"resemblance" poems
Oh black negus. Why do you hate me so much?
Noticed I called you by your rightful title.
Negus
King, Ruler, Emperor
Not ***** or ******
The derogatory term originating from the crackers, or ***** the mild disparagement softened by society made to think that it's acceptable.
But anyway let's get back to it.
Why do you hate me?
Is it because of my full lips or my round hips?
My low tolerance for ********
The way that my stretch marks are engraved in my skin?
Or how the roots of my hair aren't so thin.
Is it my naturally sun kissed skin? Even toned complexion?
It just can't be my uncanny resemblance to Isis the Egyptian Goddess!
So why not praise me for my natural features
Why go on one knee for their paid for enhancements
Should I react like Angela Basset in Waiting to Exhale?
Screaming and shouting while my face is growing pale.
But pardon my melanin
I was perplexed by this darkness that stared at me in the mirror
That stared at me looking in my lovers eyes and taunted me
Smiles behind hidden hate they constantly berate my beauty
But pardon my melanin
My superiority is in my melanin
Encased in my skeleton
Our ancestors wouldn't like this
They would not be proud of that colorism that exist
They slander us for our features yet they list after it
This systematic thinking has our men slandering us but they won't admit
You continue to beat me down yet I am your mother.
I am the fruit of this nation.
But pardon my melanin
So I'll ask again
Why do you hate me?
We are carved in the same beauty and without each other we can't exist
I still remember the first day that we kissed but a few months later you left me for hailey in an unfortunate bliss
Melanin filled girls I am here to say
You are a queen never be afraid to be seen
The brother that disrespect and degrade are absolutely absurd!
You are not ratchet bitter or mean
Youre a stunning melanin queen
So pardon my melanin?
Naw enlightened by me melanin.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC
Most heavenly of places, this world now
Of endless beauties, a sight that wows
They're statuesque and wax-like, but hey don't fret
No wrinkles to combat, nor ripples of fat
Gazing into their arresting green eyes
That of the rabbit's, resemblance lies
Uncanny it is, this puzzling scene
Manufactured they are, from the same jellyfish gene
And since its time to seek paradise,
My wandering hands caress the prize
To search for weakness, now I must
No amount of fondling, stirs any lust
I've come so far, and this is what perfection costs?
The smoothest of skin, has left all thumbprints lost
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
Dear soulmate
No we haven't met
At least not yet
For all I know you could be a princess,
with a golden tiara and attendants
Or the daughter of a peasant,
uncouth and ill-bred in the sight others, but to me, nothing short of pleasant
No we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
Last night I dreamt of you again,
a thousand dragons for you I had slain
On my heart you placed your hand,
beaming with joy, oh my fair lady was I glad!
Oh my fair lady was I glad!,
when to the beating of our hearts all night we danced
Fell on our backs and at the stars we gazed,
Oh! their resemblance to your eyes left me amazed
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
Beautiful becomes meaningless for it cannot describe you
Perfect ceases to exist for it fails to define you
The universe must have been the one that birthed you
Or an angel from heaven must have sent you
From porcelain clay God must have made you
With his own breathe, life, must have gave you
In my dreams I stare in your eyes
In your eyes I witness the sun rise
As the sun sets I picture you walking down the aisle
Oh daughter of a goddess, in your soul I would love to set sail
Oh daughter of a goddess, without fail, by your side i would love to grow old and frail
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
Moored to the same ring:
The hour, the darkness and I,
Our compasses hooded like falcons.
Now the memory of you comes aching in
With a wash of broken bits which never left port
In which once we planned voyages,
They come knocking like hearts asking:
What departures on this tide?
Breath of land, warm breath,
You tighten the cold around the navel,
Though all shores but the first have been foreign,
And the first was not home until left behind.
Our choice is ours but we have not made it,
Containing as it does, our destination
Circled with loss as with coral, and
A destination only until attained.
I have left you my hope to remember me by,
Though now there is little resemblance.
At this moment I could believe in no change,
The mast perpetually
Vacillating between the same constellations,
The night never withdrawing its dark virtue
>From the harbor shaped as a heart,
The sea pulsing as a heart,
The sky vaulted as a heart,
Where I know the light will shatter like a cry
Above a discovery:
"Emptiness.
Emptiness! Look!"
Look. This is the morning.
8.4k
Echoing voice of the moonlit night
Foresee but unarmored from past,
Fragmented heart of broken lights;
Unraveling miseries already did last.
Drowned by tears of years were lost
From crawling those diverging roads,
Victim of dying embers found his cost;
Resemblance of faith is in the woods.
But God above guided his way home
And dry every little river in his mind,
Mournful shadows are still unknown;
Embers of souls are always in divine.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
Another week is done and little has been accomplished
It seems lately I only exist to eat, I’ve barely left the house
Sleepless nights filled with scrambled egg thoughts of a time which doesn’t exist any longer, served up on a plate come breakfast time
My new home although filled with animals, holds no resemblance to what we had built together
The home I finally deserved left desiccated come springtime’s-battle with mental health
The cats although great company do not replace the steady hum of your computer fans
The rhythm of your breathing knowing you were somewhere close in proximity
Weekends brought a time when we felt whole
6 am memories releasing silent fountains of tears do not bring us back together
Hours passing can’t erase the 4 months it’s been since you left me
Or the wintertime when everything had been perfectly comfortable
No, our love left me with a void of blankness impossible to just shake away
Entirely unforgiving feelings, grieving for every kind word you ever said
Id be lying if I didn’t miss you.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:14 AM UTC
Humility and Humiliation
Are first cousins of a sort.
When they roll off my tongue,
They seem identical twins, or
If not siblings
At least sharing some common ancestry.
But after they flee my mouth,
The resemblance ends.
Humiliation is designed by others
Their words twist, morph, bend, break.
Until the face I see,
When I look in the mirror,
No longer belongs to me.
Humility, however,
Comes from within.
No tongue can give it life,
Not even my own.
Humility is an acceptance,
Not a rejection,
Of who I am,
Who I am not.
To be
Humble,
Is to simply
Be.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Scent like its spring
feel like the summer breeze
in the meadows were chartreuse weeds
Sweet Gardenia, dearest one
your petals shine the moonlight
and grace the rays of the sun
a touch of you,
deliquescing as canvas hues
how the world's heart told tales
in visions anew
Of any color you choose to be
white, as resemblance of purity
your scent forge to every desperate nose
a sneeze which bring forth arose
and with all to guarantee
your aroma is no match in any of thee
Oh Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
vulnerable, gentle and free
sailing the skies above, praising every tree
sigh, as she waltzes with me
But Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
when will the world stop hating you
grieving in delitescent
burying your every truth
shadows washing, dreams forgetting
soon as winter swept all of you
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
From a young age I knew
there was a man and a woman out there, complete strangers,
who were, biologically, my grandparents.
I knew my chances of meeting them were exactly zero to none.
The parents who took my dad home that day were his parents
And that was done.
Before me sat a grandmother, and the spirit of a grandfather passed,
who loved me more than any stranger-grandparent ever could
who was there for every dance recital, every holiday, every mistake, every success
who, though I bore no resemblance, watched me grow right before her eyes
who swore the Easter bunny left treats at her house for me--
even when I was beyond the years of belief.
Always wearing a sweatsuit and gold stud earrings,
with an added neck-scarf and red lip for special occasions.
Telling tales of the "poor dear" animal she saw
Dead on the side of the road--
Sad enough, you'd think it was her own.
Church every Sunday and the shirt off her back,
Had you asked.
This woman I explain
Shares no blood, but, a surname.
I love her just the same
If not more
Than any grandmother
Genetics had in store.
She's a part of who I am,
though not in my DNA.
Nature versus Nurture:
Nurture wins again.
She taught me:
Strength, grace, humility, selflessness, generosity, and patience
Without sharing one biological thread
By example she lead
And I continue to follow
In her footsteps.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
5.3k
I wiped my *** on Shakespeare once:
in the absence of guidance
or conscience or prudence
bereft of any toilet paper
the solution appliance
which at the time felt like brilliance
was the re-acquaintance of Hamlet.
In that transient experience
the resemblance of ignorance
and the reverence of indifference
ignoring the previous deviance
was replaced
with a new found sense
of future
toiletry diligence.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
~commissioned accidentally by a melody,
a passing glance, a purring perchance,
an idle innocent comment,
to be born as the first poem of this day,
@7:00am
Tue Sep 18 2025,
writ in haste, before
departing over many islands to
another place called "home"~
---~<>~---
*sometimes,
not so secret,
anon, ^
sometimes,
so much more,
than that but a glancing of favoring,
a handshake secreted, is actually felt,
actually secreted,
and rare though via~able,
it passes through a longing traveled voyage,
over wire, under sea's cabling, through space,
hoisted from & by satellite over continental divides
just a hop, skip and jumpstart
over this tiny planet,
and though, but, an amorphous 👍 thumb,
a colored 💙 or collared,
or a pointing 🫵
body part
the like,
bears more than just a passing resemblance
to another*
f o u r l e t t er w o r d
its often lost & found
dear cuz ^^
full of meanings hidden,
or even
anon,
"I'll be there shortly"^
magic!
nml
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 7:33 AM UTC
****** Mary,
****** Mary,
****** Mary,
isn't the only ghost I see in the mirror.
Our resemblance haunts me like a lost soul in purgatory.
Helpless and horrified.
****** burning like a match does in hell.
Incinerating deep with in my pumping void.
I stopped caring
when you said you had nothing left to live for.
You took the train and left me at the station.
But when the night ends and the sun wakes up
I'll rise from my pine box and live again.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
The motion that is an echo of you
are the ghosts that bear a resemblance to you.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
but when she drew
that portrait of herself,
it didn't look anything
like her
she drew glimmering green eyes,
yellow flowers in her dark hair,
and a smile
she drew a genuinely
happy girl
and it was that right there
that caused her to
not see the resemblance
because she was so
used to seeing
an emotionless face
with sad eyes
without much character
in the mirror
that when she drew the smile,
she didn't recognize herself
~t.s.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
As she took off her shirt on a one way camera.
She knew he only wanted to see her nakedness.
"because you look good in clothes but you
look much much much better naked"
All this love he proclaimed, where
only sweet nothing to tear her clothes off.
Her bra came off, then her shirt.
She laid there staring into text.
Not his face, not his voice, just words.
Thinking to her self, he's using me,
but I'm allowing it.
because all we will ever be is cam buddies,
where she was the center of attention.
AS if her nakedness could make him fall for
her quirky, clumsy hopeless romantic self.
All her bare chest could ever do is let him blow off some steam.
because "it's really **** when I can see them bounce."
On and Off that's what he liked about her,
he could let her go and know she'd pick up the pieces
until he came back to make her faulter again.
She was his slave, because no one ever made her
feel more like **** and a princess
all at once, than he did.
He was the monster in her heart with the resemblance of Gods.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
(for John and Teckla Clark)
Ours yet not ours, being set apart
As a shrine to friendship,
Empty and silent most of the year,
This room awaits from you
What you alone, as visitor, can bring,
A weekend of personal life.
In a house backed by orderly woods,
Facing a tractored sugar-beet country,
Your working hosts engaged to their stint,
You are unlike to encounter
Dragons or romance: were drama a craving,
You would not have come.
Books we do have for almost any
Literate mood, and notepaper, envelopes,
For a writing one (to "borrow" stamps
Is the mark of ill-breeding):
Between lunch and tea, perhaps a drive;
After dinner, music or gossip.
Should you have troubles (pets will die
Lovers are always behaving badly)
And confession helps, we will hear it,
Examine and give our counsel:
If to mention them hurts too much,
We shall not be nosey.
Easy at first, the language of friendship
Is, as we soon discover,
Very difficult to speak well, a tongue
With no cognates, no resemblance
To the galimatias of nursery and bedroom,
Court rhyme or shepherd's prose,
And, unless spoken often, soon goes rusty.
Distance and duties divide us,
But absence will not seem an evil
If it make our re-meeting
A real occasion. Come when you can:
Your room will be ready.
In Tum-Tum's reign a tin of biscuits
On the bedside table provided
For nocturnal munching. Now weapons have changed,
And the fashion of appetites:
There, for sunbathers who count their calories,
A bottle of mineral water.
Felicissima notte! May you fall at once
Into a cordial dream, assured
That whoever slept in this bed before
Was also someone we like,
That within the circle of our affection
Also you have no double.
4k
The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean,
A gallant commander the victim is seen.
For promptitude, vigour, success, does he stand
Condemn'd to receive a severe reprimand!
To his foes I could wish a resemblance in fate:
That they, too, may suffer themselves, soon or late,
The injustice they warrent. But vain is my spite
They cannot so suffer who never do right.
4k
Tough girl isn't afraid of much
Tough girl is strong
And brave
Tough girl has mastered the art of apathy
The science of not giving a ****
She is confident
And swift
Tough girl has trained herself not to care
Walks with confidence
Keeps her head up
She is a whirlwind of resilience
Withstanding each disaster
Every hurricane
She refuses to let the world break her down
Her skin
Is a combination of metals
Her smile, a shield
Bone made of iron
She is incapable of corrosion
Her heart always guarded
She is unbreakable
Knows how to put up a fight
And win
She doesn't give in
And no matter how hard people try
To bring her down
She doesn't let them get to her
But I
Am not her
Our resemblance is uncanny
And I have the ability to pretend
To fake a sense of pride long enough to believe it
A concoction of false courage
And intimidation
But she
Is not me
Tough girl is everything I have ever tried to be
Having spent hours practicing blank stares
And learning how to walk
Like the ground below you isn't breaking
Trying to breathe like there isn't a storm building within
Resistance is a skill I have spent forever trying to build
But I am not solid
I am not tough
I am softness that wears rough around the edges
A jacket built of barriers
With barbed wire skin
All of this protection
And I somehow still manage
To frequently break open
I am not a super hero
I can barely save myself
Let alone anyone else
And as much as I wish I was
I am not tough girl
As much as we look alike
As similar as we seem
I am not she
I care too much
Think too deeply
And love too passionately
But I'm starting to realize
That maybe
It's not such a bad thing
Maybe the girl
I've been trying to be all along
Is not as put together as she seems
Those who appear fine
Are often the ones coming apart at the seams
I may not be tough girl
But I can still make believe.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC
the latest theories on the Neanderthal
is they died out due to homosexuality
& the earliest evidence of actual civil
order depicts women as priestesses &
queens & men, even kings as animals;
monsters & giants coexisting w/ teenagers
& old people in complex structures ruled
over by older priests, poets & a professional
warrior class; the king could be murdered
w/ impunity & the queen taken as consort
by the next king or murdered if she proves
too ambitious; & throughout all this, scribes
record the passage of time, the declaring of
laws, engagements in wars, rituals, persona,
comic tales & history; notable women have
a roster of their own, some written by ******
scribes party to their secret names & habits;
all known things; bathhouse elect, her scribe
observing her in the dressing mirror invents
the adventures of her reflection; a princess
never to grow old yet her father-husband is a
bearded elder; her older brother a warrior-prince
& future king; her younger brother/son is the
poet who must reveal what he knows, if only
b/c he'll burst if he has to **** his baby sister
in ritual Hieros gamos w/out telling everyone
exactly how he feels about it; but daring to speak
means being ****** burned at the stake, beheaded
& drawn & quartered, so he writes in secret
[chisels actually, so it's resemblance is mostly
related to relief sculpture
& engraving, but writing], passing
the linear tablets to the young priestess who buries
them beneath the temple floor for some future age
of mankind to discover anew & perhaps heed the
warnings of the coming chaos (the poet, a prophet
before there was such a thing); the ****** priestess
worships him w/ unrequited longing; her heart in
chaos, sharing the poet's vision; nature calls her
to her big brother like a woman loves a man & on
that day when they are to publicly mate the young
siblings are gone & are presumed eaten by the
unseen unseen like so many others before them
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
When my aching heart ached in excess,
I sought out to sleep, dream, escape.
I found myself in the land of the philosophers;
Greece.
But perhaps it looked nothing like Greece,
for I haven’t visited the country to ever know.
But upon its heavenly resemblance,
I was washed ashore.
I remember the sand as soft ivory,
dancing under my feet.
But pay no attention to the sand,
for something else had already caught me.
The sky.
God in disguise, I tell you.
Wrapped in the wildest hue of violet,
with the drape’s silky edges tucked into the horizon.
The color was deep and passionate in every way,
it intoxicated the evening with its romantic cologne.
And upon that sky,
lie God’s silver angels.
The stars constantly winked,
praising the earth,
in repetitive bangles.
But not alone.
The moon was its fullest on that night,
and so it wasted no time,
it beamed in bravado,
the strangest white.
I sat quietly,
listening to Greece sing its gentle yet enigmatic song,
silently wishing that this is no fantasy, and that I am not wrong.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do
appears to me as being viciously half-assed
yet sincere.
I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA
with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know
in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically.
The future looks decent from a distance in bar light.
As I feign some resemblance of being classy and
collect more sodium on my footwear,
I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light
to look at me in the dark on my way from home.
It makes me glad I speak English, where there
are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones
to phrases like, **** off”.
It’s dark on the way through Cleveland.
Try to stay warm.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC