"invalidated" poems
i always feel invalidated and robbed
of the comfort of knowing that
i'd choose that ultimatum if it was ever a choice
but without that i have nothing
to fall on except knowing
that i have to endure and that is the
only ultimatum
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
He's broken, he's in pieces, he's trapped, in a black hole
He's crying, he's heartbroken, he's dying of loneliness
He's confused, his mind is overloaded, his todger is dropping off
He's this and that and that and this
projecting your ******* fears and insecurities on him
Hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
You know what....He's NOT....he's laughing at you
He's happy that you now realize there are still men out there
who transcend your ******* stereotyping and imbecilic assumptions .
He's still laughing because he now sees for ******* real
how immature and mentally underdeveloped a lot of you are
and how so petty, mediocre and easy to manipulate you are
Not to mention how weak, spineless and unable to handle pressure
so many of you are.
He laughing because you just act without fully thinking
You are a shallow lot, cowardly, infantile and narrow minded
You lack sound reasoning capacity and a lot of you are neurotic
He's laughing because most believe anything they are told
Unquestioning drones like a Labrador thrown a stick
Go fetch, off he runs, retrieve stick, pat on the head, good boy
Just simple minded followers.
He laughing because he's attained all he wanted
Got a good education, good self understanding, good morality
sensitivity, compassion, empathy, confidence and honesty
A well drilled man, adaptable, flexible, courageous and brave
A MODERN DAY SPARTAN.
He's laughing because you can't ******* take that away
He's laughing because he's shown you how a proper man is
He's laughing because he's invalidated your stereotypical
assumptions, your prejudices, your bigotry and your ignorance
He's laughing because you have confirmed your inferiority
exposed your fears and inadequacies and make others see how
damaged and vindictive you are
He's laughing because out of all only one woman has shown
magnanimity and she didn't belong to the class of the mediocres
Which proves the point that mediocrity goes hand in hand
with ignorance, fear and lack of Dignity and Integrity.
And he's laughing because he's got chutzpah
a big package
and a hell of "tener cojones"
hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
[email protected] Sept 2018,Allrightsreserved.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
she accepted people’s bad behavior,
because she thought,
they went through difficult things.
yet, she invalidated her own feelings,
even if she knew what she went through.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 7:49 PM UTC
I’ve been treating myself like there is something very wrong with me, particularly my emotions. Every emotion I get (most often, my “negative” ones), I’ve been monitoring and trying to control, when all I simply needed to do was to allow for their expression and not do anything. For a long, long time I’ve considered myself to be someone ill and in need of healing; what a difference a label makes. To be “ill”, in essence requires that someone “do” something to fix themselves as a “problem”. The very nature of thinking yourself “ill” promotes action and effort. I’m glad I don’t go to a dr, can you imagine how many other disorders and syndromes I would have to “fight” and contend with.
A lot of the time when someone gets traumatised, or undergoes some sort of negative event, they always look to the happy part of themselves as the “real” them, or at least the part of them deemed to be acceptable enough to be “real”. They lament losing the “real” them. But who are people really? Are they only who they are when they’re happy? Does the extent of one’s being only pertain to their happiness? What if a part of me is in despair, what if a part of me is in intense fear and anxiety — aren’t these parts of me also real and equally valid as happiness? Particularly if they’re perfectly natural reactions to intense suffering and pain. These parts of me scream for catharsis after having been invalidated for a long time and instead of allowing them, I've condemned myself as being ill for feeling them. This is why society is in part sick; repression is healthy and expression is deemed ill. We drug away “negative” emotions for fear we are somehow damaged for harbouring them.
From now on, I am no longer “ill” — what a difference such a perception makes in how you treat yourself. Whatever you do is acceptable, whatever you do is allowed and expression is an inevitability. My intense sadness is not a problem, my intense pain is not a problem, my intense fear is not a problem — do you know how freeing such an attitude towards self is?
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
My last long distance relationship was with YaHWeH
And we’re on break
But when I can’t help myself
I drunk text him
Thumbs fumbling like they’ve forgotten
Keys I used to know with eyes closed
“Why do you give me emotions
If they are only going to be doubted?
Invalidated continuously?
What would it be like to feel something
Without being punished?
Prayer emoji, prayer emoji,
Cry emoji, upside down smile.”
And when the emotional puking is done
And I’ve resigned myself to silence
And acid green Listerine
The universe chimes
“One new message.”
Taking a deep breath,
Pushing down apprehension
And the nauseous excitement
Of a boy texting back
Read.
“They are not always thus.
Each time someone was there
In your corner,
Maybe not the most voices
Maybe not the loudest
But there.
You are the master of your destiny, Love
The master of your punishment
You do not have to feel punished
You are rejoice made flesh.”
Peaceful smile, peaceful smile
Kiss emoji.”
I pause, reading it once,
Then twice,
Swallowing then nodding
Keys now vaguely familiar.
“Sometimes I forget.
Shy emoji, shrug emoji,
Monkey covering eyes.”
“God is typing……”
“That is what I’m here for.”
Kiss emoji, smile emoji
Blushing beaming smile.”
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Before I begin, let me make one thing perfectly clear:
Everything I’ve ever given a **** about, I’ve been unabashedly critical of.
So believe me when I say that I appreciate ever word out of your mouth I’ve spanned the distance to hear.
You have all these years that you hang over my head, dangling them, subtly mocking from the end of a thread.
Yes, darling, you’re well aged and well-read but I’ll be ****** if I will let my experiences be invalidated by a few years and your fiery, well-meaning arrogance, let that be heard as it’s said.
It’s true that you know me better than most but don’t get it twisted. You sure as hell don’t know me better than me.
Pretend all you like that I’m buttered-up and convinced that your life lessons and late night calls have set me free, but you know as well as me that’s a lie fed through your precious mind’s teeth.
I boil and I freeze so I know I can stand the heat, but just remember one thing:
You’re intense and addictive but baby, the scorpion still stings.
And one twin will **** well bite while of your praises the other sings.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.
My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.
My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.
My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.
My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.
My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
**A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
such on death certificates.
More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
religions and at all levels of education.
About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
the horrible cycle of abuse.
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
psychological disorder.**
And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.
And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?
When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and **** and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?
I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Told my feelings were fake
Laughed at for crying
Brutalized for refusing
Depicted as anomalous
This is my "home"
I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing
Crossed volatile environments
Misunderstood ephemeral friends
Bullied, ostracized
Experienced injustice
This is school
I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing
Living my curiosity
Knowledge is my strength
Reflexivity makes me grow
Embracing my difference
This is my refuge
I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing
Meet mind-like people
Discovered my emotions
Explored my preferences
Dug my family history
This is my travel
I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing
Communicating humbly
Nourishing healthy relationships
Trusting my positions
Affirming my autonomy
This is my womanhood
Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC
I once read a post that said
something along the lines of
“I do not trust people
who tell me ‘I love you’
and yet do not love themselves.”
And that hurt my heart, it really did.
Who are you to invalidate my love?
Do you not know
of the sleepless nights I have spent,
laboring over my sins of the day?
Knowing that sometimes
I may never repent?
With past regrets
and paranoid overthinking,
how do I rest?
Do you not know
of how I avoid looking in mirrors
throughout the day,
or how I hate looking
at myself in the shower?
Don't you know how
conflicted I feel when lying
naked and vulnerable with my lover?
Do you not know
what it feels like to apologize
for who you are?
Or to have all of
your efforts and ethics
invalidated and dismissed?
If you do not trust me then so be it,
but do not reject the idea that I can love.
I know what it means to have
neither hope nor acceptance,
I know what it means
to regret my existence.
I know what it feels like
at 4am with all the lights out
with the absolute conviction
that I am entirely worthless.
I know **** well
what it feels like to be unloved.
Does that not make my love
mean that much more?
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Enslaved , enclosed she prays each day
Awaiting her prince , who'll whisk her away
But the world has run out of knights in shining armours
Out of glitter , out of glory , out of glamour
Her battles cannot be prayed away
Gone are the days she could hideaway
So she will have to fight her own fight
Come what may , walk through the darkest night
For in a world , where her voice is invalidated
She writes her own story ..a prince is no longer awaited
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 3:46 AM UTC
im sad because my brother leaves again in a few weeks and i only saw him twice
im sad because i never had a dad
im sad because i "recovered" and i hate myself more than before
im sad because my medication doesnt work
im sad because i have no money
im sad because im not good at anything
im sad because i have no culture
im sad because people are uninformed
im sad because im sick
im sad because im being invalidated and told to just "get better"
im sad because everything feels like its falling apart
im sad because i have no god
im sad because im lost
i wish i could disappear
i wish i could find a way
to make a way
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 12:23 AM UTC
depression is often compared to falling down an endless hole.
but
it’s actually more like a hot air balloon,
launched by those who tell you to change.
change your looks, your personality
be yourself, they say
not like that, they say
you let them launch your balloon
believing they’re trying to help you fit in
and you watch them grow smaller
as you slowly rise into the atmosphere
until the oxygen grows as thin
as the strings holding together your sanity
and you panic and scratch at the balloon
trying to poke a hole, thinking only about descent,
and your fingertips begin to bleed
and your wrists are cut on the harsh nylon ropes
and you collect scars because you can’t collect your thoughts
and all you want to do is fall
so you jump
and as you’re falling, you feel good.
you feel free.
but as you plummet towards earth and you can see the ground you begin to regret and spread your arms, desperately flapping but it’s too
late
and you hit the floor with a sickening,
bone shattering
crunch
then you float back up to the sky that ended you
and you see
your family
friends
teachers, everybody who’s ever loved you and maybe even hated you feel the ripples of force as you hit the ground
and they scream and rush to your side
trying to help
trying to do what they tell themselves they would have done
if only they had known, if only you had told them
but you felt silly and invalidated and you didn’t want anybody to see
and you didn’t think they would have saved you
so you kept it in and stayed in your balloon until it was too much
the oxygen was running out
with your will to live
but those who are alive cry
tears falling as quickly as you did from the sky
hitting the ground with splashes nowhere near as loud as the crash
that cut your life short
running their fingers over the scars that you hid
the pain that you endured up there in the atmosphere, hidden among long sleeves and fluffy white clouds and fake smiles
and they wonder why they allowed
you to go up in the balloon in the first place
and they begin to blame
not each other, but themselves
and some launch balloons of their own
telling themselves that they’re just grieving,
just wanting to see what you did in your final moments
but their balloons spiral out of control and
they find themselves falling
just as you did
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
A trinity of three styles one man no religion one morning over a lifetime
Temporary (we tat too)
Temporary love
has no precision definition
so if I say
love you forever,
as I do,
know know
just know
this particular
phrase
is temporary,
unique and forgivable
as temporary
as our permanent tattoo,
the one embellishing you,
the one marking me,
the two hearts tat
that means
we are a
tat two
If you begin a poem,
a love, a tat
with temporary,
usually, but not always,
you have already failed
See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/if-you-begin-a-poem-with-i/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Invalidation
my living bones, twisted.
my words, slurred,
disfigured with a panache,
that makes the mirror
turn away, ashamed
invalid. in valid.
I have been invalidated,
I spit at your too late heroics,
unwanted.
I spit at myself,
for missing the moment,
when choice was mine
I would have self-destructed, freely,
reborn in an act of self-validation,
be my own living will,
if only I had not been enslaved to my
**********
Fear
invalidation, the Cain mark of every failed man
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bootyoir
three day weekend has commenced.
it's con-occlusion
now in rapid descent
mini-vacation, maxi-sensation.
the only question remaining,
present but debated,
as yet undecided,
whose turn is it
to answer
the doorbell,
when the delivery guy
brings our break~fast
for it is forbidden,
a transgress,
to egress
from the bootyoir,
except for the
call of nature,
and naturally,
I am calling
you,
comeback comeback
hungry time
it's time we
co-authored some
bootyoir poetry
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
I shouldn’t really be writing this naïve drivel. I have no idea at all of the hardships these desperate people go through. I wanted to imagine how it must feel though to finally find yourself in front of an uncaring bureaucracy. Obviously I, a secure white Englishman, whose history goes back hundreds of years in this my home country, am far too safe to understand. My pen came up with this. I hope it doesn’t offend anyone.
The hopelessness…
Invalidated…
It was such an ugly word
So many tall letters
It looked faintly absurd.
But the word simply robbed him
Of chances he had
Struggles to get here
So brutal, so bad.
Beaten, raped and robbed
He’d slipped out of Mogadishu
His parents both dead now
He was there sole issue.
He paid all his money
For a hopeless sea trek
And got washed up on shore
Now the boat was a wreck.
It was filled to the gunwales
With people like he
Many were lost
As the boat wrecked at sea.
But he never gave up
He just fought all the way
And now six months later
He arrived at this day.
The bureaucrat before him
Had a large black word stamp
He was clutching it so hard
He surely had cramp.
And then there it was
That strange looking word
That made him an alien
Akin to a ****
So all of the struggles
And all of the pain
Now left him deflated
It had all been in vain.
How desperate he’d journeyed
To leave behind war
What now! Invalidated!
His future unsure!
©Joe Wilson – The hopelessness…2015
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
*I don't understand why
people hesitate
to compliment others.
Have we all not had those days
where we really felt like
all we needed was some appreciation?
Those days where our efforts
were nothing but invalidated and dismissed?
The universe has presented itself to you
in an ethereal way that is unique to you and solely you.
Let the cosmos influence and inspire you
and let your words and your work elate and embolden others.
Admit your awe and affection and maybe
you can be that one piece of inspiration
that someone else needs that day.*
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Being a woman in America
is so very dangerous.
Afraid to walk down the street
alone in broad daylight.
As a woman in America I
was asked what I was wearing
and if I was sure I wasn't flirting.
I was dismissed and invalidated.
I was shamed and ridiculed.
I was thirteen.
Being a woman in America
is incredibly shocking
especially with all of the "feminist"
movements going on lately.
Being a woman in America
makes me wish I was born male
so I wouldn't need self defense
classes and assault training.
As a woman in America I
will never be able to feel
like I am Safe.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
what does (s)he see in me?
my heart feels like lead
all the color in my life is gone,
but all the cones in my eyes are intact.
I never should have woken up
am I that dispensable?
I can't remember what it felt like
before the darkness came.
That just invalidated all my efforts
I’ll only be a burden
They’re just being polite
Why should I even bother?
I wonder if my family sees
the hurt in my eyes
and elects to ignore it
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
when will you realize that everything you
say to me takes a toll on my heart?
my love for you is unwavering, unchanging
and it just goes unnoticed by you.
i feel invisible and invalidated.
i can never tell by your tone of voice
how you feel or what you're thinking.
i want you to tell me how you feel,
tell me what you're thinking.
let me in. just, let me in.
i can't breathe without you,
but you confuse me.
we'll sit and talk for hours,
conversation flowing between us like water,
but it can turn to ice in seconds without warning
and you leave me freezing.
we can be inches, centimeters,
even millimeters apart
and it would still feel like miles.
you and i can't ever be too close,
we intertwine like ivy whenever we can.
but it's not enough, it will never be enough.
you have kept me warm for so long
my body has almost forgotten what it's like to be cold.
almost.
there are days that you remind me how the cold feels
and it terrifies me that i have given you the power to do that.
but even when i am frostbitten,
i let you keep my heart warm.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Who am I but another statistic
Destined to be the next trending tag on Twitter
More martyrdom made for the minority
Hated for who I am and as they think I chose to be
Who am I but another snowflake
Bashed and beaten for my identity
Invalidated for who I know myself to be
Fearing each day that comes to pass
Who am I but a name that doesn't feel my own
Confusion rattles my brain
As I stare at the name I've known my whole life
So close to me yet so unfamiliar
Who am I but myself
As no one else chooses to see
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
Cry,
her eyes succumbing to their selfish demand
which they so often did
her sobs old news,
but a more definite pastime
Than numbness.
Driving invalidated by a lack of destination
Stop signs blurring
In salt water, a stew of ****** Christian music
disingenuous howls louder than thoughts, and
Radio static filling spaces like confusion
, "I feel broken", she informed the rear-view mirror
For lack of better words
Her acidic tears dissolved the soft armor
Of her twins in the back seat.
Who added their mother's grief
to the bruises on their insides.
And mourned the cigarette smoke
She swore would never be there
So the sad little Saturn was weighty
and drove ruts in the pavement
with dysfunctional hurt
and she was subject to trite metaphors
Which she spewed at an alarming rate
For she never got rid if
The shit-tinted glasses
That were taped to her face.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
**the deity was a ******* up minor god**
**his band of fans saw not the faker ***
of a deceptive trait he did so show
some were blind to looking at the real bloke
others more insightful thought he a joke
true believers weren't indoctrinated
they knew shams could be invalidated
never did he possess the divine glow
why praise the charlatan's counterfeit guff
of it there would be a perennial bluff
his godhead image did dupe the unwise
for these disciples were so unsighted
of him they'd be lastingly blighted
a pretender until his very demise
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
I hate being maternal
I hate being fearful
I hate being traumatised
I hate being quiet.
I hate my attraction to men
Because it makes me fearful
That I’ll have kids
And they’ll be neglected, empty and loveless.
I hate being anxious
I hate losing control
I hate my upbringing.
If it weren’t for the confusion
And the belting and the yelling
I wouldn’t be scared.
I hate my attraction to men
Because it made me fearful
I was told that they’re rapists
And they’d take advantage of me.
I hate being weak
I hate being gendered
I hate looking and feeling small.
I wish I was only attracted to women
Because I’d be less fearful
I wouldn’t worry about having kids.
I hate feeling inadequate
I hate feeling like a machine
I hate feeling weak.
I wish conversion therapy worked
Because I hate being attracted
To any man who might hurt me
Or force me to have kids
Or force me to be his slave
Or refuse to accept who I am.
I hate being viewed as a woman
I hate when I try to express affection
Women laugh at it, and men take it the wrong way.
I hate being invalidated
As a non-binary person
Who doesn’t want to cause anyone pain.
I hate ****** attraction towards men
Because if it weren’t for self-control
I’d dig my own grave
And possibly that of unwarranted children.
I hate being an unhappy child
Because if I was raised lovingly
I wouldn’t be anxious
I wouldn’t be cursing my sexuality
For including men
Because I wouldn’t be scared
Of having kids
Cos I’d know I would raise them
The happy way I was raised.
If I was raised lovingly,
I know I’d raise kids that way too
And they wouldn’t suffer
They wouldn’t blame me
And the cycle of raising kids lovingly
Would be passed on throughout generations.
Tell me I’m exaggerating
But my dad swore
He wouldn’t raise me
The way his father raised him.
But I was terrorized
By his beltings
Just like the ones
His father gave him.
So I hope you understand
Why I hate part of my sexuality
And why for the good of others
I don’t want kids.
I want to stop this cycle
Of fear, pain and suffering
Even if it ends me.
Even if no-one remembers me.
It’s good for my conscience
To say this right here and now
I hate being scared
And I’d hate for anyone
To be afraid of me.
11th October 2017
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 6:11 AM UTC
Martyr complexes running wild
My own fueling this escape
Ties are charred and crumbling
In their minds I am to blame.
Slave to the lender
Though owed so much
Is this strength
Or is it greed?
Weeping at their feet
Begging for love and acceptance
Invalidated and dismissed
I should have kept my distance.
I am not the Phoenix
Rising from the ashes
I am the flame
An unassuming figure of destruction.
Desperate for survival of spirit
Licking my wounded soul
Never enough to those I trust
Manipulations crease in the fold
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
To be honest, I've never felt more alone
Sleeping on the floor every night isn't fun
Missing your company, not out of habit,
but out of the fact that I love being with you
I can't cry here, I'll be judged and have my feeling invalidated
I love this city but if home is where your heart is,
Then mine is two-thousand five-hundred-seventy-two miles East
I can't call you while I'm inside the house because I'll be chastised
I heard your voice for the first time in weeks
I sat in the parking lot and cried for an hour.
I'm tempted to buy a ticket home
I'm tempted to give up
I'm tempted but I can't,
I'm tempted but I'm scared.
At this rate, I'll end up dying in this city
At my own hand.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
She was a source of life,
The incandesence of my darkness,
A glow worm to my eyes.
Selfless, she lit me even when I never reciprocrated her
Indefatigable love.
She was irritating at times when my eyes wanted mirthless isolation.
Nevertheless, she kissed every nook and cranny of my being.
She escorted my blindness, navigating the travails of life.
She furnished words into my soaking spectacles.
She gave me solace, she gave me space to abate my prostrated
Solar cells.
An exquisite garland and a crown of thorns.
My soul will be snuffed out without her; my existence invalidated.
The fogdog of my hazy life.
Edifying light—she revealed
The beauty of the cosmos; my corporeal self, manifest.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC