"superego" poems
*No, no, no, Dirtbreath. I say we call the big one an elephant,
and the small one a mouse*.
Eve
I'm sure red's a better color for me.
M. Monroe
She has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
Ulysses
*Now that Hawking's dead, I'm the smartest
guy on Earth.*
D. Trump
You're too Jung to understand the Superego.
S. Freud
No. You keep it. I have enough.
B. Graham
Are you sure that's the Delaware?
G. Washington
E=Mc Donalds.
A. Einstein
Go pound salt.
Gandhi
What day is it?
Roosevelt
That's one small.... oops!
N. Armstrong
I don't remember any of my dreams.
M.L. King, Jr.
Hey, John, I can see your house from up here.
Jesus
Beaches, fields, streets, hills. Did I leave anything out?
W. Churchill
Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I wrote 'em all.
R. Starr
It's just too big to wrap your brain around.
S. Hawking
Don't lose your head. This won't change a thing.
Robespierre
Before I was fined, I walked the line.
J. Cash
Could you lengthen the title and shorten the book?
Tolstoy's editor
What if we put the workers on conveyor belts?
H. Ford
I have a splitting headache... hmmm, interesting.
Oppenheimer
I've never liked orange juice.
N. Brown
Really? You want to blame me?
******
He stings like a butterfly.
S. Liston
#timesup #metoo
A. Boleyn
Mr. Watson. Come here. Spare me a dime?
Bell
Roebuck said he'd be back in ten minutes.
R.W. Sears
To be or to do be do be do.
Shakespeare/Sinatra
*When you call me Whitey, I get cotton pickin ****** off.*
E. Whitney
We're the team to beat!
Toronto Maple Leafs
Don't call me a Mother!
Mother Theresa
Is that a Cuban?
M. Lewinsky
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
' Id ' in my blood.
' Superego ' in my soul.
Heart is bone of contention.
Both want to control.
While both are in fight.
' Ego ' plays smart.
Balances one with other;
And rules my Heart.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
perched in a thick mess of pine trees
my head rotates three hundred and sixty degrees
scouring for the vermin I make my prey
I own the night time skies
silhouetted against a harvest moon
death is coming in my dreams
and with it comes new life
wisdom of the self
aware of the lies which cover the world in its blanket of grey snow
the owl lives in my skull
The coyote stalking the empty desert highways
looking for roadkill
looking for the weak and alone
I cackle into the dead sterile air
for every pack member lost to poachers
manic laughter for every left turn which results in dead ends
stealthy patient
hungry and haunting
the coyote treads the territory of my atriums and ventricles
The hawk circles in the blinding midday sun
a deadly serrated dagger with wings
arrow let loose from the quiver of the Gods
impossible to tether and domesticate
finding ultimate freedom in the vast openness of the sky
lock on,
tuck the wings,
nose dive deep into the waters of the ****
a creator
a teacher
a messenger of truth
the hawk soars in the infinity of my soul
ID
EGO
SUPEREGO
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Can you hear me out there
come in
come in
over
Radio Silence
I silence my happiness with a smile
don't look at me
when your ice cream falls from the cone
your baby crocodile tears won't work here
and we both know I'm a great terrible liar
are you still out there?
are you still out there circling that same stretch of concrete
with sunglasses a hoodie and a 20 oz black eye
with your heart on her sleeve
arterial spurts of blood painting these white walls
yes my dear I do love you
now come here and help me hide my hunger
We are having trouble making contact
Roger that
at noon he wakes up and croons at the open skirt of Apollo
well hello sir, might a catch a ride to fire on your chariot?
to the place where Kamel Reds are $2.80
and the diner coffee is good and watery
just like the diarrhea which follows
I'm a jack *** joker with a jester hat on each foot so that when you hear church bells it just means I'm outside of your front door
but **** it
you can find me at the park we grew up in
too scared to jump off the swings at the highest point
I read about Icarus and Mamma aint raise no fools
my self esteem ran away that summer I forgot to close the gate behind me
so now me and my ego, Id, and superego
are patrolling your town
armed with fliers and staplers
but hey, it's all good right?
when the nights are longer
the days shorter
and the thoughts darker
I want life to be one trampoline
like the one we held wrestling matches on in Middle school
can I get a double bounce?
I never lost a game of popcorn in my life
It's on my resume
We are experiencing some frequency interference
Is that you?
can you hear us?
I think we lost him
lost him to the radio silence
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Theres a circle cycle of sides to the self of me
Standing in the middle surveying my surroundings
Noting each application and the consequences that apply
Maybe I'm simply a hedonist
Weighting for worn out pleasure centers to take a flame
Or an optimistic pessimist
Citing my self for the blame
My humanistic approach has lost appeal
Defying my superego
And hierarchy of needs reel
Stuck in Erickson stages
A psychodynamic underground war rages
There's a linear graph
Self sided to me
Maybe I'm projecting all my insecurities
And taking my abnormalities
Out on maladaptive poetry
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
come onyou canyou'll sober up in timejust spend the night this shouldn't be happening there are plenty of things you could be doing rather than... this. it will get out of hand drama; you hate drama.you could be with your friends that care.you could be doing something that helps, not hurts.something that especially doesn't hurt yourself..Why truly Why are you doing thisthey're just over-reacting.it wasn't that big of a dealthey'll get over ityou meant what you saidyou have an opinion and you stand by itthey are wrongand youare right that was uncalled for you could have given the benefit of the doubt you've known each other a long time you could have asked calmer than that it was coming thoughWhy did you do that!?you hurt their feelingsyou could have gotten over itjust waited it outyou could have done itnow you really did it
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
Do you find it
boring
to spell out the word
"subconscious"?
Not the way I spell it.
Many step onto the first "S"
as if it were
a ***** rain puddle,
but I'm sufficiently alert
and can see that one must dive
into the word's application,
nimbly rummage through the
annals of its history
before conducting one word
in or against its favor.
Glide downward
through the
rhythmically breathing curves
of the voluptuous prefix,
"sub-",
as you begin
dreaming
further
down
towards the comatose
of the rickety construction
that is your superego,
to the "you"
no one knows about
in clear daylight
(even the mirror).
Minor turbulence
may occur
within the rest,
"-conscious",
just a few jagged rocks
stirred into Cloud Nine
to alter your perceptions
like a face hit by a bus.
This is the meat of your matter,
the acidic ruptures
that only the most cunning
infiltrators
can identify and nudge
with their index fingers
using a painful precision,
the ***** band of undergarments
that always seem to loiter behind
in the town laundromat.
But a jagged rock
is a jagged rock,
never eternally bordering
the outline of the planet,
just lodged within the corners
of your comfort zone,
their presence
a necessary evil
for the times you must steer
through the swarms of cataracts
and endure the exrcuciating agony
of becoming a better human being.
You launch yourself
from your adolescent crutches
like the roots of teeth
erupting from the base of the jaw
and prevent single definition,
hack away the tentacles
of emotional paralysis,
by remembering to mend
the tear between
two polar halves,
"sub
conscious."
Under your false promises,
your Freudian timeline,
your ever-quivering Id...
every single one of you.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
the Exquisite Executioner.
What kind of organic golem
of engrammic man am I,
so cold as to make you quiver.
You ask what hides under
my thin veneer of vernacular?
A bullshitter.
Caressing a mind swollen with Superego
I'd rather be traveling Home if only
I could just let
Me
go.
For
I am the **** leftover from
your irate iron decisions.
I am the sepulcher, wreathed by
your iconoclastic tongue.
I am the maw
trite in humanity
partite in hunger.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC
the trouble is
sleep doesn't
ever seem to last
long enough
no matter how many
hours are lost
to its nothingness
discarded willingly
to the vague
and the vacuous
some might say
for dream's sake
but debate remains
around the benefit
relevance or reverence
to be found
in that logic
waking up always
brings with it
a desire for more
for a return to
a form of non-being
where presence
and nullity
have equal sway
to be
and
not to be
ego
id
superego
free of interference
from that backwards
rationality
of consciousness
Jan 19, 2023
Jan 19, 2023 at 8:11 AM UTC
Riding in a hardtop with a few friends.
Heads get groggy as grass burns between the lips
With every pull of the roach, it repossess the swelling at the tip.
My cranium fills with this potion sensation
hip rotation.
The air becomes dense
then everything makes sense;
I have a roof over my head, but I hardly stand under it.
No wage
No claim that I am legal until the come of age.
Society reeks of imperfection.
Because society learns from received education
Rather than stepping into the natural world.
Where we stumble on honest situations, like meeting new friends.
I walk upon the concrete streets, freely.
The only routes I know are my true friends’ homes.
But my superego tells me that I am alone.
In this world I walk solo.
And my only soul purpose is to free my spirit.
Be free of mind while taking a hit.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Its hard to concentrate
When your thoughts rattle around
Like machinegun fire
Caught in complicated clockwork
Trying to captivate
One cognitive idea
About Life
Conglomerate
While the tapestries
Of cliches attempt
To coalesce as they
Cascade
Only to fall away
As they dribble out my ears
The critics are unimpressed.
There is no one on this earth
Who is still interested
In simple lyrics backed by
Overwhelming overtures
When the focus is on expenditures
And the bottom line wont budge
Its as if it holds a grudge
Torturing visionary artists
Hiding in their closets
From monsters under the bed
And detained by superego authorities
While alone and afraid
Locked in Negative Headspace
But the artists becon of light
Is an ironic twist of common life
In a pedestrian plight
Captured on 8mm film
And put on Lifetime.
How do you write a song when
The melody is wrong
But the lyrics flow from the hand
Like the last latent ramblings
Of a dying, possessed man
Onto the page as
The imaginary lines fade
And the surreal becomes real
And in your head its something you can hear
In your gut, its something you can feel
But the fingers on the guitar
Cant catch these falling stars
And before we go to far
Its time to take a step back
To breathe
The guitar bleeds
But its blood isnt music
And if you turn away you lose it
As the sound gets trapped behind
The saturated limitations of the mind
The brass threads slowly unwind
Only to stab you in the neck.
And still,
The critics are unimpressed.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC
The idea popped in my head,
Like a balloon,
Pushed to its limits,
"What am I doing?" I thought,
As I readied myself towards the edge,
Was this my Id taking over,
Or simply my superego,
Thinking this was best for the world?
With the thoughts filling my head,
I jumped.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
My archetypal anima
Could dream a billion dreams
Yet none elucidate my psyche’s
Shadow self-esteem
It yearns to be made whole again
Detaching from the soma
Yet cannot mend the mandalas
That fracture its persona
From the superego servant
Of unconsciousness collective
To the individuation
Silent tyrant introspective
Still projecting as the pedagogue
The hero and the saint
But the mystic rebel overlord’s
This portrait that I paint
For I’m an evil genius author
Penning nurseries of rhymes
I am the psychopath symbology
Just read between the lines
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
You'd think Blake, Bosch
& Emanuel Swedenborg
read Pythagoras in the original
& walked with Christ & Newton;
E. A. Poe, the Horror-Poet;
influencing the Decadence of
Baudelaire, Wilde & Rimbaud;
Pinkham Ryder's influence on
Symbolism & Surrealism led,
oddly, to 20th century pop culture
depictions of Victorian monsters;
Frankenstein was the product
of the English Romantics;
German Romanticism to Sturm
& Drang led to Expressionism.
Beardsley [dead at 25], Gustave
Moreau, Van Gogh, Gauguin,
Egon Schiele [dead at 28]; ||| - -|
Klimt, Freud, Jung: Judaism;
Id, Superego, Ego, Shadow,
Anima & Animus, collective
psyche, Nietzsche's Superman,
eternal recurrence & will to
power; Wagner's Ring Cycle...
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC
The idea popped in my head,
Like a balloon,
Pushed to its limits,
"What am I doing?" I thought,
As I readied myself towards the edge,
Was this my Id taking over,
Or simply my superego,
Thinking this was best for the world?
With the thoughts filling my head,
I jumped.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
could you fix me a joint
get me high
get me some pills
in fancy colours
some snow
get me high
or a syringe
full of heated escape
from my magnificent ego
would you let me drown
with you?
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
Do you think she’ll witness my downfall
When she goes to hell?
Do you think she’ll feel the anguish of empathy?
Do you think she’ll find a way to introspect
Instead of projecting?
That would cause her suffering.
I won’t be grouped in with fools
Who discharge ressentiment
With dreams of those who’ve wronged them
Suffering more than they have...
But I know it must discharge somewhere.
What constrains me?
The stunted superego
Suffocates the id
Holds it down and kicks it;
A child beaten
Tells itself
It doesn’t want to hurt its family
Until the day it’s realized
That it can’t.
And then, its spirit broken
Lays dormant, a pressure cooker
Tells itself it doesn’t want to rise
To cope with having fallen.
It stays silent and still long after left
Alone.
Retreated so far into itself
That now it fails to recognize
The threat is gone –
The abuse goes on
Long beyond it’s ended.
She told me she loved my poetry,
That I inspired her to write
About her father.
I should have seen it coming then
It was no different from before -
I let myself be used again
I have no excuse.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 10:29 PM UTC
as if falling down the earth
with you wasn't enough,
you take my hand and
hold me close and
whisper real loud
all the words i love until
the breath leaves my lips
and leaves them cold and dry
and dizzying up my head
so the world spins faster
than my thoughts which is
so impossible that the possibility of
the impossible makes me
cry with excitement and makes you
hold me closer- so close that
for a moment you can hear my thoughts
and the moment after that you gasp
with amazement because you knew
my mind was different jumbled crazy
like i know too but it just happened so fast
to you all at once and you didn't expect it
so your mind suddenly went into
overload and fried the hard drive
of your brain
and your unconscious mind screamed in agony
and your superego was impressed by my id
and your ego just shook a finger and
mildly scolded my brain
for mildly scalding yours
and as you cooled down and
your eyeballs rolled back
you were suddenly a different person
that i didn't like
which made me wonder how anybody
liked me at all or ever but you did,
but now you're not you and
the old you is gone and
the new you is me and i am
nothing.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
I all too often wonder
if you've at all been working
on your plethoric problems,
or if you yet merely continue
to use and abuse those who find themselves around you
in order to distract yourself from yourself;
to beguile even your very own self
via id, ego, and superego illusions
in lieu of making real personal progress.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
Sometimes I'm good
But now I'm even better
I can't control my feelings
When I break out into sweaters
And colors stand out so much
And then also I wear some collars
People think I have it made
But I feel jealous of ballers
And people who live with others
And people who live with brothers
And sisters and then their covers
Hide all of their different lovers
But hiding is not one way
They take them and then here's what hurts
There's one thing and then another
And I might just be a pervert
But I can't avert my thoughts
I would love to be in a circle
Spinning a bottle hotly
And making my face turn purple
It turns red! And white
But I want more social pressure
Not the keep-me-up-at-night one
But the one that seems much better
But it can't be fabricated
And it can't quite be sought out
And it won't happen to me
Because I have too many doubts
And shrouded beneath my mouth
Is a superego completely
Controlling my every move
So how could someone ever read me
And be comfortable or open
When my mind is like the ocean?
I go with the flow but know this
I can take you on a gross trip
And by that I mean a lame one
Where your boat is somewhat closed in
And you're trapped with me and feel some
Unappetizing emotions
That's the mood that people's faces
Take on when my mouth is open
And then I go out and chase them
But my heart just feels quite broken
And I used to think it was them
which is odd since I often blame me
But then my new realization
Made me wake up to the new key
See part of me loves all people
And part of me holds myself back
So if I could just now solve that
Could I live how I want real bad?
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
Feel fossils
Prioritize dinosaurs like a paleontologist
Aim like an ambitious mountaineer
Explore mountains
Try to touch your dreams
Ignore glochids
Notice the patterns of cacti
Keep in mind
since we are human beings
the superego will be the winner
good things will defeat bad things
sooner or later
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 2:18 AM UTC
Slurping accolades on Book of Faces,
****** poet **** romances himself.
Lubricating through superego Groups,
disorganization and breakdown of controls
chips him into corner. Bleak
moments of "Like" successes
are momentary arousals,
while blessings of truer constructive
criticisms become real get-offs. Spooging
on his own "Like"-abilities and
word-stock inventiveness he mops up
whatever approval he can.
Internet-tionalistic
becomes his coinphrase. He'll
Google-gunk it up in translation
to any language. So long as it buys him
some sensation. Forgive him,
for where else would he get it?
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:58 AM UTC
If I wait to finish my
chores,
to finish my food
all the tiny
notifiers to my superego,
my id
would wither
music, writing, commiserating,
and commiserating
eight-fold path that could
fit in my pocket
I can play
Make children with songs
that have been inside me
half a lifetime
when I picked up an axe
14 year old me
Shyer in most ways
but bolder
in interesting ways
I walked the path
humming 4 noble truths
in between theses
erratic days
I lived a myriad of lives
I fear it’s all
swirling to be the same
Circles within samsara
used to last for
months now I’m stuck for
years
and I no longer
wish to become
unconditioned
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 8:49 AM UTC