"spiteful" poems
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,
And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.
The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.
No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
53.9k
To realize, your malice intent,
and power hungry destruction of my
most hidden and vulnerable *****
I am relieved to be free of your
vindictive and spiteful soul;
everything about you is abrasive,
brooding and angry, vicious and ugly
That person, so gentle and endearing
is lost, I am not so sure he even exists,
just one of your many disorderly personas
And to think of my pain,
self-mutilating thoughts and attempts
to make sense of the shock
trying to free myself from your lock of
enamoring lies. I could feel the
end when we had just sprouted,
battling my intuition with a fawn dawn heart-
with you, I finally felt full after some empty time.
But upon reflection of your undeniable misogyny,
I thank you! I could not be more thankful for you exiting my life,
the confirmation of this delusion we called love,
I am so thankful I was tricked, you see,
without honesty, I could only give you so much, and
only that much, is what you could take away from me-
Leaving behind such vitality and adventurous expression,
Charm, wits and sentiment for living
the performer in me you never could accept,
Merely shaking the strength only a woman could have.
You could never break me, although you tried-
and in that I find pity, that you feel so small
You seek power in destroying a lover
like breaking a heart is a triumph,
You are no huntsman and I am not your doe
I refuse to be your object for show
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
It's easy to hate people
For things you don't understand.
I know.
I've been on both ends.
And the funny thing
About people hating other people,
Is that we're really not that different.
I mean, according to recent studies,
Race doesn't even biologically exist.
And most religions look and act the same,
In some way, shape, or form.
Almost every one has started some type of war,
Though it was truly based upon greed and power.
Humans have a strange thirst for power,
I've never really understood it.
I've hated my fair share
Of humans.
Granted, most of them were violent ******
Granted, so am I.
Though I am violent in the vindictive, spiteful sense.
No better, really.
A false sense of righteousness
Because I believe I can cast judgment upon those who have sinned,
While ignoring my sins.
You have no reason to judge another,
For you are not clean of sin.
Now,
I'd get off my high horse,
If the ground wasn't so *****
And full of hate.
It makes my stomach weak,
Too much dark.
Not enough light.
Of course,
If all were well,
I'd think there were too much light,
Not enough dark.
There needs to be a balance,
But the balance is too dark.
I wonder how you can't see it,
How you can force yourself into denial
And live in your little fantasy world
Where all is good, and all is this, and all is that.
I'd like to think it's because you haven't seen what I've seen,
But you have.
But you do know.
And that scares me.
So keep hating this,
But not that.
Keep hating that,
But not this.
You can't make excuses,
When you hate all around the board.
Be careful who you hate,
It might be someone you love.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
I am but a driftwood
All but forgotten from whence I came
A place where once had a name
A time when all was good
I am but a driftwood
Set myself adrift
Currents they lift
Bearing their latent gifts
I move as they shift
I'd protest if only I could
I am but a driftwood
Over a body so vast
Over wrecks with broken masts
Spiteful winds howl with angered gusts
An eternity that would last
Eroding my integrity like it should
I am but a driftwood
Know not of where I'm headed
Render me hopeful but will me jaded
Pillaged and plundered
Looted and raided
Swallowed and spat out, ocean's food
I am but a driftwood
Lost and forlorn out at sea
Awaiting land that would receive me
Take me in like I'm meant to be
Give me your sand, bury me completely
Keep me in the safety of your hood
I am but a driftwood
I remember the place from whence I came
A faded dream with a name
Still drifting away from all that's good
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
Gemini's delightful.
Cancer is polite.
Leo is romantic.
Virgo's quite bright.
Libra is creative.
Scorpio, tenacious.
Sagittarius, festive.
Capricorn, vivacious.
Aquarius is witty.
Pisces, prolific.
Aries is charming.
Taurus, terrific.
----------*---------
Taurus is quite stubborn.
Aries, a frightful *****
Pisces, a flaming cheapskate.
Aquarius is mostly crude.
Capricorn's nasty and spiteful.
Sagittarius, shallow and weak.
Scorpio's flagrantly flighty.
Libra, annoying and meek.
Virgo's simply pompous.
Leo, clearly deranged.
Cancer, always impossible.
Gemini, downright strange.
*
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
I hate this small town
full of small minded people
who suffocate me with empty promises and spiteful comments about the way I look and act.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
Much has been said
against me
however,
I will not be spiteful
or allow hatred,
the beast of darkness
that resides
in the black jungles
of arrogance
and ignorance,
to infect me;
for that is no reason
to give way to anger.
So I refuse to let anger
ugly my heart;
for anger
is the scorpion’s poison
of peace
and love, it’s sunlight.
I choose light
contentment and happiness,
as poetry’s not a contest
of winners or losers;
it is the essence
of a poet’s soul.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.
~ Umi
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
I truly am pathetic.
But not for the ways you say.
For the way that I let you tear me down.
For the way I said it was my fault.
That everything was my fault.
In truth it was yours darling.
But I thought if I blamed myself,
then you wouldn’t be hurt.
That you would feel better about yourself.
And you did,
But I didn’t.
Now this is what it’s come to?
You, writing these spiteful lies you call poetry?
Now you’ve become pathe-
No…
I can’t speak of you this way.
I never could.
I always let you hurt me
with a smile on my face.
I always blamed myself,
though that was not the case.
I should have said something.
Stood up for myself.
But I didn’t want to hurt you,
Make you sad,
Make you feel the way I do…
I just wish
That these people,
The ones who read your poems
Knew the whole story,
My side of it.
The side that makes the ****** the villain
That makes the abuser,
the awful, disgusting, worm of a man,
just a sad, lonely and broken boy,
willing to destroy himself to see his true love happy.
But words are powerful
And hers may be better than mine.
If so then my story may go untold,
Unbelieved.
But, believed or not,
The truth must be told
I will no longer be that pathetic, submissive soul,
but instead an instrument to show the truth
A lens of truth…
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
Oh Helena, how I doth know thy pain
Mocked is thine love when at love's feet thrown
Love hath looked upon thee with disdain
And yet still for him thy love hath grown
Do not despair Cupid's arrow at thine door does knock!
Upon thee, loves eyes an awakening will be placed
No longer can love's spiteful eyes see thee and mock!
And to thine love will he quickly rush in haste
But first know before one is to have thy way
A comedy must first be struck upon
Alas Puck! Disaster hath struck and a game we must all play
Before order is once more restored and the past foregone
Oh no! Now a love thrown upon thee unwanted
Mockery suspected, no more of this dost thou deserve
Evermore another feeling given to thee daunted
But now sit back, let the story unfurl and observe!
Finally soft words to thee spoken so craved
At once entranced but then felt thee a fool!
From nowhere sweet words so spoken must be depraved!
And in thine heart feeling loves sting ever so cruel
Now thy dearest friend! Intertwined within such a conspiracy
Such betrayal! Dear girl know it is a mistake
Albeit twisted and buried in the cruelest irony
Thy dearest friend, thine love she does not wish to shake
Through troubles and trials thou maketh thy way to a beautiful field
Fast asleep next to the love thy value ever so
Puck, fix thy mistake, give Helena her love to finally wield
And at last house a mutual love to forever grow
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
Am I a sick man?
as I lived on a hibiscus shrub
Many rooms, long and short
Many face vividly coloured
with a beauty of sadness
grafted on a nameless rootstock
Am I an unattractive man?
as I lived like a petal in the sun
perfect for bees and butterflies
and the visitors; oh day! oh night!
as for me, time danced on a maypole around my dreamy garland head
Am I a spiteful man?
as I've counted all 3863 days, 1 by 1
that I lived on that hibiscus shrub
without a flight to my fantasies
Since then, I'm thrown underground
here I live like a ridiculed mouse
Do you know me, Dostoevsky?
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 2:30 AM UTC
My dear, if you were to cut me open,
to tear away my measly skin,
you would not find
the contents of an ordinary human being.
You would not find veins
or internal organs,
especially not a human heart.
Instead, you would find a battlefield, with freshly made bomb craters
and you would find discarded bullets,
fashioned from spiteful words,
that were perhaps destined for use on my worst enemies
but were instead aimed at myself.
You would find the remains of a daisy field
with the left over petals
looking vaguely like feathers
that fell from doves
or perhaps even angels.
You would find memories of a tiny village
once colourful and lively
but swept away by multiple hurricanes,
that took all happiness and innocence along with them.
Blood would not pour
from my lifeless body,
but dark cigarette smoke would seep from the wounds,
and if you closely investigated,
you would find that the fumes were made up of
microscopic black moths
that had all my lies and promises
carefully written all over their feeble wings
For I am not a human being, but simply a worn out shell of one.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
To each its own I sincerely dwell,
Mischievous wonders, spiteful wishes to hell.
To strongly hate, or slowly mistrust,
The things we had, a history in rust.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 4:49 PM UTC
Letter, letter born to return to sender--
extra-marital, maritime, marine, mercy, mercy mine--
two drinks in; four from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
.38 special, sexless, spiteful, spitting, spitting rites--
three drinks in; three from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
double-decker, drugged, dangerous, daggers, daggers dried--
four drinks in; two from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
clusterfucked, fancy-free, foreign, fine, fine unwind,
five drinks in; one from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
ether cloud, Evelyn, earthware, everyday, everyday signs--
six drinks in; on the carpeted floor,
letter, letter born to return to sender,
whitewashed, weakly, wounded, wishing, wishing for home.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:24 AM UTC
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.
Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.
Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.
Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.
The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.
A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Melancholy,
you spiteful *****
Creeping in,
seeping ever deeper
into my bones.
Nestling in and making
a nice little home for yourself.
You weren't invited in here
And yet you come in, obviously
planning a lengthy stay.
Please just go the **** away.
I can't stand it
when you come around
And hound me from the inside
Pounding on my brain
Controlling my very
train of thought
And surrounding my soul.
You threaten to
swallow me whole
You ravenous *****
And to tell the truth
I'm utterly bored with
this little dance we have.
Just stop, cease this game.
You have no place here.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
I found myself stranded on
Neverland
with no way to fly
and no star to show me the way
'till one night
as I closed my eyes
a shadow appeared and a boy
close on his heels
they tumbled and rolled before my feet
Boy and Shadow became one
and grinned at me
"Peter Pan"
he said to me
playing a tune
and swore he just wanted
to talk for a while
Laying amongst the tiger lilies
I so adored and staring up at the stars
He asked me to be his
When I asked why he simply replied
"I once saved you from
Captain Hook."
"I’ll keep you safe."
"I promise you’ll never be lonely.”
Foolishly, I agreed
and he took me to his
Hiding Tree
where spiteful Tinkerbell
tried to be rid of me
for I was Self-Composed, Human & Withdrawn,
everything she was not.
He taught me how to fly,
showed me every nook and cranny
of his world by moonlight.
And I fell in love
with the way, his eyes shone like fireflies
and his pure and genuine laugh.
He was enthralling
and magnetic
always so carefree
and reckless
How wonderful it was
'Till Wendy bird came along
for she was Kind, Romantic & Empathetic
everything I was not
all I could do was watch
as they flew through Neverland
by moonlight
She fell hopelessly in love
with his recklessly playful nature
and hypnotic charms
Yet every night
Wendy gazed down
to see the girl
with the crow feather in her hair
laying amongst the flowers she was named
with Tinkerbell by her side.
Whenever she asked Peter why
he simply replied
“She is as Wild as she is Beautiful.
She cannot be contained
by the hollow walls of my Hiding Tree
Nor the boundaries of her village."
Then one night
when Wendy bird left
and Peter returned to Hangman’s Tree
he found Tiger Lily gone.
Every night he’d fly above
Neverland
only to glimpse
her crow feather
but all he found was an empty space
belonging
to her ghost
whispering
"Peter Pan
Take my hand and fly away
to Neverland
where the beast
within
can be free"
Tinkerbell never did say where she’d gone
only to leave her be.
Her wild beast no longer had a home.
Peter Pan
would never see her again
He had broken his Lily's heart
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Ignorant, spiteful, closed-minded and afraid-
The text on which you built your life, the same that you betrayed.
Holy, self-righteous, yet wholly hypocritical.
Sanctimonious bullies- bigoted and parasitical.
A veteran in the land, which to protect, he went to fight,
but for him it seems equality is not a given right.
Ridiculed, scorned- filthy sinner, heathen-
But who created him this way if not the lord that you believe in?
Your eyes are darkened. They're tinted with hate.
Your ears? Too filled to listen to debate.
But in this surge of civil rights that before has been denied,
you will be the prejudiced fool that history leaves behind.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
Slowly drowning me
With your negativity.
Bringing me down
With your selfishness.
You sit there and wonder
Why your life has turned out the way it has.
Some things are understandably upsetting,
Others, terribly exaggerated.
You sit there and wonder what your life has become,
Though yet you do nothing to make it better.
Your words burn the hearts of others,
Though you expect forgiveness a moment later.
Boasting about what could have been,
What you have missed out on,
Blaming others for your own mistakes.
You expect all those around you to forgive your piercing murmurs,
That become more than just background noise,
More like spiteful parodies,
As you laugh with yourself
Lost in your negativity.
Breaking those around you,
Losing others along the way,
I won't be able to take it for much longer,
Can't stand your negative ways.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Running amok black bellies of hail-clouds
divest their hard cargo
on near-ready harvest and thunder claps
in spiteful applause.
