"stepbrother" poems
You write about him like
You know him so well.
Like you've seen the way his
Hands cupped my ******* and
How he said he came when he
Did those things to me.
If you want that,
That's fine.
It's alright.
I'm just warning you,
It's not as fun as it seems it
Should be.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
He said he loved me yesterday.
Today he told me that
He'd never hurt me that
He'd stay by my side no matter
What.
That he'd help me fight off my demons because
he understands and he
cares about me.
But he doesnt understand why
I cringe away in fear when he puts his
Arm around me or
Tries to kiss my cheek.
He doesnt understand that I
Think about what my stepbrother did to me
Constantly
And that I cry in the middle of the night because
Of the nightmares
That were once real.
So,
Truth be told,
Sweetheart,
I turned you down not only because I'm
Not ready for a relationship, but
Also because You
remind me of the
Horrid things I
See at
Night.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
My worst fears are
Coming true.
They don't believe me,
They believe you.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
If I was gay..
would it really that bad?
I mean,
I'd adopt a few kids, maybe even save their lives.
I'd show the world that I'm not evil, actually, I'm pretty nice..
I volunteer sometimes too.
But, that's not the point,
is it?
Kids are so afraid to be themselves and
you all wonder why.
Want to know?
Because of all the constructive critisism
we get from the second we walk out of
our rooms.
No wonder my stepbrother doesn't want to
leave his room or
I don't want to leave school;
They're safe havens from
******** like you.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
We have a cat
He’s a ******* and a ****
I’ll give you that.
We have a cat
He reminds me of a loose woman
He leaves all day and then again late at night.
We have a cat
My stepbrother bought him an ace little collar
Sometimes he comes home without it on.
We have a cat
He goes out and shags all the neighborhood ******
Half of them are up the duff by him I bet.
We have a cat
We don’t treat him too well
So he runs away from us.
We have a cat
His life with the neighbors is far better
He’d bite your arm off to be there instead of here.
We have a cat
I know how he feels
I bit my arm off to be with the neighbors instead of you.
We have a cat
He and I are quite the same
I follow out on his paws when he leaves.
We have a cat
You killed the cat
Now **** me too.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
My biggest questions are:
What makes him so special?
Why is he so much more
Important,
Than me?
Would seeing his smile,
Be more satisfying than
Mine?
I don't even
Have a sliver of hope,
A chance,
A shot,
To be on the "list"
I'd say it's okay.
I'm okay with it,
I guess.
But I don't know,
I'm still having trouble believing that
You'd pick my abusive
Stepbrother
Over me.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
Isn't it nice to rhyme
When words strike as divine
Made to fit the part
Unlike free verse aristofarts
Who would **** your mother
Like beatnik Stepbrother
And sleep through their clocks
For nocturnal jabberwocks
If ever was a Good man.
Benny swung with the times, man.
But Jazz rolled from the hits
Of white British misfits.
When South Bronx fell through crack
The sky and hood went black
Poets sold missing car parts
For Busta Rhymes to bust a start.
Poetry had to lose an art.
Rhyming tossed like the ****
Who ****** Lord Tennyson's ****
Which tugged at Victoria's smock.
It's easy to criticize
An age demystified
But now personifies
Poetry commercialized
And the old aging misfit
Tries to gather the spit
With a mouth so dry.
But not a poet in the sky
Will sanction the crime
To help his verse opine
Against the words-of-a-kind
That English bespoke to rhyme.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Is it okay that I'm
Laughing
But yet still want to go cry
Like I did earlier in homeroom?
Is it okay that I
Want to hold onto him and
Make his shirt a
Deeper red
With my tears?
Is it okay that I snuck those glances
Hoping that maybe you'd do
The same?
Nobody acts the same with me and
I hate it so much.
Why don't you just pretend I'm
Okay instead of making me feel more
Miserable about myself.
Being mad at me doesn't make me feel any better.
It makes me feel even more useless than
I did with the things that happened with my
Stepbrother.
God, I don't even know where this poem is going any more...
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
grass, gas, or *** nobody rides for free
cops and robbers and the indian hides for me
my *** ate grass got gas and then shies on me
my horse got sores got shot, and dies on me
all us poor kids didn't mind to be a tribe
eenie meanie mighty moe never helped us hide
tony two tooth's daddy likes to run around
his mom is gonna play too and "hunt him down"
one two buckle in my shoe, toys in the attic
hopscotch buckshot semi-automatic
piggy goes to market this piggy stays home
then, this old man comes rollin home all alone
sorry coach but this year i can't go out
daddy blew out his knee and my shoe had a blow out
richie rich called his stepbrother a snitch
sweet summer hits with a hickory switch
jump back charlie jack you know how we feel
bacon comes from a hog boy not from a meal
hoppa fence it's 50 cents for stolen fruit
poppa top drop no deposit no returns pollute
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
Part I – 10039 330th Street West
I used to live in a haunted house.
Everything about the building felt wrong:
Creaking staircase,
Crumbling basement walls,
Dark side door,
Thin white curtain in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub.
When I lived in the haunted house
I was a little girl, and I didn’t move until I started high school.
I hated my room,
I hated the dining room,
I hated the basement.
I never used the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub.
Bad things happened in the haunted house.
It didn’t matter what the time of day was.
Growling at night from the dining room,
Singing in the morning from the basement,
Tapping on the porch window at midday in the playroom.
Nobody checked if there was activity in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub.
I know that the house was haunted
Because someone was always with me when these things happened.
My stepbrother who also heard the growling,
My stepsister who also heard the singing,
And all of us who heard the tapping.
I know that these happened
Because the house was haunted.
Part II – 13947 Gates Avenue
I used to live in a haunted house.
Everything about the building felt wrong:
My bad report cards in the recycling,
The constant panic in my stomach,
Piles of tissues on my bedroom floor,
My bedroom itself, where I constantly hid away.
When I lived in the haunted house
I was a teenager, and I didn’t move until after starting college.
I hated the living room,
I hated the kitchen,
I hated the hallway.
Most of all I hated my bedroom, where I constantly hid away.
Bad things happened in the haunted house.
It didn’t matter what the time of day was.
Whistling by the window at night from the wraparound porch,
Screaming outside during the day from the yard,
Voices whispering my name constantly from anywhere.
I was only safe in my bedroom, where I constantly hid away.
I can’t know that the house was haunted
Because nobody was with me when these things happened.
I was alone with the whistling,
I was alone with the screaming,
I was alone with the whispering.
I can’t know these happened
Because it’s my head that’s haunted.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
Fairy Tales end with happy endings,
Not bad memories and a drug problem.
I see the world as a sad fairy tale
With teens wishing upon a star,
Wanting a happy ending.
I wanna DIE!
They scream as they drag
a blade across their perfect skin
With an abusive father
and alcoholic mother.
I want you to LOVE me.
She cries because he left
Her for a better version
Of barbie, with bleach blonde
Hair and sunkissed skin.
I want this all to end
He slurs while finishing
The empty bottle of jack
He kept hidden under his bed
Away from his toxic grandparents
And runaway sister.
I have no place on earth
He laughs while placing a colorful
Sticker on his tongue
Starving because his house is broke
And his mother is addicted to ****
I know stories
That are not mine to tell,
Stories that are told without words
But actions that speak
For themselves.
There’s a girl overfilled with
Pills and drama.
She reminds me of a bubble
Light, and fun to play with
But get to rough and she’ll explode.
There’s a boy with a mind of a girl,
Filled with unhappy thoughts
And bad memories sent away
For eight months because of
The rope tied to the ceiling.
There’s an eighteen year old who
Writes music to escape
The feeling of being messed over
By a girl with unhealthy habits
And a way with tricks.
I know a boy who chose
A better life in the marines,
then a jealous stepbrother,
And suicidal father.
Today, i spoke of these stories
I was told to show you how life
Is not always given a happy ending
For those who deserve it.
But you, have the decision to change it all now.
~a.u.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
Perhaps it's this idea
This notion
Of a completely unrealistic love story
Which draws me to books so much.
No I'm not gonna meet a boy in a gang,
or fall in love with my stepbrother,
Nor will he have some sort of disorder
Which weirdly makes him more vulnerable and attractive.
This stuff just won't happen,
And maybe that is what makes it so addictive.
Constantly chasing after this big fantasy
Of one day
Acquiring a love so epic
That it transcends time and space
Just to suit you.
That's something worth wasting my afternoons for.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
On the 1st of February, I learned that
My stepbrother committed suicide during the previous night.
It is currently the 3rd of February, and
I'm still in shock. He was just 22.
I wish I could have helped you when you were alive,
But even pills and therapy weren't enough.
We knew you were struggling, but we didn't
Realise how bad it was until it was too late.
I can't process what happened without writing it down.
I feel like I'm in a dream.
I think I'll feel this way for a long time.
But that's okay. We all have different ways of coping.
Time still unwaveringly, furiously, steadily treks on.
It makes sense. Your death means nothing to the businessman on a different continent
But still it _feels_
_wrong_.
One day we'll come to terms with your death.
One day life will feel normal again.
We will deal with it accordingly.
But it will take some time.
We love you, Aaron. We'll think of you every time we close our eyes.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
To hold two truths.
Knowing one,
Seeing another.
Feeling their weight.
Stepbrother.
To cry for both
And laugh at it all.
To love you
And retribution.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:36 PM UTC
You came into our lives with open arms,
A decision made to be the father figure,
Taught me to ride a bike, fixed scraped palms,
Your presence felt so solid, seemed to linger.
For twelve whole years, you played the perfect part,
Family dinners, homework help, and pride,
I never thought you'd tear it all apart,
Until the day you chose the other side.
How could you turn your back so easily?
The same hands that braided my hair tight,
Weave a web of betrayal free now,
With her - my stepbrother's child's mother - in spite
Of the promises one made to all of us,
The family one said was held dear.
Now Mom's heart breaks, and mine's turned to dust,
You drift between them, year after year.
I learned that fathers are not made by choice alone,
But by the strength to stay when times grow hard.
You taught me more than you'll ever know -
How to deal a man the cruellest card.
Now when I see you with her, I just smile,
At how you've wasted these precious years.
The part you played - just pictures,
And Mom still wipes her midnight tears.
I wonder if you ever really cared,
Or if we were just some scenery,
In your make-believe play, you shared
Our stage until age eighteen.
Some dads are made, and some dads break,
You chose to do both, one after the other.
But I'm stronger now for your mistake,
Standing tall beside my mother.
Dec 26, 2024
Dec 26, 2024 at 9:05 PM UTC