"sarcastically" poems
it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar
i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore
because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you
i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress
i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed
you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction
it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune
an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin
and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Finding a lover is effortless
for some people.
They only want a few things:
Someone attractive, kind,
funny or rich.
But
I desire
something so much deeper.
I want
an intelligent mind
that wakes up thoughts in me
I didn't realize were hibernating.
I want
to converse, analyze and debate
without being conscious of
the sun rising and falling
between our words.
I want
to make a witty remark
at a coffee shop
so he can reply sarcastically
just for me to jab back immediately
and for him to comeback back playfully
until we're both laughing
stomachs shaking
spit flying
the whole store staring
and we leave
without coffee
I want
our hands to stitch together
perfectly
like two lost puzzle pieces;
one found under a couch cushion
one found inside a junk drawer.
The rest of the puzzle has
already been thrown away
but
these two pieces remain
and they fit.
I want
to fall in love together
then together fall in love with
art, museums, songs, poems
T.V shows, radio jingles,
greek food, backroads,
our mutual hatred for pop culture,
doing the dishes (as long as he washes and I dry)
wrong turns, piled up laundry, life.
Just fall in love with life.
I want
to hurt with him
I want
to save the world with him
I want
to meet, see, understand
and experience all that is foreign
with him.
I think it will only take us meeting
and it'll only be history and happiness from then on.
It's just a matter of if a love like that could ever be
and if a love like that could ever be for me.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
Red light blinking
Hopelessly thinking
This may never turn green
Of all his sayings mean,
Which did I love the most?
Sarcastically boast
I can't pick just one.
I set them free
Like helium balloons
I stare at the sun until I can't see
What it was you wanted me to be.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
are we still allowed to write about whatever we Want?
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...
I was talking about you, like all day...
to everyone and every time...
I painted you on the wall of my room
with roses and velvet night.
I was talking about you, like the whole night...
at stars and the full moon in Leo...
I hugged your portrait on my room's wall
that I painted
and I thought you were talking about me too.
my heart was full of red space
and my stomach was full of butterflies...
I have baked your favorite cake,
because I thought you wanted me in that velvet night.
They said that happiness is a butterfly,
but we met in December,
there was a cold and blue morning sky
and I remember that aesthetic forever.
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...
People born in March are sensitive
but you were cold and mean,
My sun is in Aquarius
and I am the only one who can feel.
I am the only one who can feel butterflies,
and I felt more when I saw you,
I am a sensitive flower full of sun kisses,
lovely bees and the blue sky too.
All I wanted was a black painted rose,
violets and lavenders with your kind smile,
but you hate flowers and colors of love,
and you never smile, you laugh sarcastically...
Roses aren't painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I wish to take the time back
for what? you don't have a clue.
You left me heartbroken
and my scars full of the tears
our love is already over
and my feelings are my only fear.
I hope I don't feel the same to anyone,
and I hope butterflies won't leave me there.
but if I do I hope I won't be the only one,
who sees love colors and paints roses black.
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 10:52 AM UTC
WE never camouflage with the masses nor follow trends and direction out of gullibility. The path WE're on may signify bleakness in the days to come and may look filthy to some.
Wait, the plural emphasised just struck my concern and weakness..are WE unified? or perhaps unity to US is all contrary and single word equivocation. Wait.. who are WE?..that question repetitively asked by my subconscious sarcastically.."I" answer "WE are who WE are. The misfits"
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
seven years young, always sharing a still smile.
You find him decked out and drowning in choir robes, with
Golden curls placed gently on a hammered head.
This boy plays piano in a dead sanctuary
Following familial rule,
until he let it all go.
the boy began playing music unwritten,
off hymnal sheets
Harmonious melodies stream from dancing fingertips,
Intrinsically clearing the once-cloudy air with vivacious voodoo.
The boy’s fingers groove up and down the piano,
His touch graces ivory keys and
His foot performs a rhythmic pedal-pressing tango.
He calls the audience: everywhere, eyes ignite like flame:
A communal headturn towards the piano.
They need more.
They crave it.
All the sanctuary people rise from the seats,
Abandon their pews, they enclose this boy.
No means to scare him, they want to experience.
The audience turns their ears towards the piano’s emissions,
Emanating from within
Inhaling soundwaves—
Intoxicatingly sweet.
They absorb his notes into every pore of their skin,
Fueling their bodies with musical nutrients.
Electric jolts flow right into the room’s extremities.
They let down their hair and begin to dance.
Until a brief noise, distinctive throat-clearing, came through the speakers;
Heads shifted to the podium, only to see their ticked-off pastor,
Smirking and waving sarcastically.
Discipline.
The congregation stumbled back to their seats.
The boy stopped playing.
Ending the enchantment, killing the sanctuary.
Air again filled with ‘God’s voice’
through the mouth of the speaker.
A speaker who just wanted attention.
The boy slipped out of the piano seat, out the church’s doors.
You want to chase after him, give him a ride
Where could the boy be going in the middle of the storm?
The pastor’s prodigal son.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me
here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf
contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me
my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see
double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree
my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing
***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing
polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed
confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed
divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed
desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed
constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning
polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree
there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.
who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.
Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me
polygonal me
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
I'm a rap game prodigy
irony like Socrates
that I could spit this philosophy
so flawlessly.
Unmatched like I'm scalene-
scaling my way to the top
so high like I'm a scaffolding
go ahead fold and scowl at me
and watch me cackle sarcastically-
while I tell the masses to become appealing
the apple of my eye is hip-hop do you feel me?
Massive attacks while the males become *****
and subject to the ways of misogyny
oh **** here we go again, this bothers me
what? equality?
Misuse the muse and move through your mind
makeshift mammals mimmicking media monkeys
no wonder half the world's a ******
like you when you see-
the way I spit so fluently
second language, feel the anguish
anger within me resentment
followed by residuals
the world is red and we're all cruel
consumed by corporate corruption
no function left to the fiction of fascism
so fasten your seat-belts and see me belt
way more than 16sixteens, it's sickening
how sick this flow can be so ambiguous
hip-hop is bigger than us-
it's luck, it's lust-
it's a **** you when there's a lack of trust-
it's **** it's love
it's touch, it's ****
it's drugs and grudges
and beef and *******
it's empowerment, cowards
and records strictly to deflower.
it's appreciation and admiration
and it at one point shook the entire nation-
i'm complacent at the placement of this prophecy
that hip-hop has engrained into me
I'm grateful for the grandfather's
and the sons and the daughters
the step-fathers and mother *******
cut throat music industry
if you don't **** with hip-hop you don't **** with me.
*****
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
It snowed last night which pleased me - but hardly enough - it just teased me.
The thin, white sheet of snow looked bright and fresh
the dull, browned hedges of fall became holiday dressed,
the air had a sharp, chill perfume and the ground a new, sparkling flesh.
Lisa, a New Yorker who knows snow, gawked at me as if I were insane,
“You’re excited by NOTHING,” she sarcastically complained.
I replied, “When it snows there’s a quiet solace, and the world looks clean and flawless.”
The weatherman is promising us a blanket of snow this weekend
and that would be nice, a storm of ice, to lock us in as the week ends
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:17 PM UTC
You Smiled At Me, Blue-Grey Eyes Crossing,
You Know How To Make Me Smile
"I Love You," You Said Jokingly,
"I Love You Too," I Said Sarcastically,
Oh, How Serious I Was
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
So give me the truth, for once
Everything’s too vague, too vague
Sarcastically, I guess
We love ambiguity like the plague
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
it shocks me to think that i let you touch me the way that you did,
your fingers dipped into my skin and an arm slung my neck.
you left an imprint that will never leave.
i have rubbed my skin pink and raw countless times but i am never truly clean.
who am i more disgusted with?
myself,
for letting this happen?
or you,
for still having the nerve to get so close- hot breath prickling the back of my neck, sparking skin, inferno eyes- and tell me our game is done?
yes, the game i was never told we were playing... every tiny motion, every syllable, every touch… just a simple strategy to win.
i was unknowingly an opponent that you sought to knock down.
you never even let me know the rules.
now you flinch at the touch you once so lovingly leaned into.
(i use the word “lovingly” sarcastically, of course. you and i both know that, to you, there is no such thing as love. only winning or losing.)
so, you’ve emerged a victor. what’s your prize? tears that leave me hollow on the inside? midnight migraines while i long for a love that will never come?
does it fill you with satisfaction to watch the way i tremble when you come near?
you keep the trophies of every body you’ve invaded along the shelf of your room. i’m sure you run your finger over the plastic lip and think about the way her breath hitched and eyes fluttered shut when you did the same to her. she tastes like golden-plated achievements, doesn’t she?
but what you already have is not enough. you are constantly on the lookout for another medal, another souvenir from her heart.
you will make her laugh, deep from her stomach that causes her head to snap back. her chest will feel heavy when she looks at you.
(but it is not love.)
you will give her those half-lidded gazes and whisper in her ear and trace patterns into her side.
(but it is not love.)
you will get close- far too close.
(but it is not love.)
then you will sever that thin thread between you both.
dip it in gasoline.
set it on fire.
add fuel to the flames with a few venomous words.
but you are not to blame.
it is never your fault, is it?
misunderstood,
that’s what you are.
acrylic fingertips
and regurgitated phrases.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Annoying Affections of mine
For reason I do not understand
For reason I should have understood
but which do not get inside my head
or which are unacceptable on my heart
I suppose that is why it is said
Being blinded by love; literally
Sarcastically; Seriously.
Annoying---- that is the exact word;
the word to describe my feelings;
my feelings which I suppose as
emotions of affection
but Annoying --- this is to her
the woman I show
my emotions of affection
Texts carrying my Number
Mails sent from my address
Phone calls with my voice
Letters with my initials
Best wishes with my deepest regards
if anything is connected to Me
My and Mine
annoying--- that is the exact word;
Argh! Annoying affections of mine!
Affectionate chills
Flames of annoyance
burns these hearts: hers and mine!
Sigh
Annoying Affection of Mine
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 3:06 PM UTC
The question rings as a rattle on my cage.
"I am writing poetry" I answered.
He mumbled, "I thought you were playing Mahjong."
I exhaled hard, "I was. I won two games. " I said with a little aggravation.
"Hum..." he said, then all fell silent.
I did not respond.
Only the sound of my fingers typing on the keyboard continued
Until he could not stand it anymore, "There's news today. The USA is pulling out of Syria."
"Hum, that's good." I said.
He said, "I am sure the families of the soldiers that are coming home are happy."
"Yeah, they probably are." I said halfheartedly as I continued to write.
"Israel is still worried about their borders."
Sarcastically I replied, "Maybe they will build a wall."
The sounds of tap-tap-tap on the keyboard, continuing...
He said, "Yeah, maybe Trump will help them."
I stopped typing.
We laughed and I continued to write.
It was quiet for just a moment.
Then he said, "What'cha doing now?
We both laughed out loud!!!
And I finished this writing.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
I want to love a radical chick
with brightly colored hair and tattoos on her arms
piercings under her skin and
doc martins stomping on the ground
smoking **** and dancing
in dark open fields
playfully doing somersaults
falling on her ***
and holding me under her arm
never without her beanie
or her sarcastically loving tone
I want a radical girl to call my own
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC
Actually Awesome
Beautifully Broken
Courageously creative
Differently Dazzling
Eagerly Edgy
Fascinatingly Fastidious
Gracefully Great
Handsomely Harmonious
Independently Intelligent
Jokingly Joyful
Keenly Kind
Lovingly Lyrical
Marvelously Magnificent
Naturally Narcissistic
Originally Open-minded
Passionately Pleasant
Quintessentially Quirky
Respectfully Rebellious
Sarcastically Smart
Typically Twisted
Unbelievably Unique
Vigorously Viscous
Wonderfully Wild
X-tremely Xenodochial
Young-fully ******
Zealously Zany
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
On some mental shish,
Some hyper bolictime chamber shish,
Working out, unpreferred peripherals.
How quaint thinking hyperbolic thoughts,
Translation, non-medicinal words got me hollering...
"Cacophony cosmic cluster concussions"
Thinking sarcastically recklessly on a regular,
Causing mental anguish when thought of.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Junkyard dogs
We play
Our PARTS
so miserably well
..
The impresario smiles
So sarcastically
-----
Dogs
-------------
Looking fierce
Tough and mean
--
Puttin on a show!
Tough and mean
------
In the junk heap of the yard
Falling in love with our pain
--
Junkyard dogs
Playing with misery
Making it our own
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
samanthasmit: Love you
you wanna come over at 10?
lol
me: sure
samanthasmit:
Yay!
Sent at 8:10 PM on Thursday
me: oh sorry, you misunderstood me. i meant to say "sure..." You know, sarcastically, like "sure...i'm gonna come over" (when pigs fly!)
samanthasmit: :(
me: I kid
samanthasmit: :|
Do you?
me: Yes of course
Sent at 8:17 PM on Thursday
samanthasmit: good :)
I think
lol
Sent at 8:18 PM on Thursday
me: what I really meant was "sure" in response to a bootleg jeopardy episode I'm watching on the internet. The clue was
"the best-selling bargain brand deodorant of the 1990s"
samanthasmit: haha
nice
but
t
ttt
I wannna sleep next to you
this is getting to be unhealty
Sent at 8:23 PM on Thursday
me: okay then sure, as in I'll come over at ten
Sent at 8:24 PM on Thursday
:))))
thats a millionz smiles
me: I see 5...wtf?!
Sent at 8:28 PM on Thursday
me: Or some guy standing beside his sombrero collection
samanthasmit: lol
They're just really tiny
me: or he has an extraordinarily large mouth
Sent at 8:31 PM on Thursday
samanthasmit: lol
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
*****
Twirling like the devil's baton
a cyclic cul de sac
'round the positronic menagerie,
speared from stem to stern, floor to ceiling,
arched bowed bent backs saddled ridden tools
adolescent ne'er-do-wells and prepubescent fools
all desiring to sit nowhere but by me,
by me, by me-
My friend of cosmic dawn, take my hand and
traipse like a runner in a blind alley.
Lead me to my quiet stead, walk and stamp about,
my cloven-hoofed associate, sarcastically devout,
and show me that everything in this whole world
is presented via legerdemain, deceitful cleverness,
but it cannot cure my lightheadedness, felt by me,
by me, by me...
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Why do i always have to be told
Though indirectly,
but told,
so ******* sarcastically,
with those irritating grins and giggles
'' you know what? you should take part in the beauty contest "
When all i know is that
they have a good reason to
make me feel so on cloud nine for a minute
and down crashing on the ground
with a thud,when i sooner or later
will realise,
no, I've got scars, I've got marks, I've got bruises,
I've got frizzy hair,I've got a skinny bodytype
I've got ordinary clothes, I've got no good pair of heals,like you do.
I dont have the talents to put
makeup on..
duh.
You know it all too well.
i know it,too.
Still,you wanto say it on my face,so that it hits me harder
the time I see myself in the mirror wearing clothes
i feel will make me look alright,just alright.
and then i enter the classroom
seeing all of you guys to be staring at me,
saying,''pooh,you look awesome''
I know why,i know it.
And then as more chicks start to enter,
All I'd want would be to tear my outfit from the middle
throw it away,
rub off that kohl I tried to roughly apply
to kinda accentuate my tiny Asian eyes.
Because all of you guys
look so **** perfect.
so gorgeous.
so rich.
so what we say CLASSY
so IT.
When'll I be enough?
am i always gonna wear those nerdy glasses,
slick back my bangs from my forehead
that hides my scars ..
wear the oversized, boring sweaters,
and pants and shoes,and with books by my side .
Am i never going to be like y'all?
that others want to be like.
who look upto them.
when someone'll be like, ''i wanna be like her"
Can i never be that 'her' ?
can i never get a compliment?
Can i never hold the crown?
or that sachet ?
or the flowers?
or the teddies?
or the hamper?
NO?
i must rather abide with my
unlucky,
hopeless,
shady,
dusky, good-for-nothing
weird life?
Can i never make something out of it,
with my appearance appreciated?
even from people who matter,
from people who live with me
under the same roof?
can ,for once and for all,
i be made feel
enough............
?
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
Being woken up by the sound of rustling, it's about 10:20 am. I poke my head out from underneath my blankets, "Ey... is it raining out?" The curtain is pulled back and there's a grumpy sigh, "Ugh, yes." I smile and pull the blanket over my shoulders again, "It's another rainy day, great start to the weekend!" She agrees sarcastically. I smile amusedly. I love this weather.
My lips chill from the rim of my traveller's mug that had been bathed in cold rain on my way to creative writing class. As I tip it back, my lips are steamed by the hot, chocolatey liquid contained inside. I fix the hood of my sweater and sit back into my seat. Rainy days, hot chocolate, and sweaters.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
It’s a chill and rainy Saturday night in New Haven - it’s Superbowl eve! My roommates Leong, Anna and Lisa and I were playing a game of Upwards - it’s a scrabble-like word game and we’re all strangely super competitive.
My phone went “dunk!” A happy ‘Water jug’ sound messages make when they're from one of my favorites. The message was from Charles. He was at the front gate with a package that came to the house where Charles and Mrs. Charles live (about 600 yards from the dorm). He passed me the package through the bars at the main gate, “Thanks,” I said, “ga-night,” and he was gone.
Back in my room, I ripped the box open like Christmas morning. The word game could wait - this package was from Paris. The light beige, Jacquemus, ‘Les Ballerines mary-jane pumps’ I’d ordered (forever ago) had arrived and they fit like soft leather gloves.
“Ooo! Glampse!” Lisa pronounced.
“Aren’t they?” I agreed, swiveling my hooves to show them off in the full length mirror.
When I rejoined the Upwards game, talk had shifted to tomorrow's Superbowl.
“I read yesterday that Taylor’s on her way (to the Superbowl)!” Leong declared.
“I like that she likes the NFL now,” I said.
“A lot of people hate her for it,” Anna countered.
“She was on camera twice, for 11 seconds total, in a 3-1/2 hour long game. If that upsets you, you’re bringing a lot of your own baggage to the plot.” I updogged.
Leong wants to order vegan “wings” for the SuperBowl.
“What, exactly, are those?” I asked, apprehensively.
“You’re the girl who talked me into trying buffalo-frog-legs in Paris - ney?” Leong enquired, sarcastically.
“Yeah,” I admitted, guiltily, “but they were delicious,” I said in self defense.
I’m picking the Chiefs 30-20 over the niners.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 11:48 PM UTC