Are you choking?" asked with a crick.
"No, I am serious." Vince replied
stupidly. The doctor couldn't control
his smile. "You need to **** now,
need to get that out as a whole."
"Doctor? Why you cursing me?" queried
Vince, as he thought the Doctor swore.
Doctor clarified he did not,
"Kid, other work to do, I have a lot more."
Gave him a brine solution
and a bucket to puke into
Vince drank the brine with a glug
And now he needed a tissue.
Swallowed the piece, painfully so,
but out came rushing his *****
pouring into the bucket
Lego brick shot like a comet.
"Thank you doctor, you were most
kind." said Vince thankfully so,
"But now I must be excused, as
it definitely is my time to go."
"Wait up!" stopped Dr. Lee, "Who's
gonna pay your fees, dear lad?"
"I don't think I need to pay, as
My mom says you are my dad."
-awkward silence-
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC
Understanding......
He looked at her
breathing calmly
She gazed hurtfully into
His green-brown hazel eyes
saying nothing of the lie he was hiding.
The truth was she had already knew
Forgiveness.......
She wanted to forgive him
Needed to believe the lies
He spoke softly
whispering silken words
as He confessed
He'd never betray her trust again.
Another lie..........
She breaks down intensely
yet silently
Her souls cracked
Her hearts in pieces
He has no clue.
Ashamed........
His touch scorches her skin
as He placed His lying
hands upon her arm
Unyielding.......
His deceit cages Her in
She'll never be the same
His game is to concur Her
undoing Her with His words like fist
He's pounded her into
submission over and over again
She lives only for his bidding.
Life's gone.......
The bottles empty
Jack Daniels and hydro-co-done
with a few Ib-profane 800 mls
Drowning in a pool of her own blood-
wrist cut.
Dying..................
She fished what the pills may not have
She cradles her womb knowing no life with
be brought fourth
because tonight She
finally had enough
abuse
and
LIES!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright (c) Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
I swear,
Gnat
had two moods,
crazy
and angry,
one time
she punched me in the face,
and I smacked her,
and smacked her again
until we were spooning
on the couch
and she cried
as a lavaflow of tears
fell on my wrists.
But then
she had this mood
where she'd
clutch me,
through my ribs
to my heart,
and we'd love each other
so hurtfully
that I'd die
every time she touched me.
She grabbed my heart
so viciously,
and consequentially,
that I just wanted to die
in her fingertips.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
She looked on with sorrow
With her deep brown eyes
Appearing so emotional
While acting contented
Her face showed imperious expressions
But she controlled her movements
As she modelled past me.
My scent had poisoned many souls
She contained it hurtfully
I stabbed her thoughts daily
As she frooze my eyes
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
Watching the rain pour down my face
Watching the wind blow away the pain
Watching the sun shine right through me
Watching what's left of me get back up
Slowly but hurtfully I arise
Standing tall and grab my prize
Happiness fulls me and I'm up again
The sadness is gone
Forever alive
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
She placed me on the edge of the ocean
A precipice of promise, dark and deep
Waves which could offer much to me
Release, adventure, an epilogue
She could have pushed more gently
Rather, it was a rough suggestion
A gift of will that attempted to blame me
The bird specifically, chirping words hurtfully
A show must go on
However dramatically, the cost of my anatomy
Heart is gone now, sold for parts
Stopped working months ago,
A deficiency with our art
You perform, I create from the heart
We both sing but you had an earlier start
Every love for which I stumble
Eventually lets me fall
Every phone I find
Has a limit to my allowed calls
The grass is green, the sky is grey
At times I wish this was my final day
Not for hate or for pain
But simply to end the questions that plague my brain
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
everything is so messy,
i feel this aching pain when i'm at home, and when i'm out with friends i feel lonely.
my mind feels like my bedroom, a right off.
sure, you can tell me to clean it and i can try,
i can want to clean it but no matter how many times i shove that ***** laundry back into a pile; and no matter how many times i throw everything out,
it all comes back out sooner than later. i crave a tidy life, i tidy mind and a tidy room, but it's so hard to keep up with.
i would rather let sleep cradle me in it's gentle arms for the rest of the day, and do it tomorrow.
though, tomorrow never comes and thus my room and my mind stay the same.
a vicious, but comforting cycle.
i like it when things stay the same, i like it more than i should.
all i've had my whole life is change,
now i find comfort in static, i find comfort in knowing what's going to happen tomorrow.
i find comfort having routine even though the cycle i'm in is destructive and makes me hate myself, it's hurtfully comforting.
that doesn't make any sense but here's something that might,
feeling something is better than feeling nothing
negative or positive
maybe that's why i stick around you.
you don't help me clean, if anything you make even more of a mess, but that keeps the routine going.
i'll clean tomorrow. then turns into tomorrow. then tomorrow. then tomorrow. then...
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
Poorly resourced, ill-used time kills warmth when
rude under-dressed exchanges begin
passing as norm.
Non-value remarks always fail to impress, yet stick
long in the mind as unkindness
shuts windows tight.
Sash down and closed against harshness, unfeeling,
words thrown about hurtfully rattle
and thoughtlessly burn.
Sticking to tongue long after they fly, anger-phrases
come back as harness chains to shackle
the hard days ahead.
Corners need cleaning when insults begin, far above
and beyond reason, to scrape barrel's
bottom as mud is flung.
If tried, sharing affection inside a relationship rises
beyond and above paucity's **** form of
shallow, so-called care.
Covered with love the saying is true that newly white
mornings feel right when all in the world that
is wanted begins with a You.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
Heart-Healing.
When neglect love's trust has riven
heartache wins.
Sad hearts on hope's thread swing
and bleed sorely.
Hurtfully damaged love's core needs
a heart restorer.
Harmony soon re-installed means
heart-healing begins.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
I thought
I had you
for always;
I was mistaken.
Some God,
or not,
as the case
may be,
has for some reason,
unknown to me,
has you
from me,
hurtfully
taken.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
Want to know why I did not die?
Because I did write.
Want to know why I survived?
Easy - because I write!
I was 13 - I was lost
and I wanted to **** myself
I wrote a letter to, but instead
I had a story to be told
my own...though I did not know...
a brain to arrange - my feels,
my thoughts
Art up, broken child!
Bleed onto the page and go drain the pain!
Do something! Make sense!
The night was threatening and I could not sleep
Everything so sharply and hurtfully real
I touched life and oh, ****** blisters
all over me
Opposites coming close
I am the mixture of them all
And my soul was shabby and in ruins
I could not tell what was me and what wasn't true,
so many times
Nothing was clear but the soreness
I felt, yet that was the proof I was there, too.
Art up, broken child! Do not lick the wound,
stitch it with a few rhymes!
And there were faint rays
of what could be
The kiss I never got these days
The dreams I had that got delayed
Later, the flow got stopped - because I got clogged
All pain, all emptiness, all doubt
Frozen inside, fetters outside - caught up
I decided to retreat because I could not be
yet I thought I was striving to be freed
Had no certainties at all, so my mouth I shut
so my power I shunned - I was blocked
So I can never shut up
without shutting down
And my words came back at me
as soon as I entered again the scene
I am here because my pen never sleeps
Therapy can be expensive but notebooks
are cheap
Yet now sometimes I feel so full
My pen is bloated in it too.
And we lie happy, satisfied,
just seeing things go by,
just wanting to be by your side...
something big
goes on when I don't write
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 5:15 PM UTC
how of,
U wen
've been
wine amongst such dower trees as Spring:
a perched upon
a string of suddenly
cool night has
alighted
with weft of surging flower
a stumbling drunkness of **** infinite self
(a parting of easy fragrance ) soft
at the hinges
and wet between
the peels of rough human knees:
(some hand; some soft
At play
at hurtfully
entering eager pain .)
t
h
e
sound
o
f
fingers;
the sound of love.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC