"overconfident" poems
ever since i was young,
my gaze was drawn skyward.
i could tell you the story of orion,
and how to brush bernice's hair,
before i could tell you that two plus two equals four.
i know more about our vast universe,
than i know about many of my friends.
if you are not well acquainted with a pisces,
let me give you a bit of an introduction:
we are compassionate, imaginative,
we adapt to whatever is thrown at us,
and my personal favourite,
we are unfalteringly loyal.
however...
we are full of self-hate,
prone to laziness,
we are escapists
and horrendously easy to manipulate.
i believe my horoscope today is complete ********
i do not feel utterly lovely,
i know i will not score a date
because no one feels for me romantically.
i've nothing to flaunt.
the horoscopes are saccharine lies,
but, those traits? those are me.
my soul is ancient,
i feel the pain of struggles i have not faced,
or rather, have not YET faced;
i will split my soul in two
i will break my bones
i will give every drop of my blood
i will breathe my last breath
for those that i love.
i spent two years of my life giving my heart and soul to a sagittarius.
philosophical, adventurous.
i admired him so.
but his negatives--
inconsistent. overconfident.
careless.
he was a burning house.
my mother, also a pisces, when all was said and done,
told me to stay away from those sagittarius boys.
they're dangerous for wary, fretful fish like us,
who ask 'from what bridge?' when we are told to jump.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Fade to scene--pallet: blue and green--wide shot; mood: serene.
Establish view; a stock or few; pan right to view a distant two.
A hazy rim; we cut to HIM--so clean and prim--just as we hear the hymn...
A tear rolls down his chin. The brightness dims; music shifts to grim.
Cue the screams; cut the scene.
We're back in the now and the mood is mean.
HE'S back in a view--pallet: black and blue--the shot askew.
The mood's muted; sounds of shooting. Cue dialog:
"Look what you did..."
Camera jerks; extreme closeup: a smirk; let the ANTAGONIST work.
The wire crew's here. HERO sheds a tear. Signal stuntman on the tier.
Orchestra on my mark...
Deliver line then cut to dark.
Light's back to reality. The view won't change, you see.
There's no crew or doubles. Just a wide sea of troubles.
No second shots; no calling "CUT"; it's all open-shut.
It's not like a filmmaker's lens; it's not just pretend.
Let me script this out what you're all about:
An overconfident lout, but backlit with doubt.
All part of a cast, direct you like I did the last.
I see that you're furious, but you're hardly fast.
Now I'll produce the fear as the shoot draws near--
I've got the schedule set; we're not finished here!--
You're calling "cut," but I'm just cutting you more,
And then I'll edit you out on the cutting room floor.
I appreciate that you feel you've come so far,
But never forget this is MY movie, and I'm the STAR!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
conceited and overconfident of knowledge, but, poorly informed and immature
embodying the definition, I lie in bed, quiet, thinking,
face down, shirtless, in a pair of cheap purple *******
breathing in a smell--cotton sheets, sweat, and coconut
I am not nothing, not miserable, but not happy
I am not frightened or bewildered by anything
I am an elder amongst the young
I'm a youngster still, to everyone.
all trash talk,
not new news.
I just sort of quietly revel in the experiences
unravelling above me in a floating memory
adding up my mistakes,
until all pressed into me
+ that doing the right thing hurts, sometimes,
+ people are going to do things that you can't
and still that's okay, but don't get discouraged
if you work hard and get nothing out, that just
means something, that if you like it, fight for it
I don't know.
I also learned this year not to trust the bad liars,
that sometimes people are bland, but even still,
it doesn't mean death, and it's really going fine.
I learned this is as smart as I'm going to get,
so maybe I should try a little harder with it.
turning on my back, I flick an imaginary cigarette,
I put on a little blush + a long-sleeved black shirt
then I did what I was supposed to, maybe for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans
May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
I am made by your opinions, not skin.
I am polite as i am vulnerable. And i am quite when your bass speaks.
I cover up as men stare,lustfull eyes look if your skin is too bare.
I dress to impress,I cannot be a mess.
If i am too lean i am anorexic, If i am too chubby i am fat.
If i wear specs,i must surely play chess.
If i walk with my head held high my ego is too big.
If i look into your eyes I'm probably overconfident.
If i see your flaws i am too judgmental.
I am a woman, not of skin but of your words.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
Nights like this
when the sun goes down
the darkness comes
quietness sets in
and I am left with my own thoughts
flashbacks play in my head
I think about all the things that are my fault
I think about the night bone met marble
the night teeth met flesh
all of the repressed memories seem to surface
like a molding body emerging from the pits of the ocean
only to remind anyone who's paying attention that it is still there
except nobody knows
no one is aware of the body except the ocean
the ocean bears the weight of the body all on its own
though the weight it bears seems minimal
compared to its vastness
the ocean appearing strong is quaking
as it struggles to hold the massive weight of the body which is lifeless
the ocean trying its hardest to use its waves to hopefully carry the body away
and bring the body under the mellow waters
the body almost like a sponge is soaking up water and becoming heavier
its soaking up the attributes of the ocean and almost becoming the ocean itself
the body mimicking the actions of a sponge getting larger and larger as it begins to consume more of the ocean
then it becomes heavy
the body has become overconfident
it doubted the strength of the ocean
the body sank all the way back to the pits where it came from
the whole time the body was calmly floating at the surface
no one seemed to notice the struggle the ocean was going through
but the ocean overcame the memories
but I, the ocean, still continue to hold onto the memories, they didn't disappear
they just didn't overcome me
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 12:08 AM UTC
You say I'm overconfident,
I say I'm just prepared.
You say I'm confused,
I say I'm just aware.
You say I'm crazy and I agree,
But I don't care what you say,
Cuz this is simply me!
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
This dull ache started
In the middle of my gut
Spreading
Like an oil slick
Did not spare
My bruised heart
And
Tumultuous brain
Coated
Like perishing penguins
In layers of black
Beside upturned
Prey
Both dying
The same malady
Tormenting
Prey and
Predator
Your words
Trying to soak
This inky toxin
Resemble
Feeble attempts
To stop
This amoebic monster
Growing
Changing shape
Nevertheless
Spreading
To the far corners
Of a once clean
Calm picturesque
Ocean
Tranquility shattered
By Pipe bursts
Of random speech
That may take
Years to clean
Yet leave a mark
Our relationship
Pure
Until this spill
Dearest
I blundered
Overconfident
In love
And my ignorance
Your feelings
Sensitive
Like the corals
Tarnished now
I am trying
To clean
This unsightly stain
With my tears
And your
Understanding
I know your heart
Large as the ocean
Will soak up
My folly
Erase the blemish
Clear the water
That we may stand
Hands entwined
Like clown fish
And
Sea anemone
Inseparable
After our long
Painful
Separation
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:35 AM UTC
Honest
He who doesn't work, works **** or just can't commit
He homeless
He an affair and a **** good fix
****** with a tendency to show underwhelming ****
Twisted into nicety by such anger at the human, the wants
Good at *** when in love
Un-abused
Un-poisened
One of my best mates like
Dyslexic thick ****
A problem
Step child and real life son, grandson always, always, grandson
eldest unappreciated, underestimated, paranioder? Paranoidist.
One of the needers of therapists
Panicked by past
Fractured by future
A depressive, doesn't drink, do drudgery like drugs
A fearfull mess mummy's boy
Fatherless
Fathered less
A letdownshowoff
overconfident,
Anxious, ex husband, probable poofter, please Goddot, please, let he be a cheater
A ex punk, definite ***** pushover, almost poet
So easily hurt, yet never hurts
My love one. (Cary you Guardian)
Too damed romantic
Cant read but by gosh buys books
Genius
artistic, Autistic, an idiot and just another bad student
manish
Little Boy
child
Unable to be alone and not a good flatmate
Justifier of the almighty grey areas,
The cheated...
the Strong willed.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
And surprisingly respectable. I miss that summer.
Seeing people capitalize the light of morning.
It will be my own hands.
Narcissistic, overconfident, underskilled and I.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
Opulence surrounds you, overconfident in your approach
the golden lust of your ego projects
itself in the driver's seat with that tiny smirk
here as we drive on
at a adrenaline inducing speed
the sunset caught between leaves and branches
of these trees.
I am
baptized
in a hypnagogic state
dreamy
but
still here.
"let go"
I say to you
oblivious
to what is right in front of you.
"let go of the wheel"
because
it's too beautiful
and because
I think I love here,
as I close my eyes and
letting the wind toss my hair about and
letting the stroboscopic flicker
tease the petals of my face and
forgetting about what matters and what doesn't,
more than being here with you to be honest.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
A year passed by and now, all I know are your words,
the beautiful sound of your laughter and all
your other little habits that make me smile.
All I know are things like your smile, your voice and
for some twisted reason, along with your voice, there's another one,
and this one wont stop laughing and it keeps whispering into my ears,
"You're too late."
Guess I was too overconfident,
I'd thought you'd stay forever.
I was too scared to accept the truth.
I never knew that you leaving would hurt me so much.
Now, you're right there, but you're too far away.
I can't reach you now. I wont be able to. And I'm too
disgusted with myself to even try to reach you.
And for some twisted reason, I agree with that voice in my head,
the one that was laughing and whispering into my ears,
I am, indeed, too late.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
the perfect poem A flawless poem
eats its siblings
did not know this. a flawless poem
chose to disbelieve. if such there were,
will always be
overconfident. the next one
three years back,
wrote a piece, my poor soul,
called it "flawless," my rag tag heart,
sensing, knowing, has no censor,
that was an, so careless,reckless,
unobtainable condition. as if words were but
frivolous treasures
loved it so, easy spent, easy get
pinned to my chest,
funny, loved me back, if only, how I wish
if ever such thing could harvest my best
could ever be. with golden cutlery excise
the single flawless poem,
sumbitch. I know in my possess
knew it but didn't. lay down this hand
so weary
accept there was, from cupping tears,
any itch that couldn't be satisfied at king last
be scratched so much so
into oblivion. that my casket lowered,
hands in repose companioned
three years back, clutching his best
on top of the world, easing his rest,
chose not to believe a paper record
that life is cyclical, to join his ash,
and i would always. his flawless poem,
have in my posses, at long last
more and more.
perfect poems. 11/13/14
now my poems,
flawed.
like me.
4/8/16
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
You've got no squeeze on your lower regions and you worry me to death.
I like to think I'm the same about some things.
You look like you smell like the stuff that makes the space between my gut and my heart tingle with numbness and uncontrollable awe.
A sign of that bad luck pleasure sentence I'd of rather avoided for the next 20-infinity odd years, if you'd asked me about it two months ago, alone in dark bleeding rooms I'd tied my head away from.
God does it make me reel and ***** nausea all throughout my nerves, our promise and the death sentence signed on in the small print.
Your uncertain confidence
My overconfident uncertainty
It's outside our bubbles and it seems to make me worry more.
you just pet my head and the smoke and sinuous void slip out and don't rule us anymore.
You make my throat kick out submission to the nonsense of mopping up needles spilt on a playground made up of such wavering lines. I hate lists.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
"Go away," I said
Daring to hope that for once the
Overconfident ******* would listen
To what I said.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
I had no idea about the upcoming days
Of pain.
"Pretty pretty girl," he said
As I looked up into his evil eyes
With their horrifying red rims.
I scream again.
He curses, hits me.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
I change tactics.
Plead.
My baby needs me, please let me go.
Even after he left, I laid still.
He left me seeking vengeance.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Every tear had been released.
Inviting anger, I swear to myself
That if he ever comes close to me,
He must die.
He approaches.
Unleashing my anger upon him
I never thought that I could hurt someone
I once cared so much about
As I did to him that day.
No. **** him.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Groaning, he pleaded for my help.
Everyday I regret what I caused.
Death.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
you're killing me by doing absolutely nothing and I guess I did expect more but
who wouldn't?
I still sit here on Sundays and think of you having breakfast with your grandmother
I think of our visits to the nursing home to see your grandfather
I think of our times playing with kittens at the local shelter
I think of my heart being shattered
to a million pieces
as your overconfident,
****
self-centered,
**** attitude got in the way of your seemingly non-existent feelings
I think of the tears I cried when I realized all of the ********
I put up with
for so long
because I was too blind to see what kind of a person
you really are
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
I've lost it; my crown
As it falls to the ground
It's just making the sound
Of "boo"s in the crowd
and in them I just drown
A self-proclaimed king
that's been unmasked as a clown
I grew overconfident
thinking I was the best
Rhyming just came easy
It was a gift, and I was blessed
But it kept growing harder and harder
to get the feelings right from off my chest
And I just grew obsessed
I could feel the building up of stress
I couldn't find the right words to express
lost my gift of rhyme, oh who would have guessed
I always taught myself on top
but I was losing to the rest
One of my poems got declined
without any explanations
I'll admit that none of these new pieces
have been meeting expectations
Maybe I've been running out of patience
with all my creations
I seem to have been lacking creativity
when I think and lay down all the foundations
My poems need raw emotion
To be able to reach farther
So I'll drain every thought
I'll even talk about my father
Describe how he'd get drunk
and abusive towards his daughters
While his son was just a coward
afraid to step in as he attacked his mother
I'll talk about every ******* thought that filled with horrors
and all the dread that lingers here and bothers
Maybe what I need is to drench all my rhymes in pain
That's what brought me fame
to slid open my wrist, squeeze the ink from inside my veins
That's what people like
poems they feel they can relate
they say they've felt the same
And again they'll cheer my name
say the king's back in the game
That I haven't lost my touch
that I'm still ******* insane
Then no one will ever doubt
Why this throne has engraved my name
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
When I first found love it was like a smoke bomb on the 4th of July
Blocking my vision and pulling all focus towards it
And when the smoke cleared I was left with nothing but nothing but poluted sky and the smell of burned salt
When I first found love it was like the snow in March
It was beautiful and calm
But left me cold and longing for what I had before it came along
When I first found love it was like the falling of leaves
It was fun for a time until I realized the fun was over and I then had to work to clean up the mess I had made of my grandmother's yard
When I first found love it was like riding my bike for the first time in the spring
It started rough, but I found my footing.
I found myself overconfident in what I had achieved and before I knew it, I had banged up knees and was crying from the blood.
When I first found love it was like my very first stage dive.
I jumped to the edge and found the perfect spot where I knew I would be caught.
And then I jumped. And no one caught me.
I was on the ground. Surrounded by laughter. You're such a fool. I should have known better.
When I first found love, is when I first found myself.
Alone.
But finally free
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 11:47 PM UTC
and when i'm overconfident, i give away things that i shouldn't
i will miss them someday when i'm in bed-
the nails still growing
no mater how short they get cut. keep cutting
them shorter and shorter
looking down at it.
hallway-stairling
bleating,
unsated.
perambulating this
/
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
It affects her:
The calls, the messages, the smirks, the frowns, the curses, the white lies, the missed phonecalls, the skipped dates, the whistles, the hoots, the whispers, the stares, the anger, the harsh truths, the words they use to describe a human being that just happens to have a little extra **** to her body, the comments that come from those of the same *** about a body that could be perfect but why bother if there's no one to be perfect for?
It affects him:
The blank stares, the condescending voices, the cheers, the tears, the jeers, the insults, the absent father, the oblivious mother, the useless job, the harrowing boss, the old flame, the aches, the pain, the fact that he can't seem to make things work right when it could benefit him, the assumptions by them that he should be strong enough to carry the burdens of 12 others plus his own.
We need our girls to be smart but not so much that they become overconfident
We need our men to be strong and tears are meant for boys
We want our girls to be pretty
We want our boys to be handsome
We want our girls to understand their role in society and that they must not cross an arbitrary line made by those who fear them
We want our boys to grow up and understand they must provide, provide, provide and if they don't it's a sign of weakness
We want our women to provide children but oh no no no they must not work, where is the father?
We want and expect our men to be fathers to children, but not the ones born out of wedlock
We want, want, want but never ask our children anything because while we've strived hard to help their brains grow
we don't actually want them using that knowledge
We oppress our own people
And wonder why we see little success.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
When spoken by the timid
It evokes anxiety and fear
Ruminating over how to utilize it
And desperately not wanting to hear
The dauntless utter it overtly
Overconfident in prose and strength
Never contemplating the consequences
Keeps everyone at an arm's length
A sentence this precise shouldn't be so confusing
Nor open to the interpretation of its core
"No Means No", as a matter of fact
The brazen should use it sparingly, and the meek demand it more
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 1:00 AM UTC
at best, tonight ends in rest-filled sleep with possibilities
of an old lover probably taken for granted
at worst, well, it can always get worse
no use dwelling on such things
those scenarios receive more than their fair share
quick one at the ale-house
heart open this january evening
dimly lit by coal-fueled electrical responses
illuminating habitual relapses of overconfident tones
and dishonest scared shitless eyes
clothed in the modern pigmented
grey and black dyed organic Patagonia cotton
everyone wearing grey and black?
even the messenger bags?
caps beanies glasses hair-clips
holding nothing against
fearless beauty loses the modern-cliched surroundings to be validated by none other than the undercurrent of the entire universe
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
Lately I’ve been feeling overconfident,
Of something never promised me,
Devoting too much time,
To visions of constructed reality,
I largely want to forget, and leave it for a time,
And maybe I am, I feel good with a man,
But something is never far from mind,
And I’m afraid of what might happen,
It’s silly to hold on for so long to what will never be mine
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
When Intuition goes to battle with Reason,
these are usually quick skirmishes—
but this one has broken into war.
The campaign unfolds on the soil of abstraction,
reality, spirituality, and poetry.
Intuition begins with overwhelming superiority—
three of the four fields are hers.
But Reason is insatiable:
guarding the kingdom,
minimizing the losses,
holding the troops’ morale.
Its advisor is Faith—
the Eternal Outsider.
Usually Faith stands by Intuition,
but now he has slipped quietly
to the opposite box,
losing his own faith… one could say.
Intuition without Faith is dangerous.
Her box is always draped in dark lace curtains;
only her voice comes through—
no one has ever seen her face,
except Faith,
who would never stoop so low as to speak of it.
Some claim she is not even human,
others say faceless,
and in the inner circles it is whispered
she wears Janus’ face—
(probably only for Faith,
a mocking trick against hypocrisy).
Yet for the audience outside,
listening from afar,
plain common sense whispers only one thing:
she is a shapeshifter.
Heresy.
Maybe that’s why they are so quiet.
Why is Intuition so dangerous
without her two-faced advisor?
One might suppose the real danger
is the opposite:
that religious fervor seeps into her field
and sprouts the weeds of fanaticism.
For Faith hides not only
fat volumes of sermon under his cassock,
but the stone tablets of morality.
He has, they say,
even used them in close combat.
Effective: the laws of physics themselves
lend the swing its momentum;
at the moment of impact
it already speaks the language of Force.
A cudgel in Faith’s hand,
a drumhead tribunal—
the kind that applies laws literally.
When he sits beside Intuition,
his chair glows in full illumination,
stage-lights blazing,
the glare descending like a halo.
From that light,
behind Intuition’s baroque curtains,
she too takes on form—
not just a whisper,
but an active member of the council.
Without him,
Intuition grows overconfident.
If no one sees her,
perhaps she isn’t even there.
Her influence falters.
In her own words:
she has free rein.
In such moments,
Intuition dons the mask of the prophet—
a mask that grants
a dangerous confidence.
“The prophet does not err—
he is only insufficiently zealous.”
And at the final word, help arrives.
It is Obsession.
She lays her hand lightly
on Intuition’s shoulder
and says nothing but:
“You are right.”
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 4:09 PM UTC
we walk these streets
illuminating those we pass
seeing with our hands
and our ears
voices make faces and
i can't help but remember
how we forgot that actions
speak louder than words
naked and overconfident
we're a string of blind
lights, one bulb away
from going dark
promise you'll tell me who
burns out first
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC