"overbearing" poems
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.
He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.
My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.
My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.
My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.
My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
I am quick to cry and to anger
and people think I'm strange.
They don't see how hard I try to control it,
I know I'm seen as deranged.
Emotions can be overbearing
and it's difficult to stay quiet
when someone upsets me
It's simply not easy to hide it.
I guessed for a long time that the issue was with me.
But I thought I could watch maybe learn their technique.
For keeping a cool head when things get heated.
Instead of losing it over nothing and feeling totally defeated.
I was wrong it turned out.
I don't have breaks I have border as in
borderline personality disorder.
I got a diagnosis
and was incredibly afraid
that people would treat me like someone
who'd contracted the plague.
While I wasn't right,
I wasn't totally wrong,
mental illness is unfortunately
still mostly ignored.
If I was unwell with a headache,
people would ask
'Are you okay?'
'Here I've got Panadol Actifast.'
But when the ills
In the mind and I say
'I'm feeling down'
9 times out of 10 people get freaked out.
So it's tough when you're shamed
For having a disorder
A lot of normal people suffer
So could your son or daughter.
So next time you hear someone say
'I'm feeling down.'
Do me one favour
and please,
just don't freak out.
It's hard enough already dealing
with this day to day
without having friends
turn their backs and walk away.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
Here’s my perspective;
Thoughts, in general, are like the light from the stars that always shine the same brightness throughout the day.
They are always there
Existing, even when you can’t see them.
At least that’s how it is for normal people, you get the grace of day to nullify the shining of the light from the stars at times when it can be overbearing.
You get a break
If I could describe what it’s like to have ADHD, picture your mind never turning off.
It is always bright for me, and there is no dawn or day to alleviate my eyes from the galaxy of lights I permanently see.
It's a beautiful disaster
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC
During my manic episodes, you found me fun, fervent, even amazing. You told me that you wouldn’t trade my love for anything.
You told me that I made the butterflies dance in your stomach,
and made the demons disappear in your head.
With every “I love you,” there was a smirk and a kiss.
You told me that I was one of a kind
and you’d be there for me no matter what because you couldn’t imagine living without me.
After my first bad episode, you started telling me that my love was overbearing and you needed space.
You told me that you felt suffocated and I was like a child craving attention from their mother. You told me I was too repetitive and you just wanted to go get high.
Every time I said “I love you” you looked at me, shrugged, and said “me too.”
I asked you what happened to “forever” and you said only sane girls keep their prince.
You acted as if I got to pick and choose what disorder I wanted. As if being bipolar was a luxury I wasn’t taking advantage of.
When you got sent to a mental institution for attempting suicide, I searched for you for six hours until your mom told me where you were.
After you returned,
I helped you find yourself again and lost myself in the process.
I sacrificed everything for your well-being,
and you had no interest in mine.
You made me believe that being bipolar made you a terrible person, but then I looked at you with tearful eyes,
and got a peek at what terrible really is.
Thanks to you, I know who I am.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
I miss the sound of your voice.
I hate these long restless nights.
But when I sleep isn't exactly my choice,
It's too bad that this distance puts you out of my sight.
I can't wait for you to come rescue me.
This hell I'm in is so overbearing,
I want to stay with you forever dear,
Please tell me that you feel the same way.
My eyes can't help but to strain.
God why must this silence haunt me?!
I can't stand it, I just want to sleep.
Please leave me be.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
*See the show is over, behind the red curtain you can't see me cutting up my fingers using my blood and tears to pick up what's left of my heart. We're done, been done…we were over before we could start. Some ***** you are....some ***** filthy, manipulative, sneaky, overbearing, cold hearted, insensitive, ***** of a ***** you are. Some ***** you are….some charming, loveable, selfless, funny, intelligent, creative, artistic, handsome, good **** slangin'……perfect man you are. Prince Charming, you used your sword, on the one you for swore, that you'd love me till and beyond the day that I'm dead. Unfortunate mistakings……burn me at the stake, but first it's off with my head. Charming and flirtatious, so easy to fall in love……but it's being so charming and flirtatious that's got me trying on OJ's gloves. I'm the witch and you're the townspeople secretly fascinated but you'll never say. I'm still in love with you, let's just swallow our pride and give each other's the time of day. I'm still your weakness, you believe I'm that gullible and I don't know at all……because I stuck my pin through your Voodoo corpse right in the heart, and then you gave me a call. I heard the sorrow in your voice and I know you sensed my tears, with the so unslick cracks in my voice and sniffles flooding your ears. I'm yours, and you're mine, last time I said it was the last time……but you're the love of my life and even if we're not together that'll last a lifetime.*
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
Pale legs sprawl out;
untangling and stretching,
as I absorb the
Montana air.
Isolated, we sit,
under the big
sky.
Silent.
White clouds float
through a sea of
orange.
The same shade of
orange as those sugary
push-up's my father would
shove down my
throat.
Gas station sweets
to make me
me forgive
him.
I shake the feeling
of comparisons—
they never did me
any good.
Instead, I lie down
and allow you
to touch my
tense body.
Softly, you
reach over, muffling
words of beauty and
astonishment.
I do not flinch.
I flash a smile
and focus on
Montana.
The mountains in
West Virginia
rolled; they flowed,
so graciously
together.
There was never a
road that was not
winding.
I've never
seen a rugged
mountain.
Snow-capped and
radiant.
Not until Montana.
Until this moment,
I, too, have
tried to
flow.
Living the same ways,
in which I experienced,
Mother Nature.
Going through the
motions—
with no purpose.
No passion.
The fear of becoming
an abrasive,
overbearing woman
urged me to
flow.
To slide through
life, barely
noticed.
Never climbing
for more,
to discover the
true beauty in
becoming
a bit
rocky.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
There's a private, invisible flock of comedians chanting soapbox knock-knocks in my parking lot
Noisy, clang, boom thingy aloft and clipping the air around the slimy snow
And why does ajax keep butting its nose into everything I’ve got?
They’re all just boom-lost facades in a canonical, sly-faced rant.
So slanted, frankly, and poised toward a milder pace that the clang clipped the frosty branches beneath a drunken frat-house party.
Ah, the dandy-clang : native to the sandy graves and morose olive branches.
But only on the night of the dandy-clang, candy dances
for the branches are not partial to missed solid caches
of want and woe
of tongue and toe
and seldom shaken beneath the overbearing heat of a white-faced predator
for times it was that here and now, because
the wind had bitten harder
What am I saying?
That if the dandy-clang came. And if it produced the branches of the dancing eve fame...
with but not together. The clouds up in the ether
that lake and earth should wither
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
*I'd befriend the obsidian sky...
I'd shower it with a bounty of praises.
So that it'll welcome my nightly gaze,
without threats from overbearing clouds.
I'd impress the twinkling stars
by serenading them with songs unheard by most.
So that when the time comes,
they'd cast their votes in my favour.
I'd whisper to the nighttime breeze.
I'd cavort and giggle at its slightest touch.
So that when I fly my flag,
it'll catch it in full billows for her to see.
Then finally...
I'd woo the twilight moon...
For she is the prize
my heart had sought to pursue.
I'd court her
with the fiercest blaze that burns within...
In hopes that she'd forever
remember me as the suitor that had
fallen helplessly.*
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
Womanhood
In my ever eternal fight between
Pain and rapid mood swings
I have learned to accept
What I have been given by my mother.
Womanhood
In my ever insulting fight between
Objectification and misunderstanding
I have come to understand
"My body is a temple"
Is not a complement but an insult.
Womanhood
As my hair grows longer and longer
And I cut it shorter and shorter
And people tell me to "look more feminine"
I can't help but dress "more masculine."
Womanhood
Because I have to accentuate my assets
With tight jeans and skinny dresses
And if I forget a push-up bra
"It's a boy" jokes are made.
Womanhood
Because my knowledge of cars
And my firm hand shake
Awes men and makes them test me
Instead of conversing with me and moving on with their day
Womanhood
Because I am scared to leave the house by myself
And my father's overbearing protection
Instead of believing I can protect myself
In any given situation
Womanhood
Because my brother can go out whenever he wants
And can curse like a sailor
But I have to be a sweet southern belle
And answer a million and one questions just to take a walk
Womanhood
Because we have to justify ourselves
Because guys have to be perfect in the eyes of "feminists"
Because all of this bullsh!t has gone over the edge.
Womanhood
I can't call myself a feminist
And I sure ain't a misogynist
I'm just trying to scrape by
Just trying to get through this trying
Womanhood
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
I hate my personality.
I don't have a personality
That cultivates relationships.
No,
My personality leads to anguish -
Insecurity.
If I could,
For once,
Harvest a bit of
Silence in my brain -
I'd love that.
I hate to feel anxiety;
Fear of abandonment;
Insecurity;
Obscurity;
I hate to feel what I feel.
What's worse,
I can't find elegant words
To describe it.
Leaving me mute,
People assume things about me,
Making my efforts moot.
Friends think I'm overbearing;
Demanding.
Romances think I don't trust them;
That I'm too controlling,
Insecure;
Dependent;
Too moody;
Too possessive.
My personality makes people leave me.
I'm too touchy -
Too hard to love or understand.
People see me,
And expect me to freak out,
Or to demand attention.
Well this is my account -
Because when you are on
The borderline,
It's easy to see
That the grass is greener
On either side -
But for others,
You seem polarized.
I'm not happy with how my brain works.
I don't want to be the way I am.
I don't want to make sure people are
Thinking about me...
And then feel guilty or angry when they don't,
Or can't.
I hate my personality.
I hate who I am.
It causes me to never feel comfort,
And my unrest has left me
An insomniac for too long.
Now,
I just want to rest.
But,
It's hard to sleep when you're alone
And afraid of the dark.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC
music
ebbs and flows;
within my small frame
comes great power
inside my fragile body
emotion is overbearing
into my soul
the listener peers
ever so delicately
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
yesterday the telephone rang non stop
and the dashed thing had me on the hop
all my time was spent saying hello and goodbye
I had to tell the person on the other end I must fly
those telephone marketers are an insistent lot
they are more pesky than a horse fly bot
not for one minute did they leave me alone
ring ring ring went the overbearing telephone
to get some peace from the telephone's hassling
I unplugged the ruddy rampant thing
one is fearful of reconnecting it to the socket
as it may well send one right off one's rocket
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
Anna entered the room like a butterfly, gossamer to all.
Her face told a different story. One of sadness and hurt.
She wore only the finest silks and seamed cuban stockings.
All eyes latched upon her and followed every step. But no real man ever approached her.
No saviour could get near.
She wore none of her finery, the choice all his.
A trophy bride,
sold like raw meat in her childhood.
It was normal in her village, her adolescence stolen from her.
Anna's delicate neck held an overbearing sapphire necklace. It was overkill in every way.
All for show, all chosen by him, all for him.
He entered with his cronies as though owning the club.
The way he thought he owned her.
Thought indeed, for there is always a price in ownership.
Hours past champagne and fake laughter abounded.
Then she stood up.
Immediately challenged!
She wished to go and powder her nose.
Naturally escorted, god forbid she made outside contact.
But she was not watched within. Minutes passed then... The scream.
She had left, Anna had escaped him.
The anger on his face !
He had no control, lost face in front of them all.
For Anna, oh beautiful Anna lay sylph like wrapped like a cloud in her white dress, its silk floating in a pool of her life blood.
She had left, she was free.
Now her face was different, white, ashen but at peace.
Free..
Anna had left.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
outgoing?
I'd say outspoken
never been arbitrary
or overbearing-
just vocal
my passion runs deep
and pours out
excited
overflowing
when it finds
another soul to share it with
the energy
others direct towards me
I absorb
and like a mirror
reflect it back towards them
the energy
that rests inside me
is like water
waiting
for an outside force
to heat me up
excite
my molecules
or
to cool me down
mellow
the chaos inside me
making me stable
making me solid
if being an extrovert
makes me
popular and
domineering,
a fun-loving,
party animal
who lacks introspection,
tell me why
I always choose
to isolate myself
why
my few friends I do have
I keep at a distance
except when I force myself
to enjoy their company
once or twice
in a year
why
I am easily talked over
my words drowned out
ignored
like background noise
my input
apbrubtly halted
as others drive over it
making it no more
than the dust
their tires kick up
why I let them
talk over me
rather than raise my voice
why I would rather
read in solitude
than go to a party
or play a video game
rather than socialize
why
would I choose
to ponder existence
over
existing with others
extroverted
means I get my energy
from external events
rather than the internal
I am not a synonym
for gregariousness
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
Sitting by the fire, you stretch,
And breathe. The air is stiff,
Perfumed with insensitivity.
But to whom does this mysterious perfume belong?
For I am quite certain that it is not mine.
Your eyes stare,
My cheeks flush.
Our mouths show shameful smiles.
Slowly we lay on the ground,
Where the cooler air resides.
There is no overbearing perfume here,
Only the fire, the night,
And time.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 9:55 AM UTC
His flabbered jowls were hung aghast
Beneath his slobbered liver lips
His bulbous eyes were overcast
By burly brows of stewardship
An overbearing egotist
He stood apart from infidels
Compassion dealt with belt and fist
Disdainful with no parallels
And there upon his lofty dais
In garments fit to drape a throne
He glared with bulbous eyes ablaze
Upon a ragged danger zone
A misbegotten anarchist
Audacious with his sweet implore
To strike a flaming catalyst
Emboldened by his quest for more
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
Parents:
Overbearing,
too
controlling,
always
out
of
line,
demanding,
embarassing.
Cruelty
undefined,
liars,
protectors,
lovers,
homewreckers,
caring, kind, considerate,
bossy,
loving,
sweet,
caregivers.
And definitively
Mine. <3
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:38 PM UTC
Tears fall from my eyes
An unhappy little surprise
When the causation is unclear
And my rock is no longer here
An overbearing sadness
A disgraceful neglect of bliss
A torn sense of sanity
Cannot stand their sympathy
Frustration creeps in
A war I never win
Uncontrollable thoughts quickly flood
The only desire I have is to evoke blood
Why I cry is a mystery
Time-travel back into my history
Search for the beginning, the start of it all
The primary moment of despair that led to my downfall
Leave me to cry into a scattered slumber
As my insomnia persists to encumber
Constant nightmares slice up my sleep
A tedious life I am suffering to keep
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
When I was 15, I wouldn’t have believed you
if you told me all of this about constant lament
in a Red painted Animal House of scapegoats
that I’ve yet to see
it’s
streets of beige
it’s
fast food bad food no food spilled milk or beer
it’s
the South no the East maybe West probably North
it’s
in the air the water the meat there’s just too much heat to breathe or hold a job
it’s
hourly wages and daily commutes of gypsy peddlers in a town I’ve never been to
it’s
the cigarettes or nicotine my useless spleen filtering things I should never inhale or drink
it’s
divorce rates leading to ***** flicks c-sections finding acquaintances on monitors after dark only able to generate laughter over years of tears
it’s
women
it’s
pain
it’s
the migraines we get when we're waiting on the rain to paint the beige streets bronze
it’s
rolling trees metal trucks frozen lakes lumber jacks and ice fishing
it's
the anxiety of right wrong bad good all grey in the sunshine without you
it’s
the words of times you said meaning more to me than it ever could to you
it’s
the colossus of Wall St. overbearing my own suit and tie un-ironed or cared for but necessary none the less
it’s
CCTV the fight for power Government foreign travelers or terrorists Project Paper clip MK Ultra Plum Island persuasion propaganda Paul Wolfowitz
it’s
who governs what you can afford when you sit tattered on a curb after earning another mans bread
it’s
what has or has not been said 7 times or none that still lingers on the grass out front of home or house
it’s
no matter how big you are you still answer a toy phone handed to you by a two year old
it’s
the tears of Alexander when he realized there were no more worlds to conquer
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC