"loathed" poems
Once I was a king loathed by my kingdom.
I was a machine built from the toughest iron nothing could break through.
I left my emotions to rust in the rain and murdered them in the cold night.
But I let my ego hold my strings and now I can't even treat a human right.
I meet a manic on the south side of town.
With a cane in hand and his mind locked in a birdcage since the war.
He was a maniac for trusting me and loving me and all my iron core.
I don't believe his tales for,
he is dead on the inside.
Departed from his heart,
He says he feels more alive this way.
With a cigarette in my hand, I hope for his life to never feel alone again.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
She had a needle ***** pin for his dream balloon
He laughed at her faith
Mocked it
Loathed it for what he perceived
It had done to him
Long before she ever came around
This was something that she never knew
But what she did know was enough
She had a Mason jar for his unearned tears
She kept a wooden box full of nails
To hold up the boards
That blocked the sun
And kept the birds out
He wanted to jump off a mountain cliff
To feel free in the fall
To prove her wrong
She had a cat of nine tails and a whiplash smile
When he asked her to dance she said it wasn't her style
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 7:03 AM UTC
The old woman ran a leathery hand through her cropped hair.
"Yes, you may weep for the fields of green, as they were gorgeous yet thought to be boring."
She rocked back and forth and her wrinkled face contorted into a smile for the first time in the conversation.
"You may always cry for the tulip fields as they were devastatingly beautiful yet loathed."
And yet, as soon as her face had lit up like a thousand suns, it was once again devoid of expression.
"But, nonetheless, reserve your pity for those that loved he or she that burned out,
for every lover of Icarus knows that it is better to be hated than to go unnoticed."
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
I learned how to draw dragons in 3rd grade.
I did so compulsively, and voraciously because it was therapeutic.
But they loathed me, and inherited no majesty from whom they were made.
Though I loved them. And I empathyzed with what they would never be.
Because what if my creator had no plans for me.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
And as existential doubt sets in,
I know that I couldn't want you
But I couldn't help the rush of rejection
And so I fell
A thousand times
Screaming drunk filthy
I swear you were the one
Until I sit alone with myself and I know what lies within
But I don't know what lies beyond
And my hollow eyes find yours across the church
You in your white dress or suit or whatever nightmare you picked out
Plastered perfection
I was not the one for you
Because currently eternity has been looking more and more like a graduation ceremony
And I watch as everyone I've ever loved or loathed makes their way across the stage as I am seated in the back
And it doesn't really sting
Until the curtain falls
And I hear congratulations
With a mouth full of hell and a head filled with wine I stumble out into the crowd
And I spill myself all over your gown
Church or school auditorium it's all the same now
It's all the same now
Let the curtain fall on this too as I say congratulations
Congratulations
Congratulations
I still feel the same.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Of serene eyes that follow gently
the illicit pill she could not let go
it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside
serenading her with an estranged voice
coming from within —
her minimizing the desire to let it out
as the sun quiets down
and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night,
resisting the waves occurring —
as if it loathed her whole being
of her justness and the absence of these causes
her grieving and the sirens waltzing,
talking through an absentminded eye
eyeing her soul
finding love that seizes it
but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in
even in all shades of blue,
she can get a glimpse of the dark hue
illuminating the downside of the ocean
pulling her, wrecking her soul.
Redemption does not lie —
humoring her with plainly just truth
craving for the applause of the moon
only observing the depth of the ocean
eating the once alive soul
of her saving her last breath,
chiming in with the conversation, she
once had with him.
It could have been nice the resistance
he once had — to throw himself out
to the beauty of his light that shed
her whole body
he once was able to have
and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time
being eaten on the lonesome of the night
for he himself, shading all the blueness
like a requiem for the dreams
she kept on having
like a composition giving life
to new generations, he was still on
a token and a curse, and he let her be —
in all shades of blue.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 5:21 AM UTC
In a cosmopolitan world where
Yeezy reigns supreme on our
Speakers, loathed for loving
Genius-acknowledging, we
Have set a standard of beauty
So surreptitious, soulless—
Unattainable in this number-
Crunching world so pre-
Occupied with symmetry and
Egotism—structure—black and
White dominated by rawness and
Robotics: steampunk screams echo-
Ing from the rooftops of skyscrapers
As lightning continues to strike the highest point.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
You hit me like a wave. I drifted away, coming into the shore, and lied there with nothing but my naked eyes; the sun covered my cold, barren body. Radiating sunshine and weakness as the sea called over me, you traipsed and towered over my sight, blinding me with your ivory skin lit as the match fired the sky.
The waves in the sea squished me in like a soft linen blanket, wrapping me all over like the comfort of a mother. My hands were trembling as you stood there unmoving, and the melodies and blasphemous beats almost dug me out of my ears; I couldn’t even do anything. You were there like an angel lost in his epiphany. It was as if a goddess were in front of you; your eyes spoke as you became a slave to your own wrath, worshipping what was in front of you. You laid your eyes on me like I was some kind of song you could not decipher.
You stood there, solving the creeps and mysteries and finishing the last verse of a poem you will never read again. You hit me like a wave, and I drifted away, hoarding memories left astray. You were there, godlike and lost, and even the sun loathed your fire. You burn like a match, your skin a stain of crimson—of sunshine and weakness. You called me, but I did not answer.
It was cold, and I loathed it. Perhaps it was the month of October where the enigmas of night lay open, and achingly, my flesh was found in humiliation. I continued to bleed, on and on.
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 9:44 AM UTC
You made me hate you.
You must love to do it,
You’re acting like you knew it.
You made me hate you.
There’s really nothing to you.
You’re loathed by all that knew you.
You are disgusting sometimes
And times you’re worse.
You really need drugs and
A doctor and a full time nurse.
You always lie so
The truth seems to evade you.
It’s like the devil made you.
I wish you’d just frack off.
Gimme, gimme, gimme
What I long for
A better kind of behavior
I can’t write a song for.
You know you made me
Hate you!
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
On a long stretch of highway
his thumb to the road,
Leon set off to lighten his load.
No thoughts of tomorrow
no plans set in stone
just a few hundred bucks,
and a dream of his own.
Leon was weary of playing the game.
His boss and his girl,
they both thought the same.
Their griping and wanting
was keeping him tied
to a life that he loathed,
left him weary inside.
He would act on an impulse,
and finally be free
to do as he liked, and be who he'd be.
A fantasy stirring could finally come true!
No end to the wonderful things he could do.
For hours he walked,
while the headlights flashed by
light on his feet and a smile to the sky.
While on that same blacktop
Jenny drove on
anxious to make it to Phoenix by dawn.
It may have been fate or say what you will
that she spied him on time
as she came up the hill.
Surely this guy must be needing a ride
so she pulled to the shoulder,
letting Leon inside.
Jenny felt guarded while driving along,
not accustomed to helping who didn't belong
in the world that she lived,
and the life that she led,
ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Her worries subsided in such a short while,
for he talked with such ease.
He had such a nice smile!
It's true what they say,
you just never know
who you might meet if you give it a go.
Just outside Phoenix the sun started rising
when Leon said "Jenny, ain't it surprising?
I feel like I've known you my entire life."
The last words she heard,
as he pulled out his knife.
Ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Leon's still dreaming,
while Jenny lies dead.
.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
Too roughly hewn and cleaved around edges frayed
shaped and reshaped by these own calloused hands
I realize the shape of things ,... who I am ... who I've become ―
The sound of my own raw voice knows not convention ;
it was nothing more than words of fragmented tomes exposed
Only the broken wind covering footprints on the road not taken
on a never ending journey into a lonely abyss
These greatest fears I've come to know ;
my greatest weakness bared and borne
broken dreams bought and sold,
for less than they were worth.
In the chill of this winter darkness grown cold
a newly recurring silence echoes poignantly,..
redux
forevermore
self-loathed
déjà vu ―
***The only dream's fruition ever feared:
to walk alone at that predestined parting moment
within a stones throw of six feet underground ,...
dropping to these knees at a threshold
well-nigh left behind,
knocking at the door that leads beyond ―
never needing to know how to say goodbye …***
thinking out loud ... 11. 29. 2016
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
Mariana in the Moated Grange
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The **** sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary
I would that I were dead!"
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!"
3k
I poured myself out onto you, ink on vellum, your
skin gravelly, your alluring purr as smooth as silk and
soft as velvet, but as you folded me in your arms, my words
were lost like cries in the wind. For once, in a long time, I looked
at you, truly looked at you. I looked past the thin sheen of sweat at your
brow, like the dew on the blades of brown grass in the hot summer mornings.
I looked past the spray of freckles that dusted the tops of your cheeks and the bridge
of your nose, the freckles you loathed so much when you were just a boy because they
reminded you of flecks of glitter. I looked past the blonde locks that ringed your face like a
golden halo. Your hair is longer now, than it was, when we were kids, but I doubt that even
now, you’d let me braid it. I looked past all the little details I’d noticed about you
when we were growing up, and now, I saw a man with amethyst eyes and a
longing washed over me like a wave, pulling me down with the undertow.
I long to know this you as I once knew you, so well, like the back
of my own hand. So, with salt and foam, sweat and ink and in
every sweeping wave, drag me into those lovely amethyst
eyes. If the eyes truly are the windows to the soul,
pour in like a light and flood on the floor. Show me
what you’ve become, because, while I easily
recognize your flesh and outer
appearance, I long to know
you deeper than looks
could ever go.
Sink me,
show
me.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
my father warned me about
boys with black, dead hearts
but he hadn't even realized
that his deranged daughter
had become a girl with that same
kind of heart and she was scouting
for boys with nice ones, so she could
break them to pieces
and stomp on them.
but every time she tried,
she was the one who ended up
with a damaged, scratched heart
and she loathed herself for that,
the way she let herself feel even
the slightest bit of pain again.
but she coaxed herself that if she felt,
she was still human and she hasn't turned
into a emotionless, cold blooded monster,
yet.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
It started in a coffee shop
Where you worked
Four days a week
And I knew the hours
I knew it with a deep visceral longing
With a terror and a joy
A forbidden pleasure that sickens me
And I tried very hard to let you be
But you took the town over
With the musk of a presence that I longed for with the whole of my being
All the while, the quiet and logical part of my disrupted mind reminded me that being near you was not appropriate
How I loathed that Vulcan presence
But I heeded it more or less.
And as you became attached to all the little places
In this quiet little town
I knew I had to leave
in order to let my violent need die
And now having lived in a far off state I sit at the SeaTac gates
And the old familiar clutch of deaths bony palm on my soft intestines squeezes, and a small anxious voice whispers
What if she gets out at this gate?
Do you now own the whole of Alaska?
If I find you move to Chicago
Will I quail at O'Haire
With the small chance that you're there?
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
I cut myself & i will cut it over and over again
until i cant feel anymore pain
i can still smell your breathe u ******* dumb
brings back nightmares i wanna get numb
i am in so much rage i cant breath
you are a ******* parasite even in my sleep!!
i abhor you, i loathed you so bad
never i had felt so ******* mad!
you used to be my hero used to be my ******* friend
but turn into a monster a ******* dangerous fiend hate the ******* life in you i wish you were dead
get off my ******* mind get off my ******* head!!
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC
She was walking towards the river with her feet bare and her white silk disassembled; they said she was a loathed cathedral of despair as a ruined, beloved garden, _she is all that is left_.
“_Will you hold my hands or leave me?
Should I wait until we're together?_”
she sang her lullaby as she let her body float. while she holds her sweet eulogies, _it’s all what she has_, gazing upon the sky, giving in at the temptation.
“_please don’t make me wait forever_”
the words linger in the water as her breath goes into oblivion.
Jan 28, 2022
Jan 28, 2022 at 8:15 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Which means - she’s beyond contempt
Someone to be loathed
An anomaly?
Well if you’re askin me
She’s what every one of ‘em
Pretends to be
A centrist
Who might go either way
On any issue
On any given day
She likes to calls it
A winning strategy
But it’s still selling out
As far as I can see
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
But with the right pedigree
As everybody knows
She’s very bright
That’s obvious - it shows
Though you’ll find her
Wherever the wind blows
I often wonder
Who she really is
Behind the mask
I’m talkin ‘bout square biz
It’s hard to tell
With the naked eye
How she really feels
Though some of us do try
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Her popularity
Is always in the throes
We love her one-minute
Then hate her the next
She brings out feelings
That are that complex
She’s very hard
For us to get to know
How much is real
And how much is for show
That’s the question
On many people’s minds
What’s goin on
Behind those closed blinds
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who’ll run for president
One day I suppose
She’s very suited
For the life she chose
A prodigy
Who won't be unopposed
There’s so much baggage
In her sordid past
The kind of thing
That usually tends to last
She’ll ascend
But then she’ll drop so fast
Say what you will
The dye’s already cast
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who has a war chest
That grows and grows and grows
She’s courted equally
By the rich and poor
With the kind of access
That many would die for
But still she’s baffling
To say the very least
It’s hard to tell
The nature of the beast
And to add insult
Along with injury
Is we don’t know
How she's gonna be
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who lost my vote
But that’s just how it goes
When one has trouble
Being who they are
It doesn’t matter
That they’re a rising star
I can’t support her
Under any circumstance
It would be foolish
To even take that chance
Though I do like her
I have to admit
I’ll vote against her
Or maybe I’ll just sit
© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester - all rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Everything has become so irrelevant.
I'm searching for an explanation but it doesn't add up. Nothing does.
I stay Comprehensive but nothing suffices. Its a case of reversionist logic.
A impending cycle with no absolute meaning. Fog seems to cloud my judgement so my conscious doesn't comply.
Loathed anti prescription swallowed daily, while the white walls and blue ocean make it's scenery.
The voices try to compromise, but it's a debate that holds an never ending rebuttal.
Always forced into the unknown.
But a understanding of me, my voice, my demeanor, and my place in this bounden life circle is lost. So you must believe that no one will understand me.
I consider my self a ancient relic.
I'm one of a kind but not rare.
Cause once someone sees something extraordinary over time, it looses it's taste and someone becomes tired of seeing the same thing over time..
logic at it's finest.
We all soul
search to fill life's embrace of these mixed emotions.
To experience what keeps my sanity afloat.
My vices keep me intent.
In a way of keeping my head up and realize what power Im withholding that makes me immune to unknown circumstances.
But the path to the void is too simple.
My courage consumes and corrupts my will of giving up.
But yet again, it all seems irrelevant. Maybe your point of view on these lines I speak is a clear one. But then again maybe manipulative resources blind you. Or do you see my point?
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
lost to my world of emotion loathed by confusion i can't define existance between the lines of coruption manipulated human justifyin death wit superior instructions weapon or not the choice was chosen by deception never recognisin your actions these are the troubles of afections when men are punished by unrealised intention i nw hand my attention my insides made to continuesly feel passion but lost lack the attitude to not loose the perception beauty in pian wat strange attraction
Nov 5, 2009
Nov 5, 2009 at 6:29 PM UTC
My mind is under the glacier
Waiting for it to combust
As I try to gain sanity
I get propelled into madness
Every time I try yo understand
I only accept less
Every time I confess
My darkest sins
Everyone else comes from within
To admit their faults
So I'm kicking my issues to the vault
Accept that my mistakes are my fault
And realize that I should never quit
But I'm a defendant tryo g to acquit
Please God give me strength
So I don't channel my anger
In the wrong way
I'm trying to be good today
But tomorrow is a different story
Renounce my glory
Only when I deserve it
So far I'm not sure I have
But then yet, I can be too skeptical
This a search to be happy
And I can't find much
For now
But I know I have to wait
And for the impatient part of me
That's too difficult to work
But I do know
That I have to conspire against my most loathed tasks
And paint it with the pathway to what I love
That's the only way I'll make it
I'll survive, just give me time to work the kinks out
So far I'm in prototype
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car,
I knew.
I knew then that it would be the last
Of the unknown that I
Have cherished and loathed
For the longest time.
As I closed my eyes I
Wondered then,
Which one of them was going to fill me in
On what has been going on on
The other side
After all these years?
Father, you left me when I was five
But I couldn't do anything.
You seemed to forget that you had a daughter
But I couldn't do anything.
I searched for you through Friendster
through Facebook
even MySpace
But you wouldn't do anything.
I couldn't do anything.
As I sat on the backseat of your sister's car
About to meet you finally after all these long years
I couldn't do anything.
Had you rejected me
It would have been better
I could have gone crazy and screamed and thrashed and left
But you didn't do that sort of thing.
You hugged me
Along with everyone in the family
Even GrandMama cried as she hugged me
Twas as if the hugs could make up for the years
That went on by
Without you.
I did not grow up on hugs and
Kisses.
I seemed content in the berth of personal space
****** upon me at birth.
But then
Each and everyone of you was a
Hugger. And
I couldn't do anything.
I am not an angry mass of hate
And malevolence.
Gone were the days when
I had wished for your demise.
If anything,
I feared that I wasn't strong enough
For this. But
I couldn't do anything.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, an old draft from last week:>
is there really a future for this misery
a new page that heroes the plot as a decent start over apology
craves distance and knows that would be known
angel like plastic sensations to the dawn
kept on stove to be loathed into a tomorrow
for the heart to yearn for the mind to dwell for the feels to borrow
midnight skies not even there not been predicted
lulled on the moons they say so I stay anonymously protected
------ravenfeels
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 4:23 PM UTC