"patronizing" poems
and i don't even know if i want to kiss your lips or just your skin
because i'm
falling
falling
falling
falling
falling
falling
falling
but i don't want to hit the ground again.
are you sure your arms can hold the weight of my love when it's wrapped in wet clothes?
and are you sure it's the best idea to take this where the wind goes?
i'm not yet sure if love is a real thing
it's just a
beautiful
fictional
deadly
play,
and you still kiss me like i'm sane
but i know it's all just another game
so don't be surprised if i refuse to participate.
and you're like a
cynical
patronizing
inconsiderate
impartial
callous
song,
but your vicious words still gently drag me along.
and i'm not sure if you're really toxic
or it's just all in my head.
because
i love you
love you
ove you
ve you
e you
you
ou
u
or maybe i love when you're in my bed.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
Your first position of power
Feeling you don't get the respect
You think you deserve
I almost pity you
Treating us like dogs
But with a guise of politeness
"Ma'ams" and "pleases" can't hide your contempt
Your patronizing tone washes it all away
Doctors bark at you, you say?
Patients don't respect you?
Poor you, you deserve the world
Right, try being us for a day
Your lying mouth never stops
Complaining, explaining
As if we're completely ignorant
As if we can fix your problems
Your favorite activity
The one at which I roll my eyes
Is telling us how much you hate
The profession YOU chose
Perhaps you're just upset
That all our young minds
Can change our paths
Nothing for us is set in stone
Condescending, you sneer
"I am your boss"
***** you've been here
Less time than I have
What gives you the right
To judge these people?
Sure, they're self-entitled
Demanding and belittling
But have you looked in the mirror lately?
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
A string of words that flow like the rivers,
Showing enough thought to provide the shivers.
Reflections of the poet within,
The type thrown out in the garbage bin
Or the type framed and hung on the wall.
There's a poet within us all.
Not all are eager to show their inner poet,
But would rather let it set sail
As rivers stream from their eyes
Due to the symbolic lie
They believe, making them pale
As, with their sorrow, they wallow it.
Patronizing executives and farmers
Believe their exterior would be shattered
If their inner poet let slip.
Once somebody gives them lip,
They harden as if it mattered
And equip their shields and armors.
The Spartan with the inner-Athenian
Would be killed by his friends
If they knew who he was on the inside.
This fills him with fear.
He keeps his ears open to hear
If anyone is coming as he hides
So his poetry will have its end
Before this war with the Peloponnesians.
Such beauty gone to waste
All because this facade of masculinity
Everyone puts on to protect themselves
From the beasts in this society
That would love to shatter those dreams.
Artists should gather in teams,
Ready to fight this anarchy
That would place our poetry on the shelves,
Collecting dust with haste.
Collecting dust with haste.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
your kindness is patronizing
keep your pity to yourself
i'd rather lose you
than lose myself
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
i don't know if i want to kiss your lips or just your skin
I just know i'm falling
but I’m afraid I’ll hit the ground hard. And I don't want to.
Can your arms hold the weight of my love? Or do they just want to hold my naked body?
Are you sure it's the best idea to just see where things go?
You make me think love isn’t a real thing
sometimes it seems beautiful
fictional
toxic
deadly…
You still kiss me like i'm what you want
but i know it's just a game to you
Please don't be surprised if one day i refuse to participate.
you're patronizing
inconsiderate
cold
debilitating
but somehow you still find the words and continue dragging me along.
i'm not sure if you're really toxic….
or it's just all in my head.
because i love you
I think I love you?
Or maybe, i only love you when you're in my bed.
I still haven’t decided
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
I am realizing that the times you spent with me,
Were more of a worry than they were any reprieve.
I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty,
I wish I had seen it sooner so that I could leave.
Now I’m questioning,
Did it mean anything?
What defines a friend?
What separates them from an acquaintance?
I don’t know anymore;
The ones I thought were my friends are strangers,
That I’ve never met before.
Perhaps, there were good times,
But they’re clouded in the grey.
Now I’m left with ambiguity,
To haunt me for my days.
Those times that you laughed,
At a joke I didn’t understand.
Dividing us further by our clear differences.
This lone wolf was meant to hunt on his own,
Dancing with solitude in the comfort of his home.
But the lonely monarch grows tired of his throne,
He’s frozen with fear, for he doesn’t know where to go.
So, what’s next?
How does the second chapter open?
Would it be simpler to just forget?
Or act bitter and broken?
I walk the trial-heavy road,
Of finding new friends.
I wish I were a bloodhound,
To sniff out genuine people,
Who could invest in me.
Authenticity is a rarity,
Amidst all of the fallacies,
Filled to the brim with irony,
And patronizing apathy.
It’s a painful search,
That leaves me questioning my worth,
But I won’t stop looking,
Statistics assure me,
That there’s at least one friend out there, somewhere.
I just have to find them wherever they are.
A friend is as rare as a perfect pair,
And they can be covered with fool’s gold.
How is anyone to know?
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
There goes the rich man walking down the street
With a godly gait and patronizing eyes.
He’s running late for a massage to his feet,
Exhausted from gobbling all what money can buy.
Do not dare invade his personal space;
We’re not worthy to reside in his presence.
If you must speak, do so with great haste,
For his time is precious and of the essence.
Come and marvel at his opulent mansion!
Gather around; bear witness to such glory!
Let’s praise and worship his lavish fashion!
Better befriend him or you’ll be sorry.
But surely when his gold mine runs bone dry,
He will fall into oblivion, left alone to cry.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
It is Christmas Eve.
I sit idly, in slight discomfort on this wooden pew.
A glorified bench if you ask me.
I remember being a child, blissful and reverent.
I memorized sacred stanzas of prayer unaware of their meaning,
chanted them with everyone else.
I always thought God had excellent diction.
Now though I am puzzled.
For an American culture so ethnocentric, patronizing rituals in the third world and of other religions as silly;
Their own rituals are quite silly.
Transcending the mystery of creation for a moment now: having figured this a charade for the generational reproduction of virtue and morality inexorably tied up in the Americanization and Assimilation of society, that we might all move in one direction. That we might all create family units, buy houses, white picket fences, watch television on couches with children and consume, consume, consume... I deem it acceptable to be immoral.
Hymnals couldn't be more of a bore to me, prayers are empty.
But the girl three rows up is filling her dress quite nicely.
I wonder if she also is despondent, if her eyes wander.
I take a mental step back and realize how many girls are wearing high drawn dresses.
Are they showing off their flawless legs for the lord? Surely not.
They dressed that way for me.
The three rows up girl looks astray and catches my eye;
for a moment we have found our savior.
I make it a point to kneel next to her for communion,
brazen enough to tell her "That dress is something else."
She blushes and shoots me a seductive smile.
"Yes I'm wrapped up quite well aren't I? Only missing a bow."
Holding the body of Christ,
"That shouldn't be a problem, I'm quite good at unwrapping. These dexterous hands of mine."
Her body shifts to the left, her sinister side against my right.
I watch her take a rather large drink from the blood of Christ, she places her hand over mine as she braces to stand.
Our eyes flicker on again for an instant as she turns.
I'll be finding her.
The golden goblet seeks me next.
Bad wine posing as blood.
Like all these christian's faking it, it's quite suiting.
I wonder if they really believe they are drinking human blood?
And eating human flesh?
******* zombies man.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
Floods raze,
earthquakes shake,
locusts plague,
lost sheep astray,
and my stomach
is a knotted pit of snakes.
My pain cascades in waves
while you pray
to the angels
and patronizing saints;
it's not God's grace
testing faith
but a mind erased
as brain deteriorates.
It isn't fate
but a baby languishing,
afraid of danger,
drained,
trauma ingrained
so I must vacate
because mom
I can no longer bear the weight
of being brave
and maybe I can't be saved
but I can't stand
to see you in this state
and I can't stay
so please just remember
all the love I gave-
I love you always
and I'll take that straight
to my grave-
I never placed the blame,
I'm just exsanguinated
and i bet you'll never even realize
today is my birthday
so i guess I'll see you
at the pearly gates-
please don't wait.
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 2:43 AM UTC
why does it seem as if everyone has left me?
my hands quiver as i verbalize these thoughts
and the sweat from my palms dampens the page --
my vulnerability has become difficult to manage,
despite my mind's intent to remain good-willed
and my heart's discontent with the language misunderstood
friendship does not require ideological consistency,
and to believe otherwise is a detriment to the love
we are fortunate enough to experience in this life;
intellectual supremacy equates to the patronizing rhetoric
embedded within the elitism of the morally superior --
your grim clouds turn our progressivism dull
i will say what i need to retain a friend,
but the judgment within is a grudge untouched,
a ghastly bruise that never seems to mend --
you do not get to determine the language i speak,
the words i weep, or the healing i seek
when a bond so potent is forgotten so easily
to question my morality is to question my identity,
and those who know are the ones to see me grow
as i flourish from the bounds of these restrictions
and inch my way upright, stronger than before,
disallowing my words to be misconstrued,
a prohibition of the trauma i continue to elude
a Leo is loyal like the lioness of a pride,
gnawing at the flesh of the ones who betray --
grudges maintained in the chill of the winter,
a midnight breeze toppled an unchanged core --
it is not a star, this dim light retreating above,
merely the fading memory of our platonic love.
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
The yuppies are by the
Cotto Café, asking those
not to call them hipsters.
An auburn feminist drinks
Mexican blend, black, while
reading Margaret Atwood.
I gave up smoking, I say,
about a month ago.
No one really listens, which
I sometimes find comforting.
After I walk my isolation off,
I stumble into a Taco Bell;
one of those hybrids: this time
KFC. The cashier is curly in the
way that broken legs are curly.
Her eyes are green but I dare
not objectify her, I hope I don't
say out loud, because I fear
nothing more than being
patronizing.
Construction loudly stutters
and cars squeak and shush.
On this griddle of a sidewalk,
I feel alone. Vehicles vroom
while I stand silent, a monument
to my generation.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
I lie in bed gazing at my bumpy popcorn ceiling
I let my stare settle to follow my fan's revolution
Focusing on one plates trip around its axle
It is without fail and I find in my fan dependability
It deserves its place up there
It knows the right direction and spinning speed
It has no temptations to stop or slow
And rarely does it make a sound
It refuses to fall, to let the pressure win
It does not care its only painted to look like wood
Or that its never dusted clean
It does not complain about how the lights get more attention
Or how central air is more popular
It has purpose on the verge of personality
I lie in bed for my purpose is not so clear
And a personality not so worthy
Yet I am the one with the freedom to choose
Question: But what if my answers
Not to be
This fan seems to have proven a bitter point
It has made a mockery out of my passive glares
I fear its judgements, for it whispers disapproval
I tear myself away from its patronizing winds
And allow my eyes to float and find a mirror
Making sense of looks and location
And the human stare that beams back
Smiles and agrees
Decisively objective in its demeanor
I must admit that my reflection is convincing
But its light is late, and its fancy tricks deceive
Tis a fools mistake to reduce verbs to stale states
Question: To be alive or to live a life
Or choose to gamble with one's talent to lie
I lie; I lie in bed
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
There I slouched,
hand barely supporting my head,
gazing wistfully at the sunshine, a midst study of the intercepts of ****** circles and lines.
Her condescending baby voice, wafted through the classroom like a stale stench.
Then you,
yes you,
starting pressing the calculator buttons so hard for one moment I thought you'd break it.
I pressed my hand lightly on yours and you met my gaze for a moment,
so in my supposedly light bulb epiphany,
I asked you for a spare pencil.
Your eyes lit up like my terrible idea,
and trouble was being spelled in your flecks of gold.
So, your hand reached in and very slowly lay
pencil,
after pencil,
until it covered the space between us on the gratified desk.
"Fourteen pencils and you can have them all" you said,
before that patronizing squint swung in our direction
And the shouting began.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
She’s shiny. No, not like a diamond, or a new toy, or when you polish a glass just right.
… Not even quite like a star.
She’s just…
s h i n y.
To call her a beacon of hope, of joy, of anything would be patronizing, would be dehumanizing, maybe even fetishizing and associating any of those words with her makes you cringe, makes you ache with rage at yourself, but -
She.
Shines.
She is the agonizing sun in your eyes when you are driving and the sunbeams that feed the flowers in your garden.
both the highlight of your day and also the worst part
for the warmth in your chest, the fire in your heart,
You suppress and deny until you are almost fool enough to believe yourself when you say “i’m not in love, i’m not in love, i’m not in love”
She shines
She shines so bright it hurts, but you want it to hurt, you can’t imagine it any other way
So you burn, and you burn alone, and maybe always will, because the words dancing inside you -
“Hi, my name is - ”
“I like your skirt”
“What was the homework for Spanish?”
“Hey! I noticed the scratch down your arm, I also have a cat - actually, I have three”
- die before they reach your tongue.
… she’s probably straight, anyway.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
I cannot do Maths,
I've tried and tried and tried,
But every time I get the answer wrong,
It just keeps wounding my pride.
I have an ulcer on my lip,
That is keeping me from comfort eating,
So when a sum doesn't add up,
I can feel confusion fleeting.
You frown at me in bewilderment,
"But what on earth do you mean?"
"This is the most simple sum that I have ever seen!"
Alright! You ignorant ***** I don't understand Maths!
And am not going to put up with that patronizing sort of crap!
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
I imagine they will look at me with
Patronizing incredulity
When they ask “So, you love him?”
& I unblinkingly answer
“yes”
here they will chuckle with great
condescension and worry,
believing I don’t understand the meaning.
Perhaps, they are right.
The trouble is:
I don’t like him.
It’s not merely that.
I am somewhere between
I-am-mildly-interested
I-like-him
& I-am-going-to-marry-him.
Which, in the smallest of my mother tongue, leaves me
With love.
I love him, in my way.
In the way I—with twenty years behind me—believe is love.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
when i did not know who i was
i thought religion might tell me
i sat in a patronizing seat every other day
and did not ask the questions that itched
because questions are for those unfirm in their faith
when the teacher said,
'gay marriage is disgusting and
you should give money to Proposition 8,
cause they don't deserve rights'
i stood up,
cooly told everyone that
his words were that of a *******
walked out the door
smugly aware of the many
open jaws
and never looked back.
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 11:23 PM UTC
Portraying this sweet satisfaction,
Embracing you in my arms,
Acknowledging your presents in my slumber,
Eyes so weary drifting far within reach,
Stargazing into fiction,
Patronizing chances of seeking your secrets and wishes,
Thick oxygen in and out,
Fading into white,
Stay,
and join this adventure of dreams.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:50 AM UTC
I wish you wouldn't tell me any lies,
But It's my heart that yearns when you're away.
I'm the one who stays up at night wondering what I did wrong, while you sleep tenderly in someone else's arms.
Your patronizing voice saying I love you will always ring in my ears.
I wish i could make your heart feel something it doesn't, but that would be cruel.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
Reading bad poetry,
writing bad poetry,
existing as a subpar slice of
unemotional prose.
I'm a singsong
last-ditch singalong;
ding-dong-ditch me,
***** me out.
Slice me up and
lay me out to dry.
I cut onions:
I don't cry.
You ignore me:
I don't mind.
Remember me
as a sad story and not a person.
It'll be gratifying,
albeit dehumanizing,
patronizing,
but at least you'll be sympathizing
as I'm unsurprisingly capsizing.
Right now I'm realizing
that I wanna be the hungry waves
and not the sinking ship;
the sharp harpoon and not
unfortunate Moby ****
I wanna be the brick
instead of the window pane;
I wanna be the ****** sword
and not the bleeding slain.
So the inferiority complex that's been harrowingly ingrained
inside of my needlessly idle brain
can **** off once again,
because I'm gonna be the poet now,
not the reader, page, nor pen.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Days flash past my shadow
Unable to distinguish your face.
Missing someone is overestimated
An individual can't be missed
But how you felt in his presence
Will subsist.
Love conquers as endless matter
Thus exposing your heart is key,
For a new world to perceive.
An unknown yet
familiar ardor rushes through my veins,
I thence forsee you're present but somehow
Gone away.
Humankind around neglected you
Trust is reasonably locked into your gut
Disowning is no option,
Neither patronizing you;
Been there myself.
Dark nights
Dark thoughts;
Disoriented your head,
But reincarneted who you are today.
Don't contemplate there is no better.
Stand high on your feet,
Drown yourself on memories
That once made you
Complete.
Perhaps I'll never be your future,
Perhaps my existence to you is nonsense.
Straightforwardly;
Merely knowing you're no longer lost,
Will be my cue for moving on.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
We scuffed across the wide sidewalks, 3 AM *****
persuading us the dim-lit bridge wouldn’t fall away beneath
our curiosity to see the university’s emptiness, content
in August’s stagnancy. I tried to picture thousands of strangers
walking different paths to reach their point B,
but soon we stepped off yellow-toned brick and I saw hippies
laying on the ground outside a pub, smoking joints.
One woman with hip-length dreads, her face as wrinkled
as crumpled love letters hidden behind my dresser, pointed
and said, You’ll forget yourself some day.
Months later, I blinked awake in the tank as dawn crept
through my cell bars, quietly, like the disappointment on my birthdays
or Mom’s sighs when she browsed the mail for child support checks
never sent by my train-wreck, truck deck loving old man
who ****** me off when I mistook him for that self-righteous cop
hell-bent on teaching me a lesson of respect.
He had that patronizing presence, and it blinded me with magma
rage I felt in my arms, through my knuckles, right to his rib cage.
I still don’t remember the way back to that dingy pub.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
Was she but the fallen
Come down to raise an Arcadian hell,
Avoiding peace in graceful slalom,
Encased in her callous breathing shell,
Most would describe her as the Cacodemon,
With the eyes of baleful sin,
Defined by her nefarious inner demon,
That had beguiled her sanity to its whim,
She breathed of ethereal indignation,
Sought upon her by trenchant thoughts,
Damning her for indulging in feelings as dissipation,
By those who seek defamatory purity as frauds,
She was the unwanted succubus,
Whose earnest beauty cost too high a price,
Her darkly alluring convictions were a neuritis,
Brought too bare all adamant admirers vice,
She was thought to be the rakshasa,
Condemned for safeholding her own heart,
Not wanting persue any psychodrama,
Not wishing for a reckless counterpart,
So she clinged to her hellhounds,
To hold at bay any contemptuous intruder’s,
And so they dub her hell bound,
Ignorant of her past patronizing prosecutors.
She is the Cacodemon,
As she shuts her gates from all,
Trusting none acclaimed shaman,
As she has already been judged to fall
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
No. I have had enough.
I will not be your doll
Or your little puppet
That you can manipulate
And toy with.
No. I am not an object.
I will not be dehumanized
Or be touched by you —
By your hands that linger
In my darkest corner.
No. I am a person.
I will not be enslaved by you
Or be snatched of my persona —
For I can think for myself;
And I can be myself without you.
Just STOP.
Stop making leisure
out of my fragile heart.
Stop patronizing my body
for your selfish means.
Stop making love your petty excuse
for the lies you’ve tied around my head.
Stop making me feel ***** and useless
after you call me “beautiful”every time you
get your ***** hands all over my body.
Stop objectifying me. I am my own person. I can live without you
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC