"meanly" poems
There's this little thing who was born in the sewer
Her name, they all say, is Society
Pretends she's all that, but she's really nothing newer
They say she never once spoke the truth.
Society likes to pick in the brains of young girls
Likes to meanly whisper in their ears,
"You're fat, you're worthless, you're the ugliest there is!"
What good does that do? It brings them to tears.
Society likes to mess with the minds of young boys
Likes to torment them by teasing,
"You're skinny, you cry, you aren't manly enough!"
Society makes sure it sure isn't pleasing.
Society likes to mess with the minds of in-betweens or not-at-alls
Likes to belittle, judge, and taunt
"Why can't you be normal? No one likes you!"
It goes on and on. Society likes to daunt.
Society herself doesn't have a care in the world
She never thought once about anyone's feelings
All day she picks at everyone she can find
All night she waits for them to wake, on their ceilings.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
A monster came out from under my bed,
all hairy and ugly and oh so red.
He ran to my closet and ate all my clothes
then back to my bed he was tickling my toes.
I was so afraid he might suddenly eat me,
There was nowhere to go where he couldn’t see.
He threw all my toys in a great big sack
And told me meanly they’d never be back.
Then he looked at my desk and suddenly smiled
And seemed to be happy or maybe beguiled.
He looked in my eyes and pointed at me,
“give me your laptop and I will let you be”
I loved my laptop a gift from my mom
I stared in his eyes feeling so dumb.
I was no longer scared now I was mad,
Monsters aren’t fun when they behave so bad.
So I took out my bat and put on my new shoes
and said to the monster, “guess what you lose”.
One swat on the noggin and he was out cold
I keep my toys because I was bold.
It pays to be brave and never have fear
But be careful at night when a monster is near.
HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN
to my Grandaughters
Copyright Jan/2014
WHC
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
"No no I don't hate really thank u for this I just want you to know I really dont believe in putting optimistic twists on unhappy things. I honor and respect agony despite loathing it and I find pain in change so I just dont like it to be glamorized thats all. And then, you know, the best friends thing but I talked with u about that already privately"
Ember lashes out on tiffany on comments on a peom of hers i say this is so meanly harsh enber is not a dying out burning flame but we wish she was then she wouldn't get bad sided with tiff
Another thing is ember was downright discouraged tiffany kust want wanted a person to go too.I think you let er down Ember E. Diwnright harsh
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
Let's get date ...
Let's arrange a date ...
as a calendar ...
as every day ...
don't care about any seasons ...
just care our meet ...
and let's reveal our secret ...
one to the other ...
with no fear...
with an open hearts ...
full of feelings ...
with no shy ...
to enjoy our date ...
while we are playing ...
a love's game ...
then to write ...
this day ...
forever ...
as every day ...
to be our meanly date ...
love's date ...
for all days ...
come let's get a date ...
it's our feelings ...
seeks for this date ...
hazem al ...
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
I'll get back to you
In a second, in a minute, in a day, in a month
I'll return your call
Remind me ten times, five times, two times, once
I'm not safe for the public
Not today, not tomorrow, not two days from now
I'm not good at friendship
Ask me when, ask me where, ask me why, ask me how.
But in half a decade
I'll want you once, want you twice, want you a hundred times
Wait on me six years
I'll be loving, I'll be sweet, I'll be adoring, I'll be kind.
Forget me completely
I'll chase you ten, twenty, five hundred miles
Treat me meanly
I'll grovel, I'll plead, I'll beg for a smile.
Ignore my words
I'll panic, I'll shudder, I'll crave your attention
Shower me in love
I'll sneer, I'll scoff, I'll hate your affection.
Beg me home
You may bite my dust, kiss my *** send me west
Leave me alone
I'll ***** myself out, love you down, bite your neck.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
I sit and I lay in my cage. I can see that many of us are apes that have been trained. But I know underneath we humans truly don't act this why. Meanly because this system is driving us insane. Fighting and *** are so repressed but they feel so good so we come back to them any way. Then we are punished and put back in owner place, regardless of your *** or race. But I will not deny that rush of life when someone clocks me in the face. What I am saying is we are still apes still animals still human. Hour ideas twisted and values out of place.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
He and I go up to the roof, the narrow stairs and low door. The tiles on the terrace are orange clay and slick with rainwater. He opens a new beer from the six-pack he's been carrying.
"Do you know the story of the Lady In Red." He slams back the cerveza and doesn't give me a chance to answer, but then, it's not a question.
"So you know, in Aladdin. When the genie's offering him everything, anything he could ever want. And those three **** girls appear, in red dresses, tempting him. And in the Matrix, they're walking down the hallway. Neo stops to look at the lady in the red dress and when he turns around there's a gun in his face.
"This city is my Lady In Red.
"She's so beautiful, so passionate, you don't even see. I don't even see it until it's too late.
"This city is killing me", he says. "She's given me everything I thought I wanted, and taken everything I have."
He finishes the can and kicks it across the rooftop. He laughs meanly.
"I'm a ******* alcoholic." He laughs again. Opens another can.
"Twenty-one years old." He shakes his head and coughs harshly, hacking up spit and sending it off the edge of the roof. "I am actually ill because of her."
"She's so perfect, but it's not real at all."
He looks so ****** So lost. I look out around us.
The skyline is so beautiful.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
A poem, that's not a poem
but gets 2 thousands reads
lands on the Daily
and makes my heart bleed
So much fighting, back biting,
such inverted sense
of there own
proliferate nonsense
Drowning out the artful voices
of the souls that bleed
poetic choices
Sitting in their towers
built from dung
measuring how meanly
they are hung
while many other voices
chime in and you can't hear the truth
crowing inside the din
it's like an ache in a tooth!
Some truly beautiful poems
that will hold your heart,
most bearing their souls
and simply enjoying the art!
Connecting on a level
that cares little for 'hearts'
just waiting for someone to say
'Hi, I feel what you wrote'
Not caring about figures, or charts
*Be you one voice under one name
or one voice under many
If one is a vitriolic persona
rest assured the others are just as ugly*
I'd have to give HP
a 2/10 this week
Sadly it's impossible to articulate
while being drowned when trying to speak.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
I heard
And my voice
Broke-
That was the end:
“Kennedy
Fell
From a criminal hand… ”
And
My hair
Stood on end.
I gave
A hostile reception
To that
News
on my own way.
I did understand
Kennedy is
A kind
And nice chap. And
He is
Reform’s
Eternal adherent.
In the morn
He lived
During lunch
He died.
Everybody
Lost comfort
At that instant.
“Kennedy!”
Pipes
Blew loudly
“Jo-o-o-hn!”
Dead marsh repeated
The word
Democracy’s
Pillar
Was cut down
Meanly.
Johny
Is quitting
The boundary
Of our world.
We will remember
These heroes!
Johny is
America’s glorious son.
He is among
Home foundations’ adherents,
Descendants
Will be proud
Of him
Under the sun.
{22.11.2015}
СЫН АМЕРИКИ
Услышал –
и мой
оборвался
голос –
«Кеннеди
пал
от преступной
руки…»
Дыбом
вставали
за волосом
волос,
По-своему
новость
восприняв
в штыки.
Кеннеди –
добрый
и славный
малый,
Вечный
сторонник
больших
реформ.
Утром
он жил,
а в обед –
не стало.
Все
потеряли
в тот миг
комфорт.
«Кеннеди!» –
громко
трубили
трубы,
«Джо-о-о-о-н!» –
повторял
похоронный
марш.
Столп
демократии
подло
срублен,
Джонни
предел
покидает
наш.
Будем
мы помнить
таких
героев!
Джонни –
Америки
славный
сын:
Ярый
сторонник
родных
устоев –
Будут
потомки
гордиться
им!
{22.11.2015}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 7:33 AM UTC
[we live]
these
days
eyes, raw ringed: mauve.
dustcurtains. lung-still
and dry
cover gasping-
fingers sanded down, dusted away
to later be inlaid
with something
else.
grappling clever-
broken bird feet.
the gaping is wide enough down here
even
for you
wanting to be a victim of something good-
lapping up *** of(f) belly hair
entangled.
and
as every human speck
fights for selfpreservation- without clairvoyance or beauty.
as the mud pumps.
as carmen plays.
as we die again in less than convenient specificities.
we will be replaced.
like furniture.
and those who seek to optimize everything
right down the efficiency of shampoo in the shower-
will leave with nothing
more than a clean head of hair
to fall from these, slowly
or quicker than that- depending on the mood of it. and things like
cancer.
and when the chemicals
find you
laying there alone. and sleepy
they will know to carry you outside into the yard. where the grass is
waiting
and the road is waiting
and the rain.
and the sound of cars.
and of trees.
big-fucking-trees.
roots gnarled meanly into the dark.rotty droppings of their boughs.
cold. mighty- dragging their bruisey knuckles against the
dirt
trees with ghosts
bigger than your thumbnails.
older than the grossest things in your
waste-basket.
tree-er than
tree.
and when the car swerves
and hits
i will be there.
sinking with you
into the the reservoir
doors closed.
belted.
and good
.but
i will be
and we
fall apart
don't speak
for days.
learn of the other too late.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
Hey !
what are you laughing at?
Are you laughing at that girl
With freezey hair,
Baggy, over sized clothes?
You're Giggling meanly from behind
Because of those?
Her ragged dress is all you can see,
Her messy hair is all you notice,
Can't u see the pain in her eyes?
No she's not fortunate like you
To get the love of her mother
Or be pampered by her father
You laugh at her dirty,hardened hands?
Yeah those are the same hands
she puts on her lips
And cry every night silently.
As silent as the moon above her head.
Although just 13,
the little girl is not fortunate like you
To run & complaint to anyone
When she's mercilessly beaten up
By those, supposed to take care of her.
She waits for the nights
To lay awake under the stars
and remember her past
Her father, her mother
Those happy days.
What happened to life?
Why her world turned upside down?
Why is she so helpless and feeble
In this ever known town?
With a dust storm in her heart
She wakes up.
Yet another day to cope.
But she has her will and her strong hope.
You think she's weird,
cz she doesn't gigle in small jokes?
Oh she doesn't find them funny.
They don't amuse her anymore.
What's more amusing than this life?
What's more laughable
than her will of still going on?
Walking miles after miles
With blisters in her feet,
Along the desserted street.
Wearing
An worn out, torn out, old muddy sandle.
Yeah go on. Laugh at that too.
You think she didn't hear what you said?
She might be thick skinned
But sister she's not deaf.
And she knows it's ok to be different.
Struck by untimely age
That old soul, although 13
But feels like she has seen a lot
Lived a hundred lives
And left them behind one by one.
Now she has learnt to let go.
She has taught herself to grow.
She's taught herself to live alone.
Not look for a helping hand
Or reside in a castle of sand.
Though she has none to speak to
About her grims
She writes them down
About All her hopes and all her dreams.
One day she'll
stand by her friend
Who was bullided in school for being a boy and still having long hair.
One day She'll stand up for her friend against unwanted stare.
She'll know,
No one should be subjected to torment.
Cz She knows it's ok to be different.
So go on.
Laugh and gigle at anyone you want.
Throw your hatred and your tont.
A bullie is all you'll ever see
While looking at the mirror.
And it'll make the poor little girl stronger.
Stronger than you can ever be.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC
Alas Dear Madam
Alas, dear Madam, have I thee wronged
by gesture, savage word, or deed,
thus giving thee cause for sorrow,
importuning your heart to bleed?
Have I, dear Madam, given thee
injury so rank and so low
as to merit your cool design
to suffer me the status quo?
Dear Madam, have I deceived thee
and showered thee with silken lies,
or primed thee with honeyed words
that cloak dark purpose in disguise?
Nay, dear Madam, no wrong to thee
did I meanly perpetrate.
no grievous sin did I commit,
nor cold insult dedicate.
My grossest error, dear Madam,
was to unknowingly explore
the pride sleeping in your *****
and its delicacy ignore.
So, dear Madam, please forgive me
for the numb bruises I thee gave
to that one part of a woman
which no man should ever brave.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 1:14 AM UTC
Many a time it takes you to look upon the sky .
is not because there is something worried about it up, time to acknowledge your stress and move down deep into your inner askance.
which were been pounced upon you with a tragedy of burden and fear. fear begotten from your missed challenge and not knowing how to deal with your actual embarrassment. you quietly missed that, life could be otherwise and meanly cheerful for you at once and then .
but nothing overshadowing the hellish design you damp in,
so frustrated you move on so mournful ****** enough ...
you call for help but only your cry to return to you in din mean of scoff, that let you **** startled on the carpet.nobody get an answer for you. cause "self made man ".oh! i have seen as much as hot ocean of tears streaming down in, any while and treating me to stagger helplessly .
but can i believe it ? still i have a fight up the way to the blue sky.
and i string hard to it ...
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
You're growing tired of me.
I can feel it in the spaces where your silence has started to settle.
I feel it in every breath you don't take around me anymore,
I feel it with how every laugh feels further away than it used to.
You don’t say it outright, but I see it in the way your eyes move past mine,
like I'm something you’ve already looked at too long
and you’re just trying to be polite.
I loved you so hard I still can’t sleep.
My mind keeps pulling your name apart and folding it back into maybes and ifs,
and I replay it all, the quiet moments, the almosts, everything
until I start to think they mean more than they should.
You should know I never stopped loving you, not even for a second.
But I don’t think you’ve figured that out
or maybe you have,
and you’ve just stopped loving me.
The thought of that sits heavy in my stomach, like a second heartbeat.
Some nights I start thinking up versions of myself that might’ve been easier to love
ones who don’t wear their sadness so visibly and so meanly,
ones who wouldn’t make you feel like staying is a chore.
You're growing tired
of all the things I won’t say out loud,
the feelings I edit out of every sentence
because I’m scared of tipping the balance
between “close friend” and “too much.”
So I swallow the aches before they rise,
tie my thoughts into neat little knots
so you don’t see how messy it really gets.
How messy I really am.
Sometimes I think about telling you everything
you are the only person who’s ever made me feel like I can, but I still can’t.
It’s all too tangled.
I want to know how it feels to sit beside you and want nothing
except to be held like I mean something
held like maybe I mean as much to you as you do to me.
Yet I stay quiet, again, like I always do,
because if I spill it…
won’t it drown you too?
I miss our hugs, where in that moment our souls blurred together.
I miss our cuddles on the couch, where everything felt right, felt safe.
I miss how being near you made the hurting stop, even just for a little while.
But now it’s been so long.
All I have left is the ghost of your warmth,
And now, your touch feels too heavy,
like something I’m not sure I can carry,
cold in a way that makes everything feel distant.
like your warmth has faded into something unfamiliar.
It’s not that I don’t want you
I do.
But this isn’t you.
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 4:36 AM UTC
He will wander through his life
A traveler with no destination
Mean man meanly occupied
Lacking vision to establish aspiration
A stranger in a strange land
Inviting and awaiting calamity
Means to an end and nothing more
Lacking the strength of character to uphold his virtue
Vacillating will of a traveler
Obsessed with what is trivial
Meaningless things meaning more
And all his ideals meaning less
He will wander through this life
A traveler with no destination
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
Not in the grave
So why did you pray?
You said you were waiting for that rainy day
I noticed a few days with sun
That burnt meanly worse than the wetness of rain
Fluid through the song
Every move clean to the beat
You know how tough some beats can be
But you never stopped
The stamping of your dancing feet
Kings laugh underneath their heavy golden crowns
I see the jester never shows a frown
The Queen wore that wedding gown
She now feels as the Jester
Her crown feels like the bell
Just bangs less loud
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
The reason I’m so determined
Is because I want to reach that
Point in life where I love myself for being
Strong and beautiful and
Persistent and relentless and
Passionate and determined
I want to be the happiest version of me and you don’t get there by never doing
I look in the mirror meanly
I angrily tell myself I’m fat
So I would start doing push-ups
Burpees and planks and crunches
Even when I was too tired
To keep my eyes open
Waking up on the floor
To my abs and legs and arms feeling so sore and hungry
I remember runs at 1:00 in the morning
Because I was board
I remember how slow each mile passed
But how fast time went by
By 2:30 I ran/walked 15 miles
But it wasn’t me moving my legs
I just ran
Lost whatever food was in my stomach
My body shook and itched
I couldn’t calm my asthma down
And then all at once
Air rushed into my lungs
And I just laid in the grass
I wasn’t shaking any more
I didn’t itch
And all was quite
I was determined
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Taking everything
Everything that was free
Taking the flowers,
Flowers from the open cemetery
Mean as ebineezer scrooge
A man with a terrible curse
He once pinched fifty pounds
Out of mother Teresa's
Purse
Nothing phased him
He was Mean as he could be
Even took a shilling
Of child who was only three
This mean old bar steward
Destined to expire all alone
Even God wiped all his memories
And left him,well bared to the bone
Didn't deserve an epitaph
For it would have surely read
Hear lies one mean bar steward
Everyone's quite happy now he's
Meanly dead
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC