"niceness" poems
my naked lady framed
in twilight is an accident
whose niceness betters easily the intent
of genius—
painting wholly feels ashamed
before this music,and poetry cannot
go near because perfectly fearful.
meanwhile these speak her wonderful
But i(having in my arms caught
the picture)hurry it slowly
to my mouth,taste the accurate demure
ferocious
rhythm of
precise
laziness. Eat the price
of an imaginable gesture
exact warm unholy
20.7k
This world is so used to cruelty
that every act of kindness is seen as flirt.
I won't change who I am.
I won't give up my niceness
just because other hearts have forgotten
how gentleness feels like.
Instead I will teach them.
I will make them remember how to be kind.
It's sad that you have to be rude
in order to set a limit.
You can say no
and still be the nicest person in the world.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
My neck is a nest
The warmth in it an ever present creature that
Oscillates and breeds and collects
And attracts creatures that do not
My neck is a nest
That doesn't just need to nurture but
To be nurtured and
Touched and kissed and electrified
In order to keep that warmth
My neck is a nest
That rests on an unsteady beating branch
And hangs under a filament-ridden sky
Neither of which can ever agree
But to disagree on whether
Niceness or smoothness or alcohol or hidden agendas
Should have anything to do with
How the warmth is kept
My neck is a nest
Full of hatchlings that have already
Dropped and soared
Dropped and stopped
Dropped and swooped at the last second
Where they are now
I have only an inkling.
My neck is a nest
That wishes to blend with the
Twigs and leaves and eggshells
That become it and
Be humbly content with who
It wants to attract and collect and warm.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
What comes
To mind when
I say the word
Beauty?
A model?
An athlete?
A movie star?
What comes
To mind when
You hear the word
Beauty?
The laugh?
The voice?
What comes
To mind when
You see the word
Beauty?
The smile.
The walk.
The eyes.
What comes to mind
When I hear the word
Beauty?
Sweetness.
Intelligence.
Cuteness.
Niceness.
Beauty, to me, is neither
Outer nor inner;
It’s both.
My beauty is a book
With chapters titled
Intelligence,
Cuteness,
Niceness,
Sweetness,
Outgoing,
With the final chapter
Of my beauty titled
Warm heartedness.
That’s my beauty…
What’s yours?
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can ****
3.5k
Someone asked me why was I so nice?
Why did I greet people with a smile?
Why didn't I reply to a nasty comment with an equally nasty comment?
At first I was taken aback with the line of questions.
I couldn't quite grasp the shock in their voice.
Why was being nice such a novelty?
And then it hit me!
Niceness isn't expected anymore,
Compliments are never given anymore without expecting something in return,
Smiles are nonexistent,
And kindness is a thing of the past.
Why am I nice?
In a world full of hate,
Full of fear,
Full of ugliness,
Why am I nice?
Why do I smile at strangers?
In a world where the mean excel,
Where the bullies rule,
Where being bad is applauded,
Why do I still smile at strangers?
Why do I compliment my peers?
In a place where putting people down is winning,
Where we try to compete for beauty,
Where calling someone beautiful or handsome is considered "flirting",
Why do I compliment my peers everyday?
Why don't I reply with hurtful replies when offended?
In an environment where I'm supposed to curse at a peer for doing the same,
Where I'm supposed to yell when being yelled at,
Where I'm supposed to show how hard I am in a very hard world.
Why don't I reply with hurtful words?
It's very simple,
I smile because you don't know who needs to see a smile,
I compliment because i believe that everyone is beautiful,
I'm not hurtful because I know how it feels to be injured with words,
And most importantly,
I'm nice because this world needs a light,
It needs kind words and gestures.
I don't want to feel hate, remorse, or coldness.
I need to stay soft for those who need a soft place to land.
This is why I'm "nice".
-Espe T.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation
I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone
Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.
I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise
I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong
The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.
Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
To tell the story of the nice-guy
is to tell a tale of unlost innocence.
There is no complexity that circumstance can’t remedy. There is no effort
to niceness; only a ****** world that blossoms
on genetically mutated ideology, growing larger than generations past.
Tomorrow, in Houston,
a butcher will wake up to slaughter a cow he may have named.
There will no be no tears when he grills steak for the wife he wooed
and the children he prescribed himself.
Three daughters,
from fifteen to twenty-two.
Tiramisu for dessert.
Ten guns in the cabinet beneath the stairs
and innocence buried behind the woodshed.
Pretend now, that you are forgiven.
Mistakes fade like snow angels, regrets
float like chemtrails.
You love you as much as the world always did.
You have not seen friends struck down by powders or lunacy,
you have only lived in the glow of their light. Hearts remain full.
The word swagger hasn’t been hijacked by hip hop
and bluejeans still mask imperfections. Sunsets are memorable,
and so are first dates and last kisses.
Sun won't blister fragile shoulders.
Fields blossom just in time to suit your irregular taste buds,
satisfying sweet corn cravings on Christmas.
Forget your father’s words
or a stranger's hand.
Forget improbability, impossibility,
impotence, importance,
impatience
and improper goodbyes.
Forget the tears cried alone
into ***** filled sheets at midnight.
Forget the effect but remember the cause,
camouflaged like a landmine of good ideas.
Forget the fights and slow-turn walk-aways
that turned words flaccid.
Forget friends ******* ex-girl friends
and amphetamines crashing into hallucinations.
Nice-guys vanish like good ideas,
lost in the shuffle,
looking for pen and paper,
just like house cats die
on the forth of July,
and all that’s left are ashes
on a mantel
alongside fraudulent grins.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
(descent)
Hindered by progress, or the idea of progress:
evolution-in-waiting bellows me to hide,
tattering becomes ruination.
Animism creeps,
not-yet hands pushing at dim velvet.
Peeping one-eyed through the past
where had borne such potent promise
immutability lain intact
flumped into snowy thickness
and thrown hard against Georgian glass.
Here comes the stealth of unillumination
thankfully blanketing
they were tied at the hips
and neck,
then wrapped as old mirrors.
That door went nowhere
it always does
those Victorians, forever meddling,
will folly themselves into any trouble.
(resurrection)
You haven’t changed one bit!
I say to myself,
showing you their brand new niceness
***** as copper pans.
Go on, spit in my fire
the hiss is the thing that’s real.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
Conglomerate softness
Plying blissfully the scars off my wounds
An addictive activity with bleak endings
Leaving a small dent on my skin soon
A memento of this visit
Comforting words and faces explain greatly
The niceness in which days daze away sadness,
So I savour this.
A kiss of kindness disguises itself in the random acts of allegiance
Only friendship commits
On the edges of wit,
And the brinks of sanity
I treat my own mind with such levity that fails to address the subject topic.
One day I’ll get past this
Like the seasons which pass by the skies like temporary trips
Staying long enough to make you feel sad when it’s gone
But hopeful that it’s not lasting
Bombastically feeling nostalgia for everything.
The world makes me happy
In the way that happiness only exists within this realm
The only one we know
And for every day that I grow I show the fruits of my labour
Flavouring the air with words that fall out my mouth like crisp apples
Perishable but delicious and nurturing,
Though this apple tree can’t really fend for itself
It has gardeners who defend its’ health,
And I am so grateful
For this help to grow,
Hopefully through these fruits
I can show you
as well.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
The moon is missing
Old stories oppress the scorned clock's hand
What is this interminable waiting?
Lost are the World's metaphors
Lost and fled to a dark place
Once beehives born in new orchards
They now dissolve in time's dead way
And die in the viciousness of niceness
Densely social and devoid of empty
Do I dare ask these forbidden questions
She is missing, missing to me
I know where she is but I can't find her
but now I see the harvest corn
and a bursting city of goldenrod
(this can only mean good)
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
**** your beautiful lies
**** your perfect smile
**** your bleach blonde hair
**** all of your denial
**** your adorable awkwardness
**** your enticing body
**** your continuous niceness
**** your amazing personality
**** my love for you...
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
Timid August rain hits my roof.
It’s cold and all the air's aloof.
But not warm, either.
The rain picks up and dies off often
beating shingles like fists on coffins.
Inconsistent, indecisive
Never mean but save the niceness.
Laying without motion.
No emotion, a resting ocean
Big and blue and deep with notions.
My breaths are natural,
spaced and quiet.
When I breathe in, it's like a diet.
Too hot for sheets; can't sleep exposed
Burning hands and nipped, ice toes
Trace my stomach with finger tips
Part the sea, my ****** lips.
Carving goosebumps on my forearms
Digging in to sever; no arms.
I’m not thinking but, my mind is full of thoughts.
I’m not dreaming, but not awake.
Not listening, but church bells ring.
My mouth's not dry, my cheeks aren't wet.
Memories I can't forget.
I am not here, but nowhere else
I am inside my own sad self.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 3:29 AM UTC
As I was calling things you that weren't that hurtful such as ******* and dick, I had realized I had used those far too often and had resorted to a plain **** you". I needed a new angle on the aspect of insults within boundaries. While my need to make you feel inferior raged on I look in the thesaurus to find alternatives to the words I have already used. Of course they didn't have ******* or **** with a list of synonyms. So I decided to look at plain "mean", as I was looking at the synynoms nothing really described what I wanted to put in your brain that you already knew. I glanced over at the antynoms and they were "compassionate, kind, nice, noble, sympathetic"
An antynom to mean was sympathic
An antynom to mean is sympathetic
Sym pathetic
Sym. Pathetic.
You are pathetic with your words to show compassion, kindness, niceness, and nobleness to me. ME. You are not a piece of **** or a ********** a deadbeat or a waste of space, immature or childish, selfish or conceded. You in fact lack the ability to be sympathetic towards me, not totally apathetic. But just unsympathetic to **** me the **** off. And you do it so well.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Your words crawl
Deep into my veins,
Coursing to my heart
I try to stop it,
By cutting the slits
So the blood that you've infected
Will all drain out
You've infected me
With your compliments,
Your niceness
I try to stop it
Because I knew you'd lead me on like this
Because happy endings
Are truly never true
Except in fairy tales.
-e.w.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
What's wrong?
Why so sad?
Why so mean?
We've still got six months
Left of our sentence.
But you're stuck in isolation.
You don't hear me.
You're not listening.
We don't talk,
We yell.
We don't discuss,
We shout.
These bars have hardened us.
They'll be no niceness left when we're
Released.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
By Emily Riddle-Age 9
Special: The dictionary describes an angel as a "thing or person, that means a lot to someone. Well, I describe an angel as my grandmother.
My grandmother is a wonderful person, and what she is best at
is caring about what I will become.
I am so glad to be in her life, and in her beautiful world.
She has a heart of gold, and is a "doctor to my soul."
She is the "nurse" that make my hurts disappear.
She is my "piggy bank of niceness."
When I would get a birthday, or Christmas gift, she would always say,
"If you don't like it, be sure to try it."
I would always listen to her, for everybody knows
"grandmothers are always right."
I think of her everyday, and feel that I can do anything
when I'm around her. Just remember,
"Always be happy for what you have, and don't imagine a life without a grandmother."
They are worth a billion dollars.
copyright: emily riddle August 27,2014
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
You seem to accuse my affection as flirtation.
I have come to a realization:
your skull must be thick
and your brain dull
to believe
my niceness could equate to a desire to bone you.
It is no torture being my friend;
there is no horror to the friend zone
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
Genetically enhanced
Spiritually enhanced
Grown up wiser
Grown up bolder
I'm the master of words
They roll off my tongue
Like avalanches off a mountain
So cold
It leaves you shaking
Icy death awaits you
I'll shake and break u
Take two
The silence awaits you
I've been reborn
Remade
Recreated
Some people look down on what you do.
Some people see the niceness within you
Then they try to corrupt what you do
But you stand tall
Stand firm
Because you are reborn
A new day has begun
Once again you have risen
The past life in my head
But as my life motto
**** happens for reason
Dwelling on my past
Doesn't make my future any brighter
But forgetting your past
Doesn't make you any stronger
So what you do is
Is to learn from it
Open your eyes to the outside world
My girl has helped me
She has showed me that the
World isnt always cold
So I walk on the earth
Genetically revived
Spiritually revived
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC
There's this thing that I've always wanted to tell you but I don't know how
I know you you know this but I love you
You might not know this but I need you
When you hold me the world around us melts away
Your face reminds me everyday that I am
100% gay
I've been watching couples in movies for months now and all I think about is your hand holding mine
You help me become a better person and help people around you in every way possible
I've never met someone who is so niceness and compliments
I talk about you all the time
It's kind of sad
I don't want to love you but I can't help myself
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 1:50 PM UTC
My face must've grew today
As my mask did not want to fit.
'So nice' they say she is
But they don't really know ****
They tell you you're one way
But you feel another
Constantly lying
For the benefit of others.
The biggest of smiles
Everyone using teeth for their mirror
What do I want?
It's always unclear.
Those wars we fought,
No one came out alive
But my card read medic
Somehow I chose to survive.
Everyone had half a mouth.
I had only half of one too
It's hard to pick sides when blinded like that
Or hard when both sides want you.
They only needed a moment though
Her niceness was overstayed.
The others all stared with swords in their sides
Feeling as though they had been betrayed.
How can you be such a pinball?
Such a spineless, cowardice tool?
What makes you think you're alliances to all?
What the hell are you trying to prove?
I was just wearing that mask I had once.
It was more like a helmet I guess.
I don't have a civil duty to any
I'm just trying to stay abreast.
But no one can trust a man who has no enemies.
For he stands for nothing at all.
I was dead all along in the trenches,
For the mask/helmet I had was too small.
Everyone will tell you your strengths
When it's something which they desire.
It's disgusting at best but I never act up
I know you can't fight fire with fire.
So let all the others wave the white flag
See if they can lay down their weapons.
I'm at war with myself but you all are too
One day again, we'll be friends.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
On October 19 2021
Was a terrible day
For people who knew linden sims
You see linden was nice to me
When I was a drunk
When nobody else was
But he just flew away from me
So on October 19 Ted bundy
And Ronnie Biggs
Came into linden’s head when he
Was asleep and whisked him away
To outer space and tied him up
Really tight and linden was saying
HELP HELP HELP ME
Ronnie and Ted both yelled at him
Saying why don’t you shut your trap
You weren’t normal in this past life
But I will **** you
And make you suffer ‘linden’
You will die you will die mr sims
And you will go to hell
Popeye was an evil character
And so are you linden
They told linden that they have just killed him and he won’t see the sims family again
And that will be cool for us
I want you to be normal
But not a family person
I want you to be a troubled kid
Where you will constantly suffer
Nobody will save you
NOBODY will SAVE you ‘Linden ‘
Then I came in and said leave linden
Alone
He was nice to me in the 90s
And I am repaying his niceness
By freeing him from these two criminals
Suddenly Ted bundy put me and linden in a fire pit and threatened to **** us
I got out but linden couldn’t
And I took linden over to BUDDHA
To free lindens spirit
Buddha and I said
Linden sims
You will be free from suffering now
You will go off into your next life
Where you will have a family
That really loves you
And I thank you for giving me somebody
To muck around with at raid basketball
I know I was a DRUNK
I will send you to the next life you have
Just look at your suffering as POSITIVE
You were a great friend to me back then
Linden smith
Have a great future life
And then I sent Ted and Ronnie back to Mercury to suffer in silence
But not before lindens death
But he will head to his next life
Catch ya later dude
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 9:16 AM UTC
i will die.
the sun,
and by the way
did you know?
(i do)
in the summer it
leaps wholly freshness
into the sweating backs of knees
a yowl
a dream
a distinctly arousing
a corded and steeply ***** shyness.
it peters sharply
from girl cuts
into niceness
a cringing of night
to less darkly foil
the trees
(amongst 'em
where will sleep
me when i
cease my hands to try) roots
reachness of worms
and the rushing of oceans
wind
wind
wind
coolly teasing
with teeth so
cruelly pleasing
(upon which rise
the curving hushness
of body's plummet
isthe
falling of darkness' lushness
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Foolish girl,
You were to scared to say anything to him
Too self conscious
To afraid that you were going to ***** something up
So you just waited until you were ready
But sadly
You waited too long
Time passed
Soon it becomes days
Weeks
Months
Years
And you still didn't talk to him
You never have
He left and moved on while you were still stuck to him
Stuck to his charm
His smile
His mind
His personality
His niceness
But foolish girl,
You waited too long
You lost the love you loved and the dream you dreamt
Too bad it was all a fairytale
Too bad you didn't say anything
Maybe if you did
You wouldn't have to miss his charm
His smile
His mind
His personality
His niceness
And more
Maybe you would be happy
Maybe you could look at him and smile instead of stare at the ground when he walks by
Maybe you would have the courage to say "Hi" or "How You Doin?"
But foolish girl
You waited too long
And now he's gone
(K.B.)
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
Deep dark volatile rage
Nothing more to do
Don't make me be nice anymore
I want to rip your face off
To call out the smiles
And the niceness
Mine and yours
Give me something more truthful
More honest
More real
Bravery
Show yourself
Get on your knees and show me
Show me through your actions
**** your words
**** your excuses
Let them burn
Let it all burn
And then lets see what is left.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 11:01 AM UTC