"incompetent" poems
During every stage of life
I am a failure
Stupid,stuttering child
Always messing up
Probably never going to succeed
Pointless to try anymore
Over life as it is
In a dark place
Never anybody's first choice
Totally incompetent
Miserable
Exiting stage left
Nobody cares
Time to quit.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
I was born on a belt
In the factory of man,
Rolled into a home,
Labeled and stamped.
My life was made honest
By ink on a page,
And my future controlled
By a system of wage.
My whole life thus far,
Two decades of lame,
Incompetent bureaucratic,
Institutional reign
Has seen us shuffled down
The educational lane,
Made unified products;
For unified gain.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
She's lonely, but she seems happy
She's tired, but she moves forward
She's down, but she doesn't drown
She's hopeless, but she's not careless
They say she's pretty,
but she feels ugly
They say she's smart,
but she feels dumb
They say she's talented,
but she feels incompetent
They say she's strong,
but she feels weak
*She has no one, but she ain't gone
And that she,*
Is me.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
I don't have an issue with self confidence
A repetitive lie I've begun to notice that I tell
It's like the pain in my chest when I see other people's success compared to mine
I ignore both
When I read other writing I start out feeling so much inspiration
Then I reflect back on my own and feel incompetent
Because I can't write what they write
I can feel what they feel through their words
Something I wish I could accomplish
It's jarring and frustrating
I keep judging myself
The very thing I've run from has become my life
I can't escape the judgmental ways of this world
not from my father
not from my mother
not from my brother, my sister, or anyone
not even from myself
Because like it or not, the judgment is me
It's soaked into my veins
Like an obsession, an addiction
I wish I could pray it away,
But I don't have any faith
There is no God to save my soul
To give me pity
To take my sins away
There is only scrutiny over my every move
Whether it comes from within or someone else
It's not something I can wash away with a prayer
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
A single life so worthless, that poor fly,
Sooner than its timely moment to die,
As commanded by my unnerving will,
Its incompetent life I chose to ****
Put more simply, for disturbing my peace,
Its feeble and destitute life I ceased.
Yet my bloodstained hands always remained clean,
Once crimeful killing had become routine.
What almighty and sinful God am I
For unsparingly judging who must die
By my sword, without remorse or regret,
The slaughtered fly under my gavel, I forget.
An evil power from no source or spring
Springs power in me like a maddened King.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
How do I put it?
Well...
Your eyes
Emeralds
Crystal clear emeralds shielding utter mystery
Words...words...words
I'm trying to find the words
To compete with your beauty
Bear with me for a while
Delights reflecting the sun rays
Incompetent habits of mine trying to serenade
Everything you've ever planted inside of me
Can't you see?
Oceanic pearls hidden under the sea
Driven wonders of destiny
I'm talking to you
No no,
The magnitude of astrology couldn't put into words
Your dazzling pair of stars glazing elegance
Can't you see?
How you blind me...
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
I am your mother
I will make you feel incompetent all your life
You will always seek my approval
I will reject your individuality
I will know what is best for you
What you should wear
What you should eat
Who you should be
Who your friends should be
Who you should marry
I am your mother
You will be grateful
For raising you
Feeding you
Teaching you manners
Allowing you to have an education
I will bully you from the bottom of my heart
But you must accept me as I am because I am your mother
You only have one
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs
afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before
home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says
i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder
what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking
glaciers?
how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension
those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's ***** freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools
Filipinos scream in the face of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says
more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones
our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows
just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,
i imagine so much more
i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
*Talentless with no position (Goon)
Talentless with position (Doom)
Talented with no position (Doom)
Talented with position (Boom)
Valuable is the caliber of a designee
Designation in itself is incompetent
Talented can exalt the lowest position
With talentless authority bears the brunt*
Bharti
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
This is Seventeen.
Seventeen is loosely in the beginning of my life. Seventeen is realizing you’ve got a whole lot of life left in front of you. It is accepting that life is a page of writing that has been started, but is nowhere near finished, that a few doors have closed, but many more are still open, that some choices are irrevocable, but some may be changed yet, that there are still many what ifs that need to be figured out.
Seventeen is being caught in the limbo of being seen as an incompetent child and being forced to make adult decisions.
Seventeen is having the freedom to drive anywhere, but having a curfew to stay within.
Seventeen is losing many of the friends you used to have, but keeping the ones who are the closest to you, the ones who understand you the best, the ones you hope to have forever.
Seventeen is being able to stay up late, eating pizza in the park, and play on a playscape trying to be kids for just a little longer.
Seventeen is year long concert series and jamming out to your favorite bands covered in sweat.
Seventeen is dying your hair bright colors, much to your mother’s disparagement, and then changing it a week later.
Seventeen is being forced to choose what you want to do with the rest of your life when your favorite food changes on a daily basis and you have no idea how to function without your mom nagging you.
Seventeen is being excited, scared, sad, angry, hopeful, happy, jealous all at once and trying to deal with it, while still completing your homework on time.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
I'm just a phase that men go through
Don't you dare lie and say
It 'aint true !
I'm incompetent
And I lack true value
That's nothing to argue
She knows she must love herself before anyone else
That's when she'll feel brand new
Because
She's actually worth more then she ever really knew
Maybe one day I'll listen to you
She whispered in my ear
It's been 8 years
I'm starting to doubt that will ever come true
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
You feel you're invincible
being that your sanity is uncontrollable
strolling around with your shoulders past the birds
past the planes
your ignorance succeeds in innumerable ways
your sight is weak
your mind is enable to capture
it's buried under life's adversities and Earth's pleasure
you don't know when to stop so you flood yourself
until you're lame at your ankles
and paralyzed in your emotions
you wend through life this way
well you try
stuck in misery
with no lane to merge
frustration is your best friend
a human is impossible and
incapable of the acceptance
your belittlement draws mankind away
no one wants to attend a pity party
unless their accompanied to your VIP
and to reserve
you are the one to RSVP
Enlighten heads will stray away
pessimism is a curse
rapidly spread by the weak
you have distress and frustration
suppressed
strangled screams
holds your eyelids open at night
deliberations controls your emotions
controls your feet
throughout the day
you are terrified of tangibility
so you indulge yourself excessively
burying your true identity
becoming irritable when bearing your sober mind
if only you knew how divine you are
you would grow to love yourself
in ways incompetent of how you could love so hard
look yourself in your eyes
find who you are
even if you have to savagely search
you'll see the soul people has grown to
love so much
you'll notice your beauty
that covers endless realms
or your strength that could hurl a boulder
No one can help you discover
your destiny
it's your journey you'll have to make alone
but during the expedition and constant footsteps
the process of elimination could be your guide
find your inner child
it can help your prevail that's
where you once had happiness
your joy was established there
because if you continue the silencing
of your heart's cries and
your soul's screams
you'll live a life analogous to hell
and that is
a nightmare's worst dream
Copy Right 2014
©Patty Ann
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
All are limitory, but each has her own
nuance of damage. The elite can dress and decent themselves,
are ambulant with a single stick, adroit
to read a book all through, or play the slow movements of
easy sonatas. (Yet, perhaps their very
carnal freedom is their spirit's bane: intelligent
of what has happened and why, they are obnoxious
to a glum beyond tears.) Then come those on wheels, the average
majority, who endure T.V. and, led by
lenient therapists, do community-singing, then
the loners, muttering in Limbo, and last
the terminally incompetent, as improvident,
unspeakable, impeccable as the plants
they parody. (Plants may sweat profusely but never
sully themselves.) One tie, though, unites them: all
appeared when the world, though much was awry there, was more
spacious, more comely to look at, it's Old Ones
with an audience and secular station. Then a child,
in dismay with Mamma, could refuge with Gran
to be revalued and told a story. As of now,
we all know what to expect, but their generation
is the first to fade like this, not at home but assigned
to a numbered frequent ward, stowed out of conscience
as unpopular luggage.
As I ride the subway
to spend half-an-hour with one, I revisage
who she was in the pomp and sumpture of her hey-day,
when week-end visits were a presumptive joy,
not a good work. Am I cold to wish for a speedy
painless dormition, pray, as I know she prays,
that God or Nature will abrupt her earthly function?
3.7k
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
dark eyes on a list
as long nails clacked
on gray keys which
stuck with age and use.
I dreamed of love,
sweet hordes of
doves escorting me
to my desire of
love, love, love.
Such dreaming flags
floated in my mind,
wishing to be a hot ***
body made of rag,
a delicious mess
of hearty gags.
I wanted promiscuity,
in all its forms,
shed of all its innuendo
and flimsy disguises.
I wanted hard action,
man on man,
cheap rides and
cheaper thrills.
I wanted to be a little
pornographic princess,
a tiny-dicked seductress,
big ***** conductress
of all his passions.
My flag flew up as a
hormonal reaction,
attraction,
smooth bodied and
tight lipped action
running up and down
my jaded cadaver.
He wanted a **** *****
a promiscuous witch,
casting love spells and
**** glances to make him
itch.
He entered my love nest,
the back seat of a car,
to destroy my frame,
to rid me of my childishness.
My folly melted away
in sexyhot sways
of my hips as
my lips would say
lust filled nothings
that would be filled by
empty sighs and
****** filled
"I love you's."
My fingers froze:
as brown turned to white,
my body turned to snow
and rained down around
his swollen flagpole.
He was incompetent,
inept at the deed
and unable to satisfy,
but it was my ego that needed
this gratification, not my
libido.
I laid in the aftermath of the attack,
calm,
demure,
sad but
ultimately relieved
Finally,
I am ravaged.
I have soiled my nation
and salted my own fields,
laying waste to my youth,
my innocence.
I wanted to be conquered
and so did I receive,
being taken and
yet somewhat untaken.
I remember his voice,
that dumb accent.
I remember his preconceptions
of what this was supposed to be.
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
as lungs filled with air,
and brain filled with contempt,
my jaded body grew
to desire--
God, I really wish I had a cigarette.
I remember how he thought
I cared,
how he though that
anybody did.
I remember how,
I thought I had, too.
"I love you."
No, you don't.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
My mother tells me that we will
Never be friends.
Today I believe it.
Love poisons our blood
And familiarity kills
conversation.
I look at her emotionlessly
So to block her influence.
She is an expert at exploiting
The slightest ****** waver,
Or any emotional advantage she
Could have over you.
She will make you wrong
Through verbal martyrdom.
I won't let her speak to me
Like she does the weak who
Are too polite or too submissive
To fight her.
Her style of English is cutting,
Self-righteous, honest, rude, unscientific, emotional, aggressive and often violent.
Never elegant.
She thinks the world is a battleground.
She is often incompetent and on top of that headstrong - to compensate for her ignorance.
She is sometimes funny, and sometimes kind.
She tells me we will never be friends.
Today I believe it.
I will not confide. I will not smile.
I will not joke, I will not listen.
I will help but I won't speak.
I will keep the talk small.
We will never be friends.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
CONTRADICTORY - n.anderson
by Natalie Elizabeth (Notes) on Tuesday, May 29, 2012 at 7:32pm
I'm disposable yet beautiful,
I'm discontent but content,
I'm ***** although cleaner than most.
Constantly I'm waiting for my contradictions to catch up with me.
I'm sick of life yet dying to live,
I cant get up yet I'm flying high,
I'm alive but essential parts of me are dead.
When will my head stop contradicting every feeling every thought?
I'm white but I'm black,
I'm quiet but I'm screaming,
I'm genius but incompetent
There they are again.
I'm happy but sad,
I'm ecstatic but devastated,
I'm constantly grieving but full of life,
Look at them all piling up like skulls in a pile tumbling over themselves.
I laugh but I'm in tears,
I'm lascivious, I am *** but I am distorted and putrid,
I am the essence of light but in the middle I am ink black.
My contradictions i cannot escape.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
It's been eight long years
since God has called you home
He noticed your angel wings and glowing halo
He brought you to where you belong
In a world of divine pure love
A heaven full of God's grace
You reside
Where there is no pain
No sickness
Only joy and peace
Your spirit living abundantly
Your mind forever at ease
I think about you all the time
Laying and praying for you to come to me in my dreams
So I can see the penetrating beauty of your light and
You can show me the gifts that heaven brings
As I gaze at the mirror
my eyes
my nose
my smile
Are all identical to your bloom
I can vividly hear the music of your voice that echos through the room
The young woman I've become
Is subjected to make you proud
The respect, courtesy, and love I share
In this World, you showed me how
I deserve more than the voids this World posses
Therefore, I remain to seek the Kingdom first
Our Father will provide the rest
Mom
I just want you to know
Words are incompetent in describing how much
I think of you
I love you
I wish you was shoulder length away
When I get weak in my body and mind
I humble myself and I pray
This life here on Earth
I wish you had a chance to explain
I wander in a puzzle
Each day that I face
But I've come a long way
In spirit each day I grow
So I can ascend into heaven
When God calls his church home
This world is full of madness
In confusion I remain
If this stubborn world only knew what
Divine creations we are
We posses to be
We wouldn't live in vain
But this is YOUR day, Beautiful!
When God brought you in this marvelous made world
To explore through his glory until your job was well done
It was completely a honor to have met you in your lifetime
To have you as my mother
Eight years ago I'd be kissing you until your cheeks color
Red
Now with an open heart I speak towards heaven instead
Happy Birthday Pretty Lady Happy Birthday to you!
Until we meet again Barbara Jedale Bryant
I love &&
I miss you
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
I'd never ask anything of you
or expect you to love me at all.
Cheat as many times as you like,
I'd suffer in silence.
Want me until you become incontinent,
Incompetent in bed and as fat as your father.
Want me like some kid on MDMA
wants water and a bassline to cry to.
Never let me sleep alone
maybe love me a little but never tell me,
and if your feelings get too strong and potent
go **** your ex girlfriend.
Just don't ever stop wanting me.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Firm hold of a stressful release
The real ease...
Is music to your heart in skilled keys
Closed noted memories unlock the liberties
that now potentially send me back to infinity
So this delivery came from the enigmatic entity
That never ceased empathy for any arch enemy
And even when the serpent brought the sin into the synergy
Symmetry was just a waste of energy
Only the incompetent compete for skin identity
Stab it with a label, still the same color when you bleed
Blind folded you could truly peep what the spirit speaks
Monologue with nonsense on your conscience and you'll miss the speech
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
My Welsh is just not good enough for verse.
My dw i'n hoffi coffi's lacking fizz;
cynghanedd is pedestrian or worse;
I wish it wasn't so, but there it is.
My struggle's still to learn, as yours to teach,
and so my englyn's still in English sung,
and aching awdls cower out of reach,
and English shows the thinness of the tongue.
But here's my goal: some month the Gorsedd meet
so many miles ahead— I may be there
to share my bitter words, my verses sweet,
at common table. Never mind the chair.
But that's a dream, and not what's on the card,
and much as I might dream— for now— I'm barred.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 9:12 PM UTC
His voice of crackling static
is known from round the corner.
It's raw from shouting news reports and
the music of an empty pocket
to a world, only half listening.
A toiling madness of chord and thread -
frayed, plucked fabric, strings
hanging from cuffs. This plaid ragdoll and
his bird **** stained guitar case are
collecting change like a magpie
His incompetent lips are their own shower
flecking the pavement. What music gathers
in the whited joins of his mouth is urban
desperation, but their grubbiness suggests
you could still plant potatoes in his fingernails.
Twitching and lined, his visage isn't as old as his art.
The jarring strum and lacquered voice
serve to remind us, that the tongue
is the only muscle in the human body
stronger than the heart.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
You're disappointing, you've never lived up to all I've imagined you to be. You're a failure. A loser. Wake the hell up. Wake up. You're letting this monster control you, you're letting it beat you. It's like you're it's ***** Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME? You're it's ***** It has you on puppet strings, and I watch as it flails you around. You think you can't win, you are giving up. I'm watching the light die out from your eyes, and it's frightening. Oh god, it is frightening. You sit at this bottomless vortex of darkness and you let it consume you. You let it. YOU LET IT. Listen to me, listen, listen, listen. This is frustrating, I want to shake you, I want to shake you. You're breathing, I know you can hear me. You think you can't climb out and you think you're done for. You think you're dead. You're not dead. YOU'RE NOT DEAD. Think, think. Tick, tick. That's the clock, time is moving, it's still ticking. It's ticking. Do you see the mirror? You see it, I know you do. Look, look at you! You incompetent human being. You piece of **** You're being selfish, ******* selfish. Stop wallowing in self pity. You're a failure, a failure. Wake up. Wake the hell up. I know you can hear me, I'm right here! Right here in the maze of your mind, and I'm banging on your skull. I know you can hear me, I know. Wake up. Wake the hell up. WAKE UP.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Fair thou art
If Shakespeare could but
glimpse thy face
That gifted bard would mourn
poised quill held dry
Incompetent to match thy grace
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Power line cutting a thick
Scar across the
Hillside of
Trees.
Signatures of Civilisation; straight
Lines and angles,
Perfect circles. All within
What has none.
Needs none.
Wants none.
Maimed and modified
By the cynical scalpel
Of laziness named Progress,
By incompetent
Surgeons.
Waterfalls tamed and forced
Through turbines.
This naked mountaintop
Was a mile stone
For pedestrian generations.
Now it holds that giant antenna
Like a spiteful eyesore
To those who love
The land.
Power and signals, to sit
In air conditioned comfort
And watch
Nature shows on TV.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC