"littler" poems
Society, it pins us against each other;
Chubby girls are forced to hate themselves all the ads that say they are not right and that makes them cry at night. They defend themselves by calling littler girls sticks which makes those littler girls suffer;
Gays are forced to hide or "pay for the crime";
We are all separated into our own cliques where we are forced to stay.
A nerd and a **** are forced to hate one another because the athletic and genus differences. Society is cruel but its hard to keep are judgement under control.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
Hello Cherry we meet again,
I see you know how to entertain,
I lust for the opportunity to devour you,
As the first bite enters my mouth in that second I knew.
We were star crossed lovers crafted by the hands of God,
Although our relationship is a littler bit odd,
Its a good thing that its just us.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
A- She is just like me. A leader. A strong, independent, bisexual woman, she controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.
B-He's a nice guy, a bit pretentious, but nothing too special. The first time I saw Friends, I new that Ross was literally the letter B incarnated.
C- B's best friend, goes by male pronouns, but is gender fluid sometimes. He is much more genuine than B.
D- One of A's closest friend. She is cool, and kind of like a bad *** English teacher.
E- A **** Your typical school bully. He's dating D.
F- E's wing-man, but like the stereotypical wing-man, he is kind hearted, but too much of a shy follower. And he likes D.
G- H's brother. Good student, slightly over weight, and just as homosexual as his sister.
H- The "mom" of the friend group. She is smart and supportive. My favorite lesbian of the alphabet.
I- A real cool dude. Spiky hair and sunglasses. He likes to lean against brick walls and just look cool. Very cool.
J- He is K's best friend.
K- She is J's best friend.
L- He hangs out with M, but not too much because he really isn't found of her littler sister N. He's too much of a wimp for my taste.
M- She is a really independent confident girl. She goes on double dates with O, P, and her sister N. She has a side thing going on with the letter A.
N- She lives in the shadow of her sister. She kind of reminds me of my own sister.
O- He is P's best friend, and always tells him what to do. He reminds me of E, but they've never met.
P- Let's O push him around. He hangs out with O, M, and N. But his true love is Q.
Q- She is quiet, but strong. She is madly in love with P. They sneak out together a lot. She has over protecting parents.
R- She is the leader of the Q-R-S friend group. A transgender and asexual bad *** She supports Q and P, but not S and T
S- Tries to listen to her older friend R, but is just a good kid making bad decisions. She has a HUGE crush on both T and U.
T- Loves U. Strong male, plays football and works at a car wash.
U- She's a princess. Very quiet and polite. In a relationship with T, but I don't know her true intentions.
V- U's older sibling. A-gender and a CEO of some big business.
W- Same personality as H, but not as motherly, and bisexual.
X- The third wheel to the X-Y-Z clan. Also agender, and really just a fly on the wall. They sees a lot, but really don't like to socialize. But they really like going to the zoo.
Y- Z's beta. Her best friend, and wife. They are ride and die ******* for life.
Z- Just like A. Exactly like A. Only she is in a committed relationship with Y. She controls the alphabet from this end, and everyone respects her.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Death showed me how to dress.
it says "not that one, these shoes rather, somewhat less dynamic and somewhat more meek, more
modesty, less certainty."
Death showed me not to wear hoodies, to keep my head revealed, to wear light hues
rather than dull in light of the fact that I am sufficiently dim as of now
to purchase a belt for some jeans I possess, even better, to not wear pants,
death showed me how to do my hair, it says "less curl, more typical, straighter, longer,
more slender," it consumes my scalp and gives me a brush and says "isn't it decent to run your
fingers through it now,"
Death showed me who to like, what music to tune in to, how to keep individuals agreeable,
instructions to walk; "don't limp, straight shoulders, however remain littler than them,"
it showed me my vocabulary, the majority of the enormous words that gain me honors, for example, 'verbalize,'
'dislike whatever remains of them,' 'a great one,'
Death is continually instructing me to be less, less American, more African , an appreciated expansion, a
token, to reveal myself and strip myself of any weapons, any dangers
Death is a x-beam machine, and says in the event that I do anything incorrectly, it will come
as though I'm not kicking the bucket to myself as of now
Death says "what an opportunity to be alive."
since in this nation, Black is imperceptible
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
I've always felt "too big."
I have never felt small.
Even when I was little
I was always fat.
I never remember
Being referred to as "little."
My brothers
They always called me fat
My friends, too
And I was always too tall
Just too big, in general
And I hated it
Still do
Cause all my friends,
They're ******* tiny
And they complain.
"Oh, this [insert name of clothing]
It makes me look fat."
Or
"I need to lose weight
I'm at 130 now."
Or the classic,
"My [insert body part] is too fat."
It makes me want to strangle them
Cause they have no idea
What it feels like
To have the only color you look good in
Be the color black
And be labled
As "gothic" or "emo"
Because you can only wear black.
They have no idea
What it feels like
To be anxious around scales
Or anything that has a weight limit
*They have no ******* clue.*
And my name?
I get called ****** Felicia"
Or
"Felicia the ****** sometimes
Cause of how big I am
And I ******* hate it!
No one knows
How much I hate myself
Because of my weight
And how insecure I am about how big I am
It is seriously why I wish I wasn't me
It makes me wish I was someone else
And it always has
Ever since I can remember,
I have always wanted to be littler
Skinnier.
Just anything
But "too big."
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Today:
I dropped a ceiling fan into the pond in my backyard and watched its blades
slap the shadows away into the corners of the room
Until:
The shadows flood the
mechanism and trap the
movement as the
wind still moves through the
windows, little gusts through a
littler hoop
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
You see I have this problem:
I want to travel the whole entire world,
But night terrors have left me with bags under my eyes that would just
Cost me a pretty fortune to check.
At the very least, more than my plane ticket,
More likely though, the last bit of sanity I hold within my soul.
I do not carry my illness like a purse
Trust me if I could, I would.
I'd fill it with bandaids and mended memories of the times I was never brave enough
With love and strength and courage.
I'd stick it into a time machine, send it back to a littler me
But, my illness is not a purse. Not something to simply be set down when it becomes too heavy,
It's more like a backpack
Filled with rocks
And duct taped to my abdomen.
Night terrors and ghost pains have consumed my body
Leaving me standing here with what feels like
A fifty pound weight
Holding me down.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.
Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”
Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.
Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
I will search for you in my little toy boxes
filled with old ancestors and sayings slipped from tongues, revealing stories of my birthmarks
I will search for you in the light
I will search for you in the dark
I will gentley remove my skin
in my mind you are so royal
so monarch
I will drink my water
all alone
I will light my candles
in the late night and imagine what would be the smell of your cologne
I will stare into the world at night until Im
****** and moonstoned
I will linger wax inbetween thigh bones
flirt tales with wishbones
until all the stars beg me to stop
uttering moans
I am beseeched in interlocking strangle
of submission to my loneliness
and waiting with a white transparent dress
on the bridge of london
hoping to see the dark eyes
that put light in the souls of the peasent in my
disabled heart, mused in desguise
should I sit here and speak the anecdotes
and the lies
of the littler girl inside of me
who everytime thinks of your dies
slower and slower
each time
the goodbyes
and the standbys
I reply
I have ran out of supplies
to fix my sunrise
and now I sit here in the absence of bright skies
life I see takes hold of the wise
but you see my lover
for you I shall be patient
I shall be humble
and I shall be kind.
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 10:40 PM UTC
The day all of Israel fell asleep,
bald men in the shuk
lowered their heads onto eggs and squash
and snored out spice and
the tourists
dropped their cameras and lined the streets like
new roads made of
backpack to cover old stone
and
little children watching littler children
sharp in their shabbos dresses
laid in the mud and dug their white-tighted knees into the dirt and sighed
and I
sitting in my room
smoking tea and
standing on my head
forgot
about my broken foot
forgot
the time I turned my
stomach toward yours squinted my
eyes and pretended we were dancing
didn’t ask myself
How many seas I’d sail before
I could sleep in the sand
and I curled up to my
blanket with somebody else’s blood on it
and yawned.
Today all of Jerusalem broke silent,
the buses stopped and passengers froze
sirens singing then stopping one by one like electric geese shot down,
but no one was sleeping
only grieving
the fallen soldiers of a country young as me, old as dirt.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 7:01 AM UTC
What is the purpose of twitter?
I look around and it makes people bitter.
And after a while you start to feel littler.
What is the purpose of Facebook?
Something for you to use just to make people look?
A website that pulls you in like a fishing hook.
Does it eventually become an addiction?
Making others look at your traditions.
It’s used to make yourself into a work of fiction.
The reality of life is hidden behind a computer screen.
All these sarcastic comments are actually just mean.
Feel bigger because you can’t be seen.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
Pitter patter-
My tears on these white tiles
I feel the pain but tell myself it will be for a short while
Another person, another person who think of cutting off their life line
I wish I'd live a simple yet satisfying lifetime.
Littler streams running down, running down my face
I want to disappear, don't want to be in this place
Finally could see why suicide is a big 'craze'
I may be alive but not living, I just go with the days.
As I get older, I get better at telling lies
When I was young(er), I was brave, but now I'm painfully shy
Persons around me keep changing for the worst, I don't know why
To make it in their world very hard I try.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
The first time I opened my eyes I learned that the world
Wasn’t just the world I saw in my mother’s womb.
Up until then I was just feeding off of another person,
But I was growing stronger for that very moment.
Until then I was sheltered off from the real world to develop
In a safe haven.
The first time I felt the outside air I learned that the world
Wasn’t warm and protecting like my mother was.
But you see, even though I was just a newborn baby,
The youngest person on the planet for a split second,
I could breathe on my own. I could swallow on my own.
And the first time I tasted my first bit of food,
I tasted a whole ‘nother world dancing a tango with my tongue.
She was a bit clumsy on her feet but we had fun anyways,
And soon enough I grew accustomed to this world as well.
Then came the first time I stood on my own two feet.
It was one small step into yet another new world,
And one big leap into understanding the one world that was made up
Of all these littler worlds.
I could run from one universe to another by myself,
And it sounds a bit scary, but I got used to this after a while.
From there came the biggest eye opener of my life,
When I learned to read and write.
It was from those roots, the ones my mother gave me as she read me bedtime stories,
That I acquired the key to a myriad of other worlds.
It was from there that I learned how to open my eyes every day
And see a brand new world to devour with my insatiable curiosity.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
it was the kind of year that lasted longer than the ones around it, at least for some people and i guess that i cant really say what kind of year it was because how am i supposed to remember that far into my childhood? i was little. littler than i can remember being and it's been sixteen years since then and i keep trying to calculate the weight i have gained since 1999. and what i've lost, who i've found, since 1999 we were a tangle of potential. since 1999 i lost weight, i gained weight, i gained heavy strain on my shoulders and i didnt carry water buckets at camp because i thought i'd thrown out my shoulder, since 1999 i have been existing but i dont think that all of the time i've been exposed to the elements counts as being as alive as i am when i'm the only sober one at the park, when the boy next to me is whacked out on codeine cough syrup and asks me to punch him as hard as i can i will try to remember 1999, when i couldnt remember existing.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
l
i
n
g
e
r
i
n
g
i've never anchored another,
nor been so catapulted
as to sense without sensory
those high-reaching and
boundless realms where
loving you is littler than
thought and twisted
feel into infinitum.
yet my affections cease not to dwindle
you remain my (mis)guiding light
my lighthouse in the heavens,
wrecking me on earth.
i am not nearly a victim
but mourning is appropriate
for futures focused naively.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
i climbed mount olympus
i said
"hi dad!"
----------------------
oblivion
the will of man is sacred
what have we done?
..
from the mountain------see
(but why bother?)
to the Wild Country
with No Name
littler children ------come
the will of man is sacred
sacred
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 11:34 AM UTC
Help me out for a second here.
Help me out of here.
I'm going out of my mind/But I'm/Lying/I'm not/It's too hot/And claustrophobic
So... I'll bounce back and forth in rhythm/Listenin' to myself givin'/All you beautiful people allegorical head.
Audience is/Providence of/Godliness through/Loneliness when/Each and every one of you make/Up a giant intuitive/Entity of empathy that/I wish I could make love to.
What?
I wish I could talk to, you,
but I often find that people look to me to be aloof,
but I also find the need to persuade myself into honesty.
But you gotta know, I just think words can mean so much more, or so much littler than the effort it takes to say them and it scares me all the time.
Sometimes people call me poet. I can't talk to people, they all think I'm silly and that makes me feel awkward cuz I have a lot sadness and put too much importance on the common interaction between me and the rest of my race.
So I sing instead of talking, Run instead of walking, improv without blocking, write. cuz I'm scared, I'm so ******* scared of something turning out unexpectedly, and I'm in love, I'm so ******* in love with that fear.
Thank you for giving this amount of silence. I haven't been listening to it very well. You let me take the stage and drown out all your lovely silence with my under-used, somewhat nasally voice. I'm sorry.
I owe you a turn. I really do. for listening
Go ahead...
Say something real
-Say something awful
I miss the voices that used to talk to me
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC
In the wild jungle,
Everyone has their place.
Some **** the littler ones,
The ones that take up space.
Can't keep myself from confusion,
I just want a place.
Before I am devoured,
And my family sings their grace.
Why are all the others,
So happy and amused.
What am I doing wrong?
What's this subterfuge?
Can't find my spot,
On the assembly line.
Following all my friends,
Wasting my own time.
Everyone's got something,
Something for their own.
What's my something?
Why am I just skin and bone?
My own mind is against me,
Picked the other side.
Wants to dismember me,
Begs for me to cry.
Can't show my emotions,
They are locked in side.
Never ending storms of sorrow,
With no hope of changing tide.
Why are all the others,
So happy and amused.
What am I doing wrong?
What's this subterfuge?
My outer shell,
Is having a blast.
While the ammo inside,
Explosive power relapse.
Where is my spot?
Just give me the job,
Master, pet, slave, manic, musician, ****** loud, quite, bi polar, poet, lover, nobody,
Where do I belong!?
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
Adolf ******
Was a lot littler
Than most Aryan brothers
And their mothers.
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 1:42 AM UTC
You are gonna come
And he's so spunky
They get so big and black
Only during Thursdays
I think he has time
He goes in and out
Be gentler with the littler ones
[something in another language]
He goes "I love you, sugar"
That's so sweet
He goes in and out a lot
Oh yeah?
I heard that when I was a kid.
Wait till they hit ten.
I guess it depends
[indistinct chatter]
She was a little ****
[Clatter of keyboard keys]
"Chai?"
I got super excited.
Easily 20+ times.
Brothers ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
bring me sunken ships. bring me the
daniel that called your name through
can't and nevers. he waited like a
switchback earring for the roller coaster
to simply answer a simple question in
regards to salt flats in Utah. the all-ages
cross-dress was broken in two and
expected to dance for the window washers
incorporated slogans, in what sense did the
teacher employ simile in the following sentence?
I like to like, it's like love but it's like. whistles and
bears make a combination as deadly as nitrogen
and nuclear fusion. any relation would have it's
way in Greek sandals marking Tumblr asks and
wondering where the littler of the 7 was born.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
I have weird habits like:
Avoiding capital 'n's because they look harsh.
Eating food in the shower.
Only matching socks when I'm sad.
Always finishing a started book.
Wringing hands, tapping feet, shaking legs.
Talking to myself.
Always having a song stuck in my head.
Watching myself do everyday things.
Adding a squeak to the end of a sneeze.
Talking like a littler person when I am nervous.
Swallowing my food strangely.
Refusing to sit properly.
I don't understand:
Thumb twiddling.
The school system.
How pi was defined.
Brand names.
Cooked vegetables.
Closed-mindedness.
Lip gloss.
People that dislike reading.
My step mom.
High heels and flip flops.
Why there are wars.
Hormones.
Yawning.
I love:
Peanut butter.
Literature.
Random knowledge.
My boyfriend.
Languages.
Socks.
Italics.
Brushing my teeth.
*****
Libraries.
Umbrellas.
Anime and Manga.
Patterns and colors.
My family.
Music.
Writing utensils.
Words.
Loud music.
Floor rugs.
My best friend.
Crafts.
Questions.
Tiny containers.
Kind strangers.
Window shopping.
Dandelions.
Kisses.
Hiccups.
And your inconsequentialities -
May I discover them, dear?
I ache to know these things of you that define us all.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.
curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.
a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.
you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.
the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.
and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...
along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....
this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC