"talentless" poems
self-congratulatory nonsense as the
famous gather to applaud their seeming
greatness
you
wonder where
the real ones are
what
giant cave
hides them
as
the deathly talentless
bow to
accolades
as
the fools are
fooled
again
you
wonder where
the real ones are
if there are
real ones.
this self-congratulatory nonsense
has lasted
decades
and
with some exceptions
centuries.
this
is so dreary
is so absolutely pitiless
it
churns the gut to
powder
shackles hope
it
makes little things
like
pulling up a shade
or
putting on your shoes
or
walking out on the street
more difficult
near
damnable
as
the famous gather to
applaud their
seeming
greatness
as
the fools are
fooled
again
humanity
you sick
************
13.9k
*Talentless with no position (Goon)
Talentless with position (Doom)
Talented with no position (Doom)
Talented with position (Boom)
Valuable is the caliber of a designee
Designation in itself is incompetent
Talented can exalt the lowest position
With talentless authority bears the brunt*
Bharti
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
My only talent is breathing
Your only talent is leaving
Talent as leaving me
breathless
You stole my only talent
now I'm talentless
Yet a talent kept
a talent with pride you possess
You got quite a talent for leaving
I lost balance when you left
I lost talent when you left
I just wish you were leaving my breathe
But I'm a talentless mess
you're leaving with my talent
I just want one last breathe.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
I am a walking contradiction.
I am six feet, five inches tall
But I feel microscopic.
I am a proud Englishman,
Disgusted by his history and absent
Of allegiances to any land, any country.
I am a nomad, but there is so much I haven't seen.
I am filled with wanderlust,
But also crave routine, and hate change.
I am a passionate writer,
But it pains me to write.
I am so very concerned by the world,
Its people and emotions,
Yet I distance myself, want no part in it,
Thrive off any psychopathic habits I develop -
I enjoy the disdain I have for most people.
I am well-educated, above-average intelligence,
But I know nothing... and always will.
I am surrounded by people that I love and care about,
But I feel so often, so desperately alone.
I crave my own space, my solitude,
The freedom of my own head and my mind's
Undivided attention, but it haunts me,
And I miss the feeling of warmth beside me in my bed.
It taunts me. It makes me want to die.
I am a walking contradiction because I desperately
Want to live, if only to achieve something worth
Being remembered for, worth dying for.
There's no poetic justice, beauty in death of
An ordinary man with uninteresting achievements.
That is wasted oxygen to me, and wasted talent
(if you can even call it that for)
I crave success, but fear I am talentless.
I am a walking contradiction.
Sometimes I think I am delusional,
But, then again, I am one of the most logical people
I know. I'm boring. But I want to excite, to entertain.
I am not funny, but I want to make people laugh.
I want to live forever and die tomorrow.
I am a walking contradiction.
Nobody mourns the poor - of pocket or of soul.
I fear that I am both.
I fear that I am a walking contradiction.
Completely devoid of purpose, of meaning
But so hopelessly in love with the beauty of it all.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
*
*
I feel the darkness grow and stalk
the halls of my mind,
whispering words of mockery,
words that I cannot help
but take to heart...
What if I am not good enough?
Am I a failure?
What if I can't do this?
Am I lying to myself?
What if I make a fool of myself?
Am I truly talentless?
All of this runs around my mind,
having me chase and bite and
pull my own tail as the darkness
laughs, loud, proud and cruel.
Am I just wasting my time?
Is the quill and ink meant for
someone like me?
Am I even good at what I do?
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to think
All I know is...is that
IT HURTS
It all hurts too much...
Far too much...
How I want to hide...
*
*
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
Can not sing,
Nor play a note.
Academics,
Agility,
No strength neither.
Lust for talent,
Desire of success,
A void remained unfilled,
By the talentless.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
I am the pretender
You must precensor
When I'm an inventor
Who can't get centered
I'm the apologist
You're the psychologist
We have a suitable deal
You provide an even keel
And cook delicious meals
And let my fingers feel
But you do so much more
Going deeper than the shore
You make a difference
By insistence
I see your footprints
In the distance
They lead me to progress
My mind cannot process
Those things I can't fathom
You effortlessly grab them
You were my bastion of behavior
I thought you were my savior
You're more like Charles Xavier
Controlling my mind
To keep me blind
By taking my vision
When you make your incision
And put me in prison
You're Sigmund Freud
On steroids
You fill my void
Then get annoyed
You cured me of my madness
Yet instilled sadness
When I got addicted to your healing
But then heard your tires peeling
After all your analysis
You deemed me talentless
You used to be my example of what to be
Now you're my example of what to flee
You made me hate the number three
While running my car into a tree
Which made me scream ouch
My ejection from your couch
So I hide in my palace
And drink from a chalice
Filled with mindless malice
While holding my phallus
But I learned my lesson
One last confession
Someone that can calm my brain
Can also leave a permanent stain
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
I’m swimming deep inside my insecurities,
And I’m blaming myself over and over!
I smile at the jokes that were thrown at me,
But inside my room I’m drowning by my own negative thoughts!
I am but a walking disaster,
I write gibberish that contain words full of error,
I am only a bleeding girl living to survive,
I cannot look at people without hatred and jealousy,
I cannot breathe without thinking about the past,
The future is full of chills,
I just want to escape!
I just want to escape!
I want to disappear, so I won’t hear the voices!
I make mistakes, and I cannot run away,
I fall in love, but I cannot come to love myself.
I’m talentless, I do not have something I can be proud of.
I’m raining inside,
And no one is my umbrella.
I’m a walking disaster,
Living in this town of misery,
My wrist is soar waiting to be cut,
My eyes are shadows with tears,
Their voices are a nightmare, a nightmare,
Oh, oh,
Who would stand a walking disaster like me?
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
Bastardo's heart had been broken for Drew had left him a beaten and
love bitten luchador slash attorney.
Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers to which
his only response was ****** amigo i never knew i was married.
As his attorney i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding its legal
jargin you couldnt possibly understand.
His deadline was near and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours we decided to make a exit through the mens room window.
Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
I was reminded of my loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible her boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.
How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry i swear if you stab me one more time senior gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***
Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.
But now here I sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off insisting I contact Simon Cowell to inform him
man tities are so yesterday.
If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my reallity challenged cilent.
Remember kids if ever you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios Bastardo
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
A young man sits in a room too small,
Wearing shirts too tight and writing poems too weak,
The passage of time marked by the arrival of fire to yellow filters,
He writes because he believes in the vision of poets,
Those burning angels with arms outstretched,
And a young girl stooped at the knees,
Giving praise and ********
So she can pass
He looks out the window and recognizes
Indentured servants waiting to sail to the new world
Like him
He thinks about freedom and writes
And remembers that all the old ones
The ones who are free
Are dead
Graves marked with empty glass bottles
And he remembers the alchemy of words
That he knows is already wasted
Stillborn poetry
That he’ll pour on critics and admirers alike
Who will stand like gospel singers
Waiting to be washed under that waterfall
Of stagnant recycled waste
They pour on children and their parents from buckets
At theme parks
Already he mourns being talentless
Not being in a madhouse
In line for his lobotomy
Instead rocking with straight jacket arms
Through gauntlets of debt
Contemplating mazes
When he finally goes home he greets family
With empty pockets
But they praise him anyway
And he makes himself a madhouse
Which the gift of poetry itself
Visits on the weekends
Token gestures of acquaintance from long ago
And the young man spends his evenings
Watching distant lights
Blink on and off.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
Talent.
So so Far I've seen the talent-less and the talented
**** heads until their skulls cracked and we peered in
and saw a garden growing green leafy creativity
Gallantly trotting across the right brain like the breezy morning wind
And as we looked away and declared the winner had won
but cracked his skull on the stubborn brick wall
the talent-less had spun
out of hard jealousy and mortar crafted from their own lack of self discipline
The sun even sighed
died for a second
then came back alive only to find the talentless
still forrunning their forte
up every frigid full soul he found on his way
So the days saddened into rainy Saturdays
19 in a row
with the downpour too vicious to even kiss on the cheek as a pity way of putting across that
"you should really go"
the rain rained down boulder sized bouts of concentrated creative energies
only able to be ****** up by sponges with cracked skulls
and thus made into uncracked skulls
mended skulls
Talented unabridged uncensored skulls
that may drown out the talentless
just like the rain and storms tried to muster a try at
And by that we only see the talented come out walking with rain pouring Into their brains
getting ****** up by extracorpus veins
Not because they were born with contraptions
but because they avoided distractions
and gained traction in this multiverse where everything happens with struggle
and pain.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
Imagine the worst soccer team in the world.
Now go deeper
and try to picture every single player.
I bet you think they're all ****** talentless ****** right?
WROOONG!
They are the most talented and witty players
on the crippled face of this earth,
each of them with 2 or 3 MVP titles in their pocket.
They are so good as individuals
that make a terrible team.
and, on top of that,
you get to be the goalkeeper.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWGE9Gi0bB0
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
There are many unseen dragons that torment me in this life
There is a tiny dark creature
with a vicious forked tongue
Who crawls behind my ear
and twists a barbed tail around my neck.
It whispers bitter words and
noxious notions that dissolve
my sense of self-
That make me believe
I am nothing
Unwanted
worthless,
Talentless
and pointless.
There is the sleek silver beast
Which laughs as
Sharp blooded claws and rapier teeth
cut and rip at my flesh
Guided by my own hand
There is the fiery flash
That ravages my mind to rage
And fight
And destroy those close to me
And the things I hold dear
There is the red heart eater
Who eyes glow brighter
As it steals the joy
And the pleasure
From the things I do
And from the magic moments in life
There is the grotesque malformed nightmare,
That drips sickly slime
And pumps putrid poison into the air
As it breathes heavily on me
And whittles away my will,
Drains all my energy
Until I can barely breathe
Or get out of bed
Then there is the great beast,
Of whom I only know eyes
Darker than the blackest night,
A despair that seeks the quickest end
That teaches my surrendering soul
To long for the final sleep
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
She is quite the romantic
Classic, charming, a charlotte
A modern Jan Austen
A 21st century Marie Antoinette
Dazzling steps she takes,
Lighting a room with presence
A most exquisite escape
A most darling endeavor
Touched by an artist with
Ringlets of gold and eyes of oceans
An immaculate china doll
An irreplaceable countenance
When she descends steps
Every eye will be fixated as if she were
A once lost duchess returned
A secret lover revealed
I stand amidst the awestruck
But a mere menial commoner
Talentless
Ordinary
Empty
No jewels to wear about my wrists and neck
Just a fragile flower crown for a sandy head
I hope she can see me from where she stands
High above where I cannot be
Smitten with her grace and noble air
I cling to the thought that her eyes perhaps landed on me
Oh what I would give to befriend
Such a marvelous and enchanting being.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
"I hate myself.
I'm so ******* worthless."
You know when you think something so much that it becomes a mantra?
You memorize each letter and you write it out a thousand times in your mind and you whisper it to yourself while you fall asleep?
You think it so many times that every time you close your eyes the words are there, painted on the backs of your eyelids and you can't ignore them at all?
Every breath in feels like preparation to say it over again and reply to the not-question posed by the universe at large over what your mantra is and you just know the answer no matter what?
Every thought loops back around to the words swimming in your head to the point you're wondering how you could have started in this world speaking anything else?
You bite your tongue and the blood tastes like those words and you just want to paint them on your skin to show the world your perfect mantra, the words that have forever been with you, that you never doubted once?
My mantra is a bad one.
I've been told, I'm not allowed to feel that way.
I have to love myself.
I have worth.
Even thinking those phrases makes my head hurt.
My mantra doesn't quell the spreading hollowness in my chest or quiet the white-noise of regret and hatred in my head.
But it doesn't make my demons angry, like the ones people force on me.
My mantra reminds me how to deal with the hollow void in my soul that tries and tries to swallow up my body and crush away everything else and leave a black hole in my place.
It tells me that with just a slim line, just a smooth slice to the wrist, I can stave off the void.
With just a small burn I can beat away the demons telling me lies.
I can convince myself to eat.
I can force my lungs to work.
I can make myself live, if I remember my mantra.
There are people who need me, broken though I am.
And I can't just let the void consume me, even if I should.
Even if its better to have this churlish waste of space
This disgusting, grating, barbarous, surly, persnickety, talentless, slow, moronic, lying, cheating scoundrel of a self wither away into nothing.
Even then.
I need to keep going.
I'm needed.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
I see you,
Uh-huh, I see you,
I see right through you,
I see you.
I see your desperation,
Your attempts to keep me wanting,
You,
Everything about you,
I see you.
I see you turning older, on the outside,
More mature, like a sophisticated riveter,
But you’re still a talentless shrew,
Daddy’s little princess,
Without the ability to drive forward,
I see you.
I see you for what you are,
I see you for what you always have been,
Always will be,
Always fail to be,
I see you.
I see you rubbing my face in dirt,
I see you trying so hard to be mean,
Independent,
Free of me,
I see you.
I see that all of that would be okay,
If I didn’t see how you still care,
I see that you still care,
I see you.
I see that if your attempts to move on,
were to help yourself,
Not to hurt me,
That’d be fine,
But I see through you,
I see you.
I see that you are better off,
I see that I’m well on my way,
I see that if you had any courage at all,
You’d stop pretending that we both,
Don’t see,
How much we miss our little era,
Even though we put on this digital show,
Of being fine,
I see this facade we both play.
I see you,
Seeing me see you,
And seeing how phony we are,
Pretending to see nothing,
I see you.
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 8:08 PM UTC
1.
I never saw you on the day you were born
I wasn't there.
I never met you in your youth
I wasn't there.
I probably won't see you on your last day
I know not how the current will carry tidings.
2.
Yet, I never saw such life in anyone's eyes
As I see in you.
I never felt such intense flow in a pure heart
As I do in you.
There is no way to fully express
How happy I am with the milk of your kindness.
All I want, is to ride that carriage with you
And drink of love's potion, keep you sated.
3.
Come, take my hand and let me hold you
Don't you crowd us out so; allow to breathe
Our universe expands as enchanting melodies, we share
Shut-tight eyes leave a crazy stab of an afterimage.
Upon the tracks, lies the truth in broken pieces
Time to gather my singularly talentless wits
Recuperate from rhythmic clacking of euphoria
A drab shoelace in flat, brown mud, is how you see me.
There's a part of my journey that includes you
An integral part of my existence seeks that spark
I have seen you, without yet seeing you!
How can I know that failure dogs not this adventure...
Can you really not see how extraordinary this is?
It may count as fiasco if absent pursuit of mysterious core...
4.
Without you, I'd be on an express train to nowhere.
At least, you're still there
(alive :)
S T, 3 May 2013
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
It's said if you get hit by a High -speed train
The body-bag needed to house your remains is no bigger than the one needed to fit your sandwich in at lunch
As I pass Brielle and South Amboy, Perth Amboy and Secaucus at 80 mph
I stare out into the swamps festering with industrial run-off
And the bombed- out buildings of once thriving towns
I get the feeling that I want to return to the earth
People tell me a lot of things
They don't ask much
They tell me I can be successful at anything I choose
They throw around words like charismatic and love and passionate
They tell me that I have the mark of Cain
They fail to realize
Charisma is for the talentless
Passion is blood on your hands at the end of the day
And love is blood and war and a dark place and feeling that keeps you in bed
Some call this depression
But to me it's seeing my world as it is
Not as it might be
I tell anyone who will listen
I can't get over you
Guess I'm hoping for one final piece of sage advice
But the blind are the blind for some reason or other
And I can't look at myself in
The mirror these days
I've never made a habit of Walking on the tracks
It's not that I want to be in a zip-lock body-bag but I don't own a gun
I've smoked enough *** for five lifetimes
And I don't care that I have never seen the Pacific
Water is just water anyway Right?
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in auditoriums,
which brought outstanding projections.
Of voice and talent,
speaking to talentless voices that seek
increments of the number ten.
Tens of hundreds, speaking excrement.
Cause **** even a ten is divisible by the number two.
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in back rooms,
with walls plastered with common sense.
Of apologies and service,
speaking to employees that service apologies
to miserable men waiting for change.
Tens and hundreds, purchasing excrement.
Cause **** even the box that holds an engagement
can be discarded.
Orientations are set up.
They're made to entice and integrate,
but in all actuality they're erroneous and agitate.
They speak fate,
but hinder the great.
They mark you.
Like I've previously stated:
Orientations are set up.
They're not a debate.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
These brawlers becoming celebrities
and the weekend warriors and harlots
being consumed by the limelight
suffocated in the attention
they draw over themselves
they steal the heat
while the artists shiver
in the cold and dark
we are the forgotten
plagued by the talentless
given little more than
a nod of appreciation
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC
Talentless drought fluttering
Anxious eyes, swell in the midst of confusion
Lack of sleep
Full moon, peaking
Endless chatter
I surrender to the trail of stars guiding us
Into the deep woods of recklessness
I was certain this time... maybe you
You were certain this time
Maybe me
But maybe, may be impossible
Dreams are intertwining with reality
skies are chilling with the winter months
The rage is fueling from atoms of nothing
You're eyes are doubting your trust
Fear, jealousy and chaos
Still prevail....
sadly this winter
without any cure of hope in sight
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
I can see now
this overachieving descent.
I'll never know how
to regain my composure.
Life has torn down
my self-assured structure.
Please, remain still.
Trust my eyes; if not that,
my predetermined will.
Condensed 'till an overflow
in my mind is my walk.
Each step I take drags me further, though
never far enough to talk.
This can't be love—
this heavy feeling in my chest.
Not hell beneath, nor the clouds above
would put me to this test.
A flightless bird
is what I've become.
To be encased by words
is pain I wish upon no one.
Seems there's nothing more to do
but lie, sleep, and wake.
I'm tired of these nightmares
irking my sanity to break.
I wish someone would wake me,
but I'm alone at heart.
Please, look into my eyes and see
my smile is a talentless art.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC