"nicer" poems
Shame she didn't quite outlast Maggie,
My nan was nicer!
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
It’s you I think of
Before I go to sleep.
It’s your voice that calms me
When I laugh myself silly.
It’s you who I think of
When times are slipping.
It’s you that will reason
With the stupidity from me.
It’s your eyes which keep me moving
From day to each day.
It’s your warmth in your touch
That makes the butterflies take off.
It’s your kindness.
That makes me want to be a nicer guy.
It’s you that I need
When I feel lonely.
It’s you that I want
Just to hold close.
It’s you that lets me know
Everything is right in my life.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 5:05 PM UTC
I was walking down the street
Had an urge to *****
Saw a ***** dumpster
this looks nicer than the girl I dumped'r
I unzipped my pants
shat on the plants
got nice and hard
and shot off harder than a pornstar.
**** THAT DIDN'T RHYME)
I have too much time
because all I do is shoot slime
all over the back
of a president who is black.
I like *****
I bang *****
I make them ***
faster than a game of putt putt.
****** I CANT ******* RHYME)
All of you poetry snobs
are more stupid than calvin and hobbes
You will never be as successful as
Steve Jobs.
End of story. Because I am about to write another ****** poem.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Being transgender is like this:
Everyday of your life, you have always wanted a dog.
For as long as you can remember--
even if you don't know to what extent--
you have wanted one.
You asked your parents, Santa, the easter bunny,
even the tooth fairy.
Then one day you get a dead cat for your birthday.
You say "This isn't a dog,"
But "You get what you get and don't get upset"
So you carry around and care for the dead carcass.
All sorts of people look at you,
unable to understand what you are doing.
So then one day you decide to try to make it look a bit nicer.
You wash it a bit, comb what little fur it has left,
cover the decrepit limbs.
But then you realize the futility in doing this all the time,
because you are still carrying around a dead animal.
So you continue to carry it around because you have to,
no matter how horrible it may be.
Although you are carrying around a dead and rotting cat,
you aren't a ******* cat owner;
You still want a ******* dog.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
My nutritionist told me I need to increase my caloric intake and eat more carbs. I asked my nutritionist, “aren’t carbs bad for you?”
She said, “No. Carbs are not bad for you, carbs are an immediate energy source for your body to use, what’s bad for you is not eating enough and passing out at the end of the day like some ***** ***** Now eat some carbs and get some meat on those bones before I order you a ******* pizza myself.”
I should mention that my nutritionist is also my best friend. I call her Lady Reptar, because she is one. A lady, not a reptar, even though she’s twenty times more awesome than a dinosaur and fifty times nicer. She’s beautiful like a ************* daisy in the woods and she’s sharp and wittier than her cooking knives and she’s warmer than her father’s woodstove.
"So, do poppy seeds count as protein?"
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
I don't understand why it is so difficult now
When before it might not have been easy
but it by far was never this bad
I can't hear the whisper anymore
I don't know if I ever will again
Why can't I wake myself up?
I haven't cried in a long time
I haven't truly expressed any type of emotion
except for anger
in a long time
I don't remember myself anymore
I miss a lot of things
If I knew back then
what I was going to be like now
I would run like hell
and try to change a lot of things
Someone once asked a question
"What are some regrets that you live with?"
This is what I would answer with...
I regret the day that I didn't ride my bike anymore.
I regret the day I started wearing make up.
I regret the day i straightened my hair.
I regret the day I didn't wear my retainers.
I regret the day I stopped playing sports.
I regret the day I stopped swimming.
I regret the day I stopped doing gymnastics.
I regret the day I stopped being a kid.
I regret the day my Grandma died and I realized I knew nothing about her.
I regret the day my Grandpa died and I never got to tell him how much I love him.
I regret the days I took for gran-it when I could talk to my mom face to face
I regret the day that I didn't be a little nicer to my brothers.
I regret the day I didn't live up to being the Youth leader I should have been
I regret the day that I decided I wasn't good enough
I regret the day I couldn't look in the mirror and not hate myself.
I regret the day I boxed up my emotions.
I regret the day that I let society take who I was.
I regret the day where I no longer felt important.
I regret the day that I ran away from everything.
I regret the day that I told myself "there is no turning back"
I regret the day that I lost a friend.
I regret the day where I became angry.
I regret the day where I saw my friends turning and there was nothing I could do.
I regret the day the world fell upon my shoulders.
There are so many regrets.
Far more then just this short list.
I'm in a moment of life
where things never seem to get any better.
There are still the same unsolved problems as yesterday
and life still doesn't get any easier.
The best I can do for now,
Is smile,
and pretend like nothing really matters
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
I know that I will never marry Jimmy Fallon or Donald Glover or Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
I know that despite the myths, Brussels sprouts taste awesome.
I know that one too many tequila shots will automatically turn you into a philosopher.
I know that the sun sets in the East and rises in the West (or is it the other way around?)
I know that I am most happiest when I'm surrounded by amazing friends in the unseasonably warm March sun and a banjo is playing.
I know that a smile straightens everything out.
I know that although you can't forget the past, you can't let it dictate your future.
I know that having *** for the first time is weird, and so is ****
I know that my hair is golden, my eyes are blue and I will never be stick-thin as hard as I try.
I know that there are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week and 12 months in a year. But it never seems to be enough time to figure out who you are.
I know that people come and go but those that love and care for you will stay glued next to you no matter what.
I know that as much as it hurts, you will get over love.
I know that I will never have the courage to rap publicly.
I know that Kim Kardashian's *** is most likely not real.
I know that travel truly broadens the mind.
I know that I'm insecure and over analytical and anxious and easily frustrated.
But I know that I'm also passionate and determined and a hopeless romantic and a picky eater and a restless sleeper.
And above all:
I know that when I look at you I see past your eyes.
I know that when you're around I smile wider and laugh louder and flip my hair more often.
I know I dress nicer to remind you how beautiful you think I am.
I know that I forget to inhale and that the butterfly on my shoulder has to fly up to my ear and remind me to breathe.
I know that I care about you more than anyone.
I know that I let you into every pore of my body, every opening: my heart, my head, my...
I know that I am willing to jump in with my whole body and risk being drenched in water for you.
I know that I can make you as happy as you make me
But I know that you're scared and vulnerable and hurt
But if I'm sure of anything (and mind you, I'm not sure of much)
I know that I will hurt and be afraid and breathe with you to make you love me.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
All I know is that some days I find myself curled up on the floor, eyes red, lips shaking, thinking that if I could, I would have given up on myself long ago.
So that is why I doubt you will love me. I cannot even love myself.
I must start off by saying I am a frustrating person.
You can swear I'm beautiful and that you'll never leave,
but I will not believe you.
Some days you will find me crying for no reason and think I am insane.
You are right.
I am a paradox. I am hot and cold, okay then shattered.
I am a roller-coaster ride, a wild, reckless soul with a heartbreaking past and demons in my mind.
Maybe I am looking for someone to save me, and maybe I am looking for someone to save. I haven't decided yet.
I am tied down by my fears and insecurities, plagued with bad memories that run through my mind every time someone says they love me.
How can you love a broken girl?
A girl who is not whole.
A girl who cannot even trust you because trusting always lead to heartbreak at the end of the day, feeling naive, played like a toy by the eyes of a beautiful boy.
A girl who is paranoid because she knows there are prettier, funnier, smarter, nicer girls, and she thinks she could never add up, and if you want only her, there must be some sorta catch.
And if you can get past these walls, break past the barriers I keep around to protect this damaged heart of mine, and you withstand every test I throw your way, if you stay even when I make you want to leave sometimes, just know that I will forever be yours, and I will hand over my battered heart in shaking hands, hoping it will be enough, hoping you will not break me even more.
We are two broken people, and together we will be whole.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
I learned to be stronger
I am better by far
By leaving your orbit
with nary a scar
I'm a better man for it
I'm glad that we met
But, I'm thankful for all
that I lost on the bet
I want to say thank you
For coming into my life
Because now that you're missing
I have found a new wife
If I had not met you
I'd have gone on a course
That might not have ended
With our resulting divorce
I am stronger and nicer
I now know how to share
I do things without asking
And I know to be fair
That I have to say thank you
Because if we were still one
I'm sure that I'd have gone
and ****** on a gun
I want to say thank you
For coming into my life
Because now that you're missing
I have found a new wife
If I had not met you
I'd have gone on a course
That might not have ended
With our resulting divorce
I just had to say this
Thank you for the time
I am now very happy
And have been a long time
I'm a much better person
Than I was when with you
So I feel it is fair
That I tell you thank you
I want to say thank you
For coming into my life
Because now that you're missing
I have found a new wife
If I had not met you
I'd have gone on a course
That might not have ended
With our resulting divorce
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 6:26 PM UTC
It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.
When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.
The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.
The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.
Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.
I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?
Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.
Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room
Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries
Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?
Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Isn't a fresh start
A beautiful place to be.
Isn't a warm heart
Much nicer considerably.
Tell me, when I smile
Does your whole self smile too?
Cause when you stop to look my way,
That's what I can't help but do.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
in dying.
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
a camera
that only captures in black and white,
a clock
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
No refunds.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
O It’s Nice To Get Up In,the slipshod mucous kiss
of her riant belly’s fooling bore
—When The Sun Begins To(with a phrasing crease
of hot subliminal lips,as if a score
of youngest angels suddenly should stretch neat necks
just to see how always squirms
the skilful mystery of Hell)me suddenly
grips in chuckles of supreme ***
In The Good Old Summer Time.
My gorgeous bullet in tickling intuitive flight
aches,just,simply,into,her. Thirsty
stirring. (Must be summer. Hush. Worms.)
But It’s Nicer To Lie In Bed
—eh? I’m
not. Again. Hush. God. Please hold. Tight
8.9k
If I'm a bit more agreeable;
If I'm a little nicer;
Maybe you'll like me more?
If I'm submissive
If I'm patient
If I bite my tongue
Maybe it'll be enough?
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 2:41 AM UTC
Life
is at times
an unwanted gift.
The sentiment is nice
but sometimes I think
having the receipt would be nicer.
Maybe then it could be returned.
Maybe then enough money would be given back
for a new one.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
To me you are smeared bright pink lipstick
An accidental exposure of flesh
The taste of peppermint chewing gum
Cigarettes in black sky.
You are alcohol induced numbness. Not needing a coat.
That long street.
Those insults.
You are a collection of wishes and stupid things.
You might be clever.
You are arguments.
It was hard only being allowed to breathe through my nose.
I don't know what you write with
I imagine it's a black biro
Or you continuously press the undo button on your laptop
Those strangers in your kitchen were nicer than you
They let me out
I wasn't going to kiss you goodbye
I wish I hadn't.
Now there are certain shades of off limits colour.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry.
Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song
til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself,
whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument,
albeit one of a different tone,
as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time
and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered,
only in the right light,
synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion.
Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it.
Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter.
She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut,
that’s message is immediate and jarring
as a conduit running from soul through skin,
or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key.
And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me:
Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope)
that snag and immerse just long enough
to make me feel I’ve had an effect.
I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings
to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same.
Like crying in a mirror:
alarming, but oddly refreshing,
and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own.
Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind
to hear that even the most glamorous hearts,
who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor
and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand,
are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth,
begging curbside at the dime store
for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink.
But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it.
So while she seeks out words that bare the bones,
I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow,
hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place
to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery.
But hell, like I’m any old soul.
I dress nicer than I otherwise would,
turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards,
and ask for a critique.
All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#.
...Now please, could you spare a dime?
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
If all the good people were clever,
And all clever people were good,
The world would be nicer than ever
We thought that it possibly could.
But somehow 'tis seldom or never
The two hit it off as they should,
The good are so harsh to the clever,
The clever, so rude to the good!
So friends, let it be our endeavour
To make each by each understood;
For few can be good, like the clever,
Or clever, so well as the good.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
A princess made of bubbles.
Flowers open to reveal
a world
where the ants congregate.
Light drips and pours
little rivers through trees that grow pockets, holding dust
that makes you sneeze sparkle streaks.
Watch out for the grass that looks too green.
It'll tickle your little feet.
The purple fields are much nicer.
As soft as the lime green grizzly who lives in the cave
made of quartz.
Lay down.
Listen to the song of
Kistin.
The king, the leader.
The buffalo who keeps the peace
and keeps it all in the pretend.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
Up, up my dreams go.
*Higher! Higher! I tell my soul won.
I let my hopes flow,
As a small, light burns only one.
My dreams are not yet scattered,
My hopes not yet up in fires.
My heart is not yet battered,
But you, my friend, are always hired.
Hope and trust is all one needs,
To be part of a nicer society.
Be one of good deeds,
And soon, be welcomed in the community.
Don't let hopes, dream, and deeds go rotten,
Don't let them go undone.
"Chase the soul!" - Mother Cotton
"Chase the soul!" - Father Fun.
I will sing to the ones,
I will sing to them all.
They will know who won,
The dreams the One called.*
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
a pentagon study
determined that putin
is an anti-social control freak
kind of vermin
(really? this required a genius
kind of keenness? really?)
darpa should stick to cool things
like the internet and invisibility cloaks
and drones armed with pork parts
a rodina rodent in the grain
needs spankin'
with more than just sanctions
cuz knocking out their incisors
doesn't make them any nicer
- a rat with no teeth
is still a rat.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
I'm in that desperate mood again
Where me, myself am not my friend
I pull my hair, I scratch my skin,
My feet? Too small. My waist? Not thin.
I want to scream, be someone else.
With softer hair, a nicer face.
I hate this stupid mirror
I wish I could just run away.
But from yourself, you cannot hide.
With my less than perfect body.
With my less than average brain,
My need for makeup, hair that’s knotty.
I know I could be better
Or you never would have left.
There MUST be something wrong with me
Some bad thing left unkept.
Or maybe you did look past my face,
Though ugly as it is.
Maybe I'm just a stupid freak.
With weird ideas. A downright geek.
Times like this I wish I could just cut my wrist.
But I cant. Too many promises.
But I dream about it night and day...
I wish I could just fade away.
Not like anyone would notice,
Or wonder where id been.
Nobody would ever question
Why I was never seen again.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
If I could manage to swallow
that growing sense of dread between my
shivering, pale lips, then it would
be much easier to take the lead.
Would I be free of emotional instabilities
the moment my boxers slipped to the floor?
Is that how this works? Where do my hands
even go in the first place?
If I could make my eyes flicker closed
as you lean in to steal my breaths by
means of unwelcome inquiry, perhaps
my heart would cease lamenting.
I could probably say all I wanted in the matter
and plead my case, but when society's the prosecutor,
chances are my legs would be required to stay
open 24/7, like a convenience store.
I'm sorry. I can't fix this, it's not something to be
fixed. I've failed as a basic human and cannot function
without regrets and anger. Besides, there are nicer
sorts around. Find them instead.
Remove your hands from my chest, your mouth from
my mottled shoulder. This is a convenience store that
never opens.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
**A long time ago
In a land far away
There was a young girl
Whose life changed one day
For once upon a time
in the little house where she once lived
an evil came upon them
one that couldn't be forgived
through a little door
lied a happiness that couldn't be compared
but was it true?
or where her senses impaired?
a better home and nicer parents
would you sew buttons to your eyes?
stay with this new family?
even if all they say are lies?**
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
So apropro,
her nickname suited her.
She was sweeter than wildflower honey,
finer than gosssmer,
nicer than a cool summer breeze
& made men fall to their knees.
And though he didn't look like one,
he certainly acted like one,
whenever she came sround.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC