"pushover" poems
You think you’ve broken me down
that I’ll never stand again,
you think with hateful words
you’ve landed the big win.
So you think you know me…
I’m a pushover because I’m kind
don’t underestimate,
I actually have a powerful mind!
You don’t know the whole of it
and never, you truly will,
unlike you, I could never hurt another
out of hatefulness or thrill!
You are powerful with judgment
and you think you give a great show,
so go ahead, pick up that rock
give it a good hard throw!
But, remember this sweetheart
actually, it’s something you should know,
karma pays back in triple
YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!
I’d tread a little more lightly
if I were YOU,
all that hatefulness you put out
well, eventually darlin,
that bills gonna come due!
~
Dec 24, 2017
Dec 24, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
Honey I tried,
Honey I cried.
Honey this is a vicious cycle,
Honey this is a disastrous cyclone.
Honey we aren't getting better,
Honey this sweet relationship is getting bitter.
Honey the only one that stands between us is you,
Honey I'm tired of my heart getting beaten black and blue.
Honey you can't see your own faults,
Honey you haven't seen all of my insults.
Honey you know better than to fight me,
Honey you know you can leave.
Honey stop crying and trying to make yourself innocent,
Honey you know I'm not falling for it.
Honey you think you have me won over,
Honey I'm not a stupid pushover.
Honey we know that this is because I'm crazy and you like pushing buttons,
Honey this relationship is nothing.
Honey I tried to make it something,
Honey I tried to give you everything.
But honey the only way I can is if you get out of the way,
Stop pushing me away.
Honey I tried to make it work,
Honey I tried to make it last forever.
But you fought everything I did to change it for the better,
Because of that, I'm done and you lost me forever.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Boy left me feeling raw and pink, like the baby born a comma in the taxi
17 years ago. Boy left me feeling like Aunt, who didn’t know any better,
but still knew it all, and now she looks like a graveyard. When I was 14, I went
to her funeral, sat Shiva with her (my?) family, didn’t allow myself to cry, but I did.
Opened Photo Booth app. on my MacBook when I got home, because I didn’t know
what my tears looked like – I just wanted to see myself cry. I love crying,
and I love when other people cry. I think that I don’t like crying alone, but I do;
I keep people on speed dial, so that they can hear me cry. Boy used
to be on my speed dial. He and Aunt were the only ones who could
unravel my guts, but then Boy raveled them back up again. He gave me up
for the Girl with Brown Hair living in the next town over. She lives in a house
that quakes, and tilts. They say houses are like dogs. That people buy houses
that look like themselves. My house has a rich, bleeding door, and shingles
that try to bring me back to nature. I am the exception, although I do try
to bring myself back to nature. There is a forest in the back of my house –
it is brown, and deep, and swallows the monsters stuck in the squiggles
of my eyes. Last year, I went to the forest at night, and slept there. My mother
didn’t know. My father didn’t know. They’ll never know. My father
would have been okay with it, if I had asked. My father called himself
a pushover when writing his brain’s biography, and I murmured in agreement
when I read it. Or thought I read it, but I don’t know how to read properly yet.
I can’t keep characters in my head. I eat characters
for breakfast, along with Nutella. I’m 5’5”, and weigh 130 lbs., and buckle over
when I walk, because my crying weighs 50 lbs., so I push the Nutella
out of my stomach. The Nutella is in Boy’s stomach. Probably in
Girl with Brown Hair’s stomach now, too. I miss Aunt. I wish
she could eat Nutella with me. Next week, I’ll bring a jar of it to her grave,
and a camera. Cry and have a photo shoot, maybe, because I don’t know any better.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
I must be incredibly wary
and alert
and I gotta follow my gut because there’s a reason to why
it aches
or jumps with excitement;
it knows
much more than my head does;
and I must hold myself firmly like a proud statue, but I can’t just stay in one place
I need to tiptoe on a tightrope
I mustn’t fall, but if I do, I mustn’t fuss
just get back up again,
just get on with it
I went to an art gallery this afternoon
and the theme of one small contemporary art room
was,
“just get on with it”,
(I decided that myself anyway);
there was a painting of an airplane, resting on snow,
that one was obvious
I said, “just get on with it, then, fly”
there was a painting of a snowy road,
that one was obvious too
there was a painting of a sad girl
again, obvious
but then there was a painting of a person
with a large smudge of green on his face, he barely had a face
and a large smudge of white on his waist, he barely had a waist;
I concluded,
“sometimes you don’t have a face and you just need to get on with it”
because my mood was easy breezy silly this afternoon;
but now I’m thinking
sometimes you lose your identity
and you just need to get on with it
I can barely take anyone serious when they ask the question,
“who am I?”
the answer is obvious if you allow simplicity into your heart,
“you’re what you are experiencing and feeling and being right now, and it’ll change all the time in every moment”
so,
I feel kind of commiserable
and much of a parody
for sitting in a busy mall foodcourt, with a cup of coffee I didn’t even buy at that foodcourt,
remixing an old song on garageband,
then looking up and realizing I’m surrounded by all of these kiwi strangers
and finally asking the question
“who am I”
oh I’m a lunatic, aren’t I?
I must be open, but not too open
and easy to get along with, but not too easy to get along with
I must catch a wave on the first try,
but if I wipe out, I mustn’t turn red;
I need to watch what I say
before I say it
but also find the courage to speak
when I’m shy
and I must be considerate
but not let people walk all over me
I can’t be a pushover, and I can’t be too much of a leader
because I don’t know what I’m doing
here;
I can love but I shouldn’t fall in love
at least for awhile
because I’m still high from the transition and I’m dubious of how
authentic and sincere
my falling in love
would be
worrying is the most unnecessary thing
money isn’t an issue
(right now)
and loneliness is a blessing
but it’s also a sickness
and I must remind myself that I’m worth not being lonely
and instead being free
and above all,
I am capable of anything I set my mind to,
even if I forget
“who I am”
or “what I wanna be”
above all,
I must always be me.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
meadows that stays so green at spring
and so bared in autumn
magically white in winter
scorching and gold in the air of summers
perennial.
how do they do that?
to stay the same on the foundation
yet ever-changing on the surface.
what difference does it make really?
what kinds?
of the surcoats of hazel and acorns
or the blankets of snow on the slender branches
of trees?
don't they, even once
feel weary of all the undercurrents,
of shifting shapes of shadows?
and stand their ground
and shouted their demands
and push at intractable walls?
and flop down
and sift like flour
and grate like mozzarella?
to toss the gauntlet
say
'enough!'
doesn't anyone ever muses then
of whether the slideshows of nature
being flagrantly displayed and paraded
before their soon indifferent eyes
would feel of their performance.
but oh,
those poor meadows,
those poor meadows,
those pitiable meadows.
continue with your acts and scenes
that shall never pauses nor halt
oh no, no.
for you are impressive actors
on the forested stage
and the eyes, belligerent
yes, they are
will be watching the other way
never straight to your eyes
your artic, chilled
encasing a turbulent, melting, whirling
hot caramel core
yeap, right there on your irises and pupils.
so go on
go on
my delectable
my neglected
my pushover
my poor meadows.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
I'm a mom
I have two jobs
It seems I'm working
all the time
If not on the job
on my family
I wouldn't say I'm beautiful
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I'm smart
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I'm talented
But I have my moments
I despise drama
But it can't be avoided
I yearn for my soul mate
But that can't b found
Some days I'm depressed
And most days I'm not
I wouldn't say I'm a *****
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I'm unkind
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I'm a pushover
But I have my moments
I think everyone is a little of everything
With flecks of nothing
Smeared in greys and blacks
Speckled with rainbows and sun
A little lost
A little found
A best friend
A worst enemy
I wouldn't say I make sense
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I'm an idiot
But I have my moments
I wouldn't say I know what I'm doing
But I have my moments
Maybe I'm too bossy
Maybe I'm a bad mom
Maybe I'm A natural born leader
Maybe I'll fail at everything
Maybe one day I'll get it together
Maybe I am doing everything right
I wouldn't say ..........
but I have my moments
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
I used to compromise often...
That's why I've been so hurt,
Always giving a man just what he wants
Never getting what I really need.
So, I'm done being a pushover...
From now on,
I'm getting what I want first
Then possibly giving in
You know what?
From now on,
I'm gonna be a *****
You've been forewarned...
❤
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Come as you are
You are my bright, shining star
Am I really up to par?
Do you want to take this far?
He’s as cute as a button
Always dresses in blue cotton
Love how he is funny and sarcastic
Gets a kick out of my being dramatic
Voice like an angel, body like the devil
You really get me. Want to take it to the next level?
He calms my panic
Makes my heart feel gigantic
He points me left or right
when I lose direction
He is my dreamy knight
and always showers me with affection
Sweet puppy dog eyes
An adorably perfect smile
You can easily melt me and hypnotize
While sipping your chamomile
It was kind of love at first sight
Didn’t really know what was wrong and how to feel right
Until I met you and now I finally know what to do
You are my absolute dream come true
You are my best friend and lover
You make me feel like no other
You are certainly nobody’s pushover
That conflict with Ronnie should blow over
The truth is that you mean the world to me
You are the showman and the Cabaret’s Emcee
And for your next role as future husband to me
Oh how very happy we will be!
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:19 AM UTC
I wish I was strong
I wish I was strong enough to get out from under the comfort of my sheets
Or the warm water washing over my body in the shower
I wish I was strong enough to open my books,
Instead of listening to the same five songs again
I wish I was strong enough to get over a loss,
Be it a failed exam or a boss I can’t beat in a video game
I wish I was strong enough to help my friends
Because that's the person I strive to be
I wish I was strong enough to keep that job
…
I wish I was strong enough to like my own works
But it’s hard to when they look like this
No rhyme scheme or metaphors
Only thing this poem has got going for itself is that repeating stanza
Real clever or whatever
You call it slam poetry
But you might as well call it sham poetry
Slam poetry
Because you need to be slammed drunk to enjoy your poems
And don’t even pretend like you didn’t notice
How no one seems to give a **** about this
This series of ‘works’ that you’ve been putting out
Where all you do is ******* swear and shout
At yourself
******* hell
I bet your last line would have been
“I wish I was strong enough to love myself.”
Boo ******* hoo
Too ******* bad
Because you’ll only love me the moment you realize
That what I say is true
I’m not gonna say that I’m only rude
Because I love you
I hate your guts too
much for something so…
Sappy
You’re a bit of a sentimental, right, boo?
If sentimental meant pushover
Criticism!
Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
Oh wait, no, I don’t really care
Because even you’re aware
How you’ve locked yourself in an echo room
And the moment someone tries to break through…
“Don’t worry, I can take it.”
And then you write something edgy like this
You can’t take advice for ****
Because that’s your ******* deal
You’ve got tonnes of people giving you the advice that you need to heal
And you ignore every single one of them
Acquaintances, friends, family
And what about me?
DO I REALLY NEED TO ******* YELL TO GET THROUGH TO YOU
But It’s pointless anyway
You’re on auto-pilot already
Just cut the act and write your cringy addendum poem
We’re done here
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
In another life,
I would not be the girl
I am today.
I would not be
too pale
too freckley
too fat
too awkward
too lonely
too quiet
too much of a pushover
too oily
too pimpley
too plain.
In another life
I imagine myself
as a silent assassin.
With power and might;
I glide the rooftops
and dominate the night.
In another life
I am a sassy bad girl.
I'd pop off in seconds,
and attack with cunning skill,
so that none would mess with me,
unless they'd want to get killed.
In another life
I am a thin and hollow body,
a nameless maiden who roams
halls of white tile.
Donned in a buckled down
white jacket that crosses
at the arms so I constantly
get to hug myself.
In another life
I am not
the girl I am today.
I would be someone,
with a story worth telling.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
In the park
I saw you
And how could I resist?
I was always a pushover
for a sweet face
Squirrel!
Persistent, little thing,
aren't you?
That innocent look
Big, bright eyes
and a bushy tail,
twitching your nose
as you scurry about me...
You beg for a peanut,
knowing very well
what a sucker I am
for a sob story
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 2:33 PM UTC
It rained all day that Tuesday
When Link McCoo hit town.
He checked into a rooming house
And began to look around.
He found the most run-down dive
And pulled himself a chair.
He took one look around to see
Who else was drinking there.
Nobody much noticed him
Except for Esther Masterson,
And she walked right over to him.
She knew she’d found herself a good one.
She asked him to buy her a drink
And he shook his head slowly no.
He said he wasn’t in the renting mood
So she might just as well go.
Esther like the way he looked
That he wasn’t to be a pushover.
She moved her chair next to him
And slyly told him, “Move over.”
She said, “I’m not a working girl
I own this stink-hole of a place.
So, being seen with the likes of me
Is not some kind of a disgrace.
That started them as something hot
Flame hot enough to set fire.
Nobody looking at the two of them
Could miss the heat of that desire.
Then, about a month later on,
Johnny Wacklin came back to stay
He and Esther were once a thing
And he was here to have his way.
But Esther had moved on by then
And told Johnny right up front.
Johnny paid no attention, said
“It don’t matter what you want.”
He grabbed her hand and dragged
Nearly taking her off her feet.
Link came in right about then
Knocked Johnny into his seat.
Link tucked Esther behind himself
And he warned Johnny not to try
Or he would be leaving there
With no time to say goodbye.
Johnny was always long on mean
But pretty much short on bright.
He figured he could whip Link
In a short but brutal fight.
So, they squared off and circled
And scowled for a few feet.
Link punched Johnny in the throat
And knocked him back into his seat.
Choking Johnny still attacked
So link kicked him in the knee.
He said “I don’t play slap and cry.
I don’t fool with those who attack me.”
Link and Esther have stayed there
As two knitted into just the one.
The bar has cleaned up clientele
And is a place for having fun.
Johnny Wacklin went away and
Spent some time in a clinic.
I can say he deserved what he got
Without being branded a cynic.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Beauty is only skin deep,
your beauty is not based upon
what you drive weather it
be a Camaro or a Jeep.
Beauty is based upon
who you are as an individual.
You may be a pushover, a nice
person or a straight up tool.
Beauty does not determine your
self worth. Remember you're not
the only being of this earth.
Beauty is not just your face,
beauty is your morals,
your value, or your grades, it doesn't
matter. Not everyone is an ace.
Your time to shine will come.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
blame is like a posion
no one wants to carry its weight
so they pass it onto you
as you're considered
a pushover
in their language
Jan 1, 2023
Jan 1, 2023 at 8:10 PM UTC
Society tells you to be yourself
Then judges you
Cuz it's not right to act like someone else
It's good to be new
And yet at the same time, we shake our heads
“Don't stand out in crowds.”
So please don't start an unpopular trend
Just keep your voice down
Resist the urge to be innovative
Just go with the flow
But still we claim that the life you should live
Has to be your own
Cuz a ****** is a classified tease
Or too gross to touch
But anything more and you meet the needs
To be called a ****
And don't let yourself be a pushover
For jerks to use you
But if you speak up to find your closure
You're considered rude
Of course we say true beauty’s internal
That looks don't matter
But we're quick to lust for the external
Judging who's “hotter”
We love to support having opinions
But on the other hand
Ones who disagree should be imprisoned
Cuz differences are banned
We state that Jesus loves all his children
No need for hateful tags
But all homosexuals, stay hidden
Cuz “God despises ****
Criticizing others is essential
For mankind to sink
Next time you decide to be judgemental
Please just stop and think.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 8:36 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
Paula is the pushover,
She always says, “Yes”,
But to my very opinion,
She’s a ***** little mess.
Simon is the insulting one,
Who always thinks he’s right,
He’ll argue with the judges,
And will always start a fight.
Randy is the growlin’ one,
He will always give an ace,
But sometimes ya gotta give people,
A little more space,
Uh!
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
I'm not very strong, so to speak
I'm merely a girl refusing to sound weak
Often condescending; narcissism in full glory
But every action taken was never without a story
What is it, you might ask, do pray tell
If curious is what you are, then very well I shall
I am seasoned, scarred, battered and bruised
Torn, tattered and worn out from use
This you know, you've been there before
One too many times we've walked out the door
We both have wounds, you and I
I've grown tired and my tears have run dry
This won't work, I've heard them all say
But never you mind, I'll be okay
A fighter now, a pushover before
I gotta be strong before I lose even more
A chanced encounter, that's what you are
Could he be different? I wondered from afar
Conversations over coffee, what a great start!
But I've grown accustomed to guarding my heart
It's not that I don't trust, nor that I don't care
My past has hurt me and my mama said beware
Risks have been taken, perhaps a little too much
So please understand as to why I am such
Despite all that, you've got me thinking
Things could be better, if only I kept believing
Because I've grown fond of our playful banter
The time is mine, and that's all that matters
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
There's a part of me
With fantasies of who I want to be
A part that wants to live my life,
Take risks,
Go anywhere, everywhere
Just to get away from here
Let go of my past
And my scars,
Start anew,
Learn new things and find what's true
Eat when I'm hungry
Then stop when I'm satisfied
Start a conversation with strangers,
Be a leader instead of a passenger
This is who I would love to be
But then there is who I really am
The part of me who's always ******
The girl who can't stop dwelling on the past
And is scared of the future
And she's not to fond of the present either
Always expecting another disaster
Who stays in bed all day
Only getting up to binge and purge
Who can't even do simple things without having an anxiety attack
Can't even use a phone, how ****** up is that?
Who'll never go anywhere
Because she can't escape the thoughts she has
She'll always be a follower
Forever a **** pushover
She looks in the mirror and hates herself
And that girl will always be me
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
I'm sorry
That you feel the need to control.
I'm sorry
That I'm not a pushover.
I'm sorry
That you left me behind.
I'm sorry
That you didn't accept me.
I'm sorry
That I'm not sorry at all.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 8:28 AM UTC
Is a word...it has a meaning but each to its own,
I. Am stronger than you think
Stronger than I look...
My mental strength is minimal and im breaking down losing the plot
Physically Im weak and have nothing to me, a pushover
Im expected to be strong
If im not strong for us and those around me who will be?
Im expected to be strong when im not
Yet I push that fact aside and put a smile on my face so it pleases you
*Are you happy now?
Look im stronger...for you...for us hehe...*
I may be more broken than I appear
But then again I may appear more broken than I am...
...whose to even know anymore
To truly smile....I have forgotten how
When Im going insane with everything in my head now
Ive gone mad inside and I need some clarity
The only person who can help me is me...
...isnt it a pity Im too lost in my head to figure out how
We'll work on it
Until then I will be strong for you and for us
I am not strong...
...I am you'll find actually quite quite weak...
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
For every little step
a mountain to climb,
an ocean so deep
we are yet
to explore.
In this life I know
that all I can give
is an energy,
that never stops bouncing -
if I can do good
and set an example
for others -
even if I’m a pushover,
I’d rather do it
smiling at the ones
I create
every day
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC