Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
AsJay Mar 2019
This is me, can you see?
Look at what I’ve become
All that’s fallen right before me
Reduces me to being numb

Manipulation is my main streak
According to some opinions
Unsure what has people brutally critique
My reputation within everyday motions

So effortlessly they rip me apart
Like wood while the weapon attacks
Oblivious to my truth right from the start
I’m victimized to a poleaxe

I don’t know where they came from
Accusations with blunt points
All that has been spilt by someone
Really does disappoint

I see you there acting all cool
Wait, I beg your pardon?
Don’t mind me here laughing at you
Diamonds are just pressurized carbon

Insanely tryna make me feel toasted
You’re not and that’s very precise
To all the souls who have left me ghosted
Listen carefully to my advice

Never ever judge a doormat
Don’t think about it at all
They can make you fall flat
And watch you as you fall
Introducing... Poleaxe!
----
Constructed entirely yesterday, Poleaxe came to mind resulting from recent events in my life that have basically left me perplexed and wondering how conclusions are made considering that the opinions came from something so tiny.
The title itself is a word that been's written down ever since looking through a dictionary randomly during a phone call and I thought it went well with the context of the poem itself.
For those wondering, I am the doormat that's subjected in the last paragraph and the message is pure and simple, I'm not someone that gets walked over easily haha.
----
Thank you for taking the time to read through this poem, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Your support and inspiration really does help me with writing more of my poetry.
----
What Did You Think?
Comment & Let Me Know!
----
Who Am I?
I Am AsJay
----
Instagram: @iamasjay
Tumblr: @underestimated034
nivek Aug 2015
What memories are you burying
in so much of a hurry
how deep do you need to dig
is it treasure, something stolen
or is the stench bad enough
to make you wish it wasn't real
you never participated in your own life
and burial is the only answer
Timothy Mooney Jan 2011
Temperance for itself was not her virtue,
Nor was meekness.
She often would boldly and loudly
Run into the fray,
Singing lullabies
Half-naked
Dragging that **** one-eyed bear
Behind her.
She wielded it like a poleaxe
Against my knee
As she dashed into
Her Nowness of being
Then out of the room,
Her new-found feet
Carrying her off
Around the next adventures corner.
copyright 2011 T.P. Mooney

— The End —