Scudding sails of racing white galleons
arrive to the rescue
and change weather's position as quiet
breaches gale's disorder.
Setting the sun throws magenta feathers
across dark horizon
and to settle the issue parades jade tints
as the landscape transforms.
Waiting small boats plod homewards in
fish-laden formation
while wives run to stoke hot-kettled fires
of ready bath water.
Lighting a pathway half-moon winks as
heavier catches in
hauled nets silver the harbour and men
start night's final performance.
Sating hunger with coming and going
sow-and-reap women know
the meaning of sharing male labour in
scaling and salting chores.
Fisher-folks' world begins and ends
with the vagaries and quirks of weather.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Eighteen misses and three survivors
Two broken marriages with one spiteful lost love
Two warring sisters and too many brothers
Numbers don’t always make the lives of another
Crocheted angels and heartfelt hugs
Gone are the days of each of those
Responsible, avoidant, and spoiled
Resentment, confusion, and miscommunication
Ghosts of the past
Harried, busy, and distant
Buy back the time
Patience, hope, and acceptance
Crowding the cast
Three lives play out creating six more
One life still here caught in time
One life locked in with ghosts of the past
cc062611
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 2:11 PM UTC
after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...
do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?
do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?
is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?
is it too much to ask for peace???
- t.m
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
In my perfect little world, people greet,
they kiss and hug each time they meet .
There are no tears nor fears
and everyones okay with queers.
But in the world today, we just don’t care,
and showing love is somewhat rare.
When times are fun all friends are near,
then things get tough most of them disappear.
In my perfect little world, we give and share;
we make it a point, to show we care.
We live to love, and love to live,
and find it easy to forgive.
But in the world today we strive on greed,
and crave the things we rarely need.
We step on others to get our way,
so were let alone to pay.
In my perfect little world, children smile,
and parents go that extra mile.
No child is ever harmed or hurt,
abused or treated just like dirt.
But in the world today most people cry
and only pray in case they die.
We’ve given in to all that’s bad,
and then complain that life is sad
In my perfect little world were all the same
and life is not a spiteful game.
People are loyal, honest and just,
and value the gift of friendship and trust.
But in the world today it seems,
we’ve lost all hope or goals and dreams.
Malicious acts are seen as witty,
I think it’s sad and such a pity.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
My balance is often complicated by the complex complications of construed situations.
The uncensored limitations, the spiteful aggravation; they think these are indications that I should melt with temptation through my frustration.
But if you felt my vibration, it would send you to the sky, where I am stationed.
I could never be what you want me to be in your dreams,
it seems that the seams to my soul are more than what you see them to be.
You don't see me. I became transparent,
hold me to the light for my transparency
to be clear to read.
Clarity will arrive here when your conscience calls and you appear.
My heart blends in the healing water that has a hallow father.
He is the fire that breeds these things that allow me to bleed and be these words that you see.
My balance is often complicated
but I have never once waited to be rejuvenated.
The light of the moon
illuminated my sight through my doom.
I dance with the stars and i hope we all meet soon,
so that we can bloom
as these words fill up the space
in this 4 cornered room.
-L.G
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Complete, four wings stretched for you as an obsticle, big and ominous, they block the light of the sun as it crosses your way,
He will promise you that over walls you will go if you obey him,
Paying from the rule and standing proud with spiteful intent,
Or maybe he will make you believe to be able to shoot over the sky,
What a trecious act of misleading lies, leading to greater falsities,
The cards of fate are already dealt, do not sell your soul, do not lose,
Filth comes in many classes and ranks which cannot be conveyed,
Evil knows tricks into your heart which cannot be explained at all,
His footsteps will leave their mark on you once purgatory is served,
Burning up and feeling priceless now would simply be foolish, dull
Waiting for the cracks of a shady eternity once he breaks his promise,
Beware, the sweetest words might be a game of seduction for you,
Clouded, lost, uncertain of its outcome, struggling for the light inside,
Make another move, you won't be able to turn back, broken light finds no place in this realm of unending decisions to be made today,
You will see it is true, but then it will be far too late for realisation,
Each soul has it's given date, now as beneath the soil do you want to be laid with your records flawed, at last it comes to heaven or hell,
Will you decide now or will you delay, my precious treasure,
He will promise you wealth from amongst the heavens, to lead to poverty from the deepest hell, a cricle you won't escape from,
His promises are transient lies, all he wants is your soul which dies
Do not listen, turn away, do not become a silly devils prey
~ Umi
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC