"unappealing" poems
Its just ***
So why you catching feelings
When your body was the only part of the deal and
We agreed that your mouth don't come with it
Do you want us to quit?
He would say
As he ****** her soul from between her lips
And tighten up his grip on her hips
You had a choice before
You dont wanna be "just friends" anymore
I never wanted a rrelationship
You got yourself into this situationship
So stop that whining ****
He whispered looking into the mirror that was once her eyes
Before he made her blind
Before he couldn't see through her
I llove what you give to me
I love when you pleasing me
But I don't want you loving me
The *** is just enough for me
It was fun when it was hard to get
Now you're just hard to respect
Now your eyes are clouded with regret
He moaned thrusting into her mentality
Stroking her disabilities
To love herself
To love anyone else
Cause he's all she can see
He's the only thing that's real
He's all she learned to feel
And he's just expecting her to deal
Chill out with the feelings
You're getting unappealing
Your soul is so revealing
The poet in you lost all her meaning
You're demeaning
Youre no longer a woman
You're a substance
You're just a thing
He reveals stripping her of self security
Ripping off the bandage that she placed over her heart so carefully
But you're light
You shine so bright
You're all I think about at night
You make everything so right
But you're making me weak
Love is sweet
But not for someone who makes a living in the streets
I'd rather love you in the sheets
And rip your heart out before you leave
The biggest punishment that life could ever give
Give to you I mean
The biggest punishment would be falling in love with unloveable me
He thought carefully
Quietly
Watching the tears fall from her face
Watching her steps as she leave his place
As his home and heart and soul becomes empty again
He only knows how to cause pain
Only knows how to inflict gentle suffering
Cause everyone he's ever loved left him in the rain
But she let him in
And he's letting her go again.
After all its just ***
So why did she catch feelings
When her body was the only part of the deal and
He gave her the choice before
To be "just friends" and nothing more
Although he wants so Much more .
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Deep within a leafy dell
There lived a hairy fairy
Who very often cast a spell
That was frightening and scary.
The only friend the fairy had
Was an old green warty toad,
He never thought the fairy bad,
Just lonely and old.
So he’d sit with her and croak
And watch her practice magic.
She very rarely often spoke,
This to him was tragic.
The fairy dress; the fairy wore
Had seen better days.
It was ***** tattered, creased and tore
The hem hung loose in frays.
Her head seemed always in a cloud,
He never saw her smile,
Her wand no longer taut and proud
But still she was not vile.
Somewhere inside he saw her love;
He longed to be her mate,
So he prayed to God above
And asked her for a date.
She thought he saw her as a joke.
He was playing with her heart.
Up she went, in a puff of smoke,
That gave the toad a start.
Never having seen this done before
He had a mixed-up feeling.
His warts and looks she must abhor
And she found him unappealing.
For days he waited there for her
Because he was alarmed;
A toad and fairy love was rare
He thought she might be charmed.
If she would only hear him out,
That he may just explain.
Then she, he felt, could have no doubt
His love just would not wane.
But if his looks she hated so,
Then this he’d have to take.
He’d just hop-off; away he’d go,
Take bravely his mistake.
He realised, ‘how sad it is,
I never asked her name.’
With one loud bang and mighty ****
Back to his side she came.
“It occurred to me, you might be kind,
My name is Nuff,” the fairy cried,
“And I can read your mind.”
“Fairy Nuff,” the toad replied.
Then she kissed him on his cheek
A shock that made him wince.
Before he had a chance to speak
He was a fairy Prince.
She was beautiful and young,
Like his clothes, hers were new.
A love that’s ‘Magic’ is not wrong
Especially for these two.
Dec 7, 2009
Dec 7, 2009 at 11:13 AM UTC
I observe the current of clamour from the far corner, over there
wishing I would blend with the limp air
And soak into the absence far away.
So, don’t ask me why
It’s in my nature to be shy
Just leave these flawed bones to decay...
even so, I didn’t ask for your kindness
It’s just an act muffled with blindness
I know it could never be true.
I have learnt not to trust those who are nice to me
Eventually they will push me away, out to sea
waiting for the waves to break through.
Yet my body tingles with this burdensome feeling
This sensation blooming inside is unappealing...
all I can do is blame it on you.
Blame it on the way you walk
Or the way you stumble when you talk
Or the way your hair sits on your forehead.
Blame it on the way you smile with your eyes
Or the way you stare up into the skies
Or the way your ears can turn bright red.
But by all else above,
Blame it on the way you made me fall in love.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
Mirrors can be scary things.
Sometimes they'll tell you that you're something terrifying.
Or that you look great but you're not on the inside.
If you ever look in a mirror and see
something you don't like,
look beyond that.
Look deeper.
Because,
everything you see that's unappealing,
it's not true.
It's only the mirror playing tricks.
Everyone is perfectly made,
and you are made a certain way for wonderful reasons.
Don't let your mirror fool you.
It's just jealous of your beauty,
because all it can do is reflect yours.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
two tales
of three cities
identical
expect that
one was made of straw
tall
he has eyes like nothing
nothing at all
not even extraordinary
actually
very ordinary
so unappealing
but really
****
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
I am ugly.
Maybe not in the way the human race perceives the word, but in the way I perceive the word.
I am ugly,
whether that is in the way I smile, look, dress or the way I see the world.
Maybe,
life isn’t about seeing the yourself as beautiful; maybe it’s about seeing yourself
as ugly,
as dull,
as plain,
as unappealing as it is and still, above all of that,
loving everything ugly, dull, plain and unappealing.
I don’t mind being ugly,
because ugly is what I want to be.
You hear someone say the word ugly and you think negatively. Ugly, in my mind, is even better than beautiful.
Everything has beauty, but only real things have flaws.
Being ugly is not about being unappealing to the eye,
but being appealing to the heart.
I embrace the fact that I am and always will be ugly.
I like it that way.
I am full of flaws.
I have crawled my way out of hell and got a little banged up along the way,
whether that is what someone means by the word ugly I am okay with that.
I am banged up.
I am flawed.
I am imperfect, defective, faulty, distorted, inaccurate, incorrect, erroneous, imprecise, fallacious and most of all ugly.
The most shocking part of all of this is that,
you are too.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
tickling tape worms living in ape arms
squiggly shapes getting fat like grapes and
traveling in veins like a gutter swallows rain
like an utter in pain painting pitchers so milky white
tight like an overstuffed mite
bee or egg infested
ceiling unappealing
but
crack is revealing my
inner thoughts
statutory holocaust
saturated oil spots
aggravated foil plots
plotting for a battle
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
We are just like this poetry
unflattering
unappealing
unappreciated
unfinis—
March 15th 2014, 1:15 a.m.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Hungry, no breakfast again
Nosed pressed up to the screen door of the cafeteria
While the other children play
I watch and sniff the air while they eat
Wishing I had those soft, delicious rolls
That cold milk
I had bologna on white bread
And green Kool-Aid in a thermos
Always warm and unappealing by lunch time
Same thing every day
Once Kathy gave me a roll
And it made my day
Sep 18, 2009
Sep 18, 2009 at 6:27 AM UTC
My head is this galaxy of exploding stars and swirling planets, though every glimmering star you see behind my blue eyes that lost their blue color years ago are shooting stars that long died out.
That's why when you wish on me, I can't come through anymore.
I am a walking hollow.
Somewhere between the parking lot where I stood and knew I would never smoke a single cigarette to the roof top of a house where I smoked a whole pack in a night because I thought that's what would make things better.
Somewhere between hanging on every word you say and hanging from a noose made from sketchy rope.
Somewhere between honesty and not being sure if what I'm saying is a lie.
Somewhere between "I ****** up" and "you're ****** up."
Somewhere between those places, I find myself listening to songs I usually don't and drinking chemicals I always said I wouldn't.
I'm looking for something and I put my faith in finding a person, which is unfair to whomever I choose to place it on.
The weight of the world...My world.
I got to the point where I didn't care what happened to it anymore.
I threw it in the air so now it bounces through infinite space. It's unappealing and covered in glass shards, wrinkles and scars.
I can't blame anybody for not wanting to pick it up...
But I'm hoping someone does.
If walls could talk, they would scream vile words in my face as I trace cloud patterns through volatile gray skies.
In the Summer I pray for Winter and in the Winter I pray for Summer.
I wish I could say I'm OK with Fall because it's the best of the worst, but I know when I get there I'm praying for a Spring bloom.
I always want what is furthest away from me.
Can that be my excuse for why I put distance between the people I love most?
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
It's pointless
Lying here all day
Childish dreams
A diet of
Whiskey and Coke
Cigarettes and ****
Food just seems so unappealing
Sometimes
Other times
I participate
In a gluttonous ritual
and eat everything at hand.
It
Makes
Me
Sick.
Oh well though,
Life goes on.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
I dip my head
to avert your eyes
every time we pass
I hold my breath
to prevent from speaking
and proving myself an ***
I pretend I know
what you think of me,
that I’m strange and unappealing
I fear I’ve blown
any chance at knowing you
and sharing these feelings
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Today, I am beginning
Only to end.
This body has blossomed in a field of green;
Has bled shades of red;
Stared at a horizon ablaze with yellow;
And now, this body will face
The bluest of skies.
Whether my skies are clear or
Consumed with droplets of rain,
I will always end up seeing
Nothing but blue.
Nothing but 10 shades of blue,
Until I see another sun set
Until a palette of colours are
Painted on the horizon
Until stars are forced to form constellations
Until a beginning of
A new morning.
But one day, my new mornings
Will not consist of
The bluest of skies.
There may be a hint of pink,
a touch of purple,
or a sliver of orange.
And that's okay.
Because weather forecasts were not meant
To only be clear blue skies and
Colours were not meant to have
Only one shade.
Blue possesses a fading beauty
Now unappealing
But never forgotten
It is THE last set of my own primary colours -
green, red, and yellow.
Once I set down this
Familiar brush dipped in
blue paint,
I will start anew with a
Fresh set of colours.
A clean canvas once again.
Today, I am ending
Only to begin.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
Freckles and tanned I will emerge
like Venus from the foam
hair all salty
and he'll be in awe
or he'll be checking out my friends
or he'll be checking out other girls
or he'll be asleep
oblivious to all
so seductive in his indifference
oh please
make his body not be so perfect anymore
make him unappealing
or me more so
at least catch his attention,
honestly not over him yet
getting closer
stupid abs........
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink but I still continue to write despite the broken lines because that's what I'm made for in the first place. Maybe the reason why I get hurt so much is that I fall in love with words a lot. I'm in love with people who is in love with literature. These poems and letters may not be made for you or because of you but their main purpose of being written is to move you. I want you to do something about that girl who works in your favorite book shop because I don't want you commiting the same regrets as I did. I want you to raise your voice and write about the oppression or the wage gap. I want you to write about something from the deepest part of your chest. I want you to write about something I cannot write about.
But some days, I feel nothing. I could write about being in love and about the color of their eyes but nowadays, their eyes look exactly the same. I could write about sadness but sadness itself is what hinders me to grab a pen. Now, I could write about happiness. But I rarely feel this way and when I feel this way, ******* I feel this way. I could gather these words about being filled with the color yellow but happiness will say that those words are not enough to fathom the euphoria I feel in me. Maybe one day, I could explore enough dictionaries to find the perfect words on what I have to say.
You don't have to be the greatest writer there is to make someone feel something through your words. Write about everything, every emotion, and every person who finds their way to your heart. When you can't write anymore, get outside and get your heart broken. Go outside and experience an experience that you never thought you would experience. Soon enough, you will write the words you never thought you would ever write. Don't hold anything other than offensive and oppressive thoughts back. Let the poetry run through your veins and drip down your fingertips. Write, write, and write until you can't write anymore. When you can't write anymore, seek a perhaps to write about then write, write, and write until you can't anymore. Even when the poem is below my satisfaction, I continue to share it anyway because being stoic and still would lead me to madness.
I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink and even though my lines are broken and unappealing, I continue to write anyway and because that is what I am made for in the first place.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
its not filthy
its just unappealing
its just the grooves
the places between the melody
that desperately need a cleaning
the tune no longer resonates
the tone dull
and crackly
its has nothing to do with
amplification
or projection
its the source material that fails me
im no good at this
at a loss for tools
which could make completely clear
the soaring voice that is love
impassioned and dedicated
but they are contained
within the outmoded technology
wax or vinyl
it could be
though
that my table is just on the fritz
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
I do not think much my place upon this earth,
I am second, and you are first,
and when your voice is louder than mine
it is a familiar for me to sink and recline
into my chair, wilful to listen
to your unappealing, witted opinion
and programmed flair -
from which your talent glistens,
and has always been there.
Oh to be part of your vision.
I walk comfortable in high heeled shoes
that inscribe me a waggling soft tongue,
and when your pace is faster than mine
in brogues, and trousers that are looser,
I am simply undone,
at your ease to summon as the prime task-caster
of more tasks to come.
Your achievements are set with a slapped wet plaster.
Oh that you share a crumb.
And when you laugh, it is a big bellied echo
that chimes in my throat to strike and produce,
a small bit of fruit, just for you.
As I mimic your billow in an octave but lower,
that feels like part of the very same tune,
but my chuckle is actually a choke,
and what I could say would only provoke.
Oh you laugh much harder than me.
My almond eyes are softer than yours
and in the day you lock them only for an answer,
to some chore which requires a limited goal -
don’t get me wrong – I am no prancer,
my shoes are far too tight, and I’ve been taking the toll
of your papers, your personal sciv, your faxer.
A sniffing, weezling mole.
Oh I could dig deeper…
You **** much harder than me.
And when you *** you look in the mirror
at yourself in white unbuttoned shirt, heavy brow, so chipper
that when your sun sets it does in a vulvonic decree,
but you do not know that when I go home, I secretly scissor
in a way that would make your morning clippers shake violently.
Oh I love much harder than you,
I am better than you,
but somehow you are better than me.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
Hey friend,
Put down the blades
This feeling surely fades
Put away the pills
Watching you live like this kills me inside
Don't hang that noose
Keep that rope loose
Acknowledge your feeling
It's not unappealing
Look at the people who love you, their faces
They know you're going places
Not in the ground
Let your broken heart be found
You are loved and needed
Even if no one begged and pleaded
You're meant for something
Imagine the smiles you could bring
If you stay
Come with me, friend, I'll show you the way
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
what on earth is this feeling
(yellowing formaldehyde)
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
a vivisection, never healing
coat & spray on the insecticide
what on earth is this feeling
criminal butterflies stealing
the cogs & screws in my arthropod insides
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
heartthrobs come frenzied then unfeeling
my vague worries preside
what on earth is this feeling
whateverphobia; a personal ceramic ceiling
to myself, is how I've always lied
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
carcass littered webs are usually unappealing
my own web has much to elide
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
what on earth is this feeling
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
I've never thrown a temper tantrum.
The thought itself it not unappealing.
However, I've never lost control before.
The idea of surrendering to an emotion
is unfathomable.
Because the question is:
If I relinquish control,
Will I be lost forever
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
You feel uninteresting
Unappealing
Want to get unstuck
You strive to be part of a larger entity
But you sit and watch
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 8:42 PM UTC
Coffee stains on the newspaper because I was always so messy
Illuminating the stories that hit close to home, drawing emotions I had no interest in possessing
Lipstick smears on the cheek of a young man because I was always so quick to trust
Allowing him access to the depths of my soul surrounding my heart and mind
Stinging scrapes up my legs because I was always so clumsy
Falling off of my bike countless times, though I should've learned the first time that the turn was too dangerous to master
Paper cuts scattered about my hand because I always turned the pages too quickly
With full awareness that I'd hurt myself because of the sharp edges, but I couldn't wait to keep reading because I was infatuated with the books and how the stories would end
Bleeding lips because I always bit on them when I was anxious
Despite the pain and unappealing appearance, my nerves took control so I never learned to kick the dreadful habit
And seventeen years of my life
Seventeen years of mistakes
Seventeen years of trouble
And I still haven't learned my lessons because I'll continue to be careless about my shaky hands holding my coffee in the morning
And I'll still fall for boys who say all of the right things
And I'll keep riding my bike around the sharp curve because I am not afraid of it
And I'll keep turning the pages too quickly because the story is worth the paper cuts
And I'll keep biting my lip when I'm nervous because it's all I know when everything is overwhelming me
And I'll keep making mistake after mistake
Because all of these things have become routine to me
And I would not know myself
If I was more cautious
So seventeen years of lessons unlearned leave me fighting to the very end
Crashing over every bump on the road
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
I sat down today and began to type,
But nothing I said seemed to come out right.
The meter was all wrong,
The rhyme scheme was a mess,
The words were too simple,
The stanzas too plain,
So I decided to erase it
And start all over again.
A few backspaces later,
I started anew,
And with each keystroke,
My frustration grew.
My thoughts were garbled
And looked clumsy in print;
My words were childish
And seemed cliche.
So I tried one last time
To write something that made sense,
But instead of eloquent rhymes and articulate thoughts
I got ill-expressed musings and awkward phrasings.
Instead of a work of beauty and awe,
I had created a trite piece of junk.
And yet, I found attraction in its ungainly expression
And was fascinated by its candor.
Nothing was hidden in dreamy language,
Or couched in metaphors and vague allusions.
I was filled with a strange satisfaction
At having created such an unorthodox piece,
That evoked in me the simultaneous feelings
Of looking on a lovely, unappealing work.
Jan 12, 2010
Jan 12, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
No one wants to hear about
How you're really feeling
Though you may be filled with doubt
To them, that's unappealing
Hide that part of you away
Clench your teeth, just smile
Maybe if you fake that you're okay
One day it will all be worthwhile
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
If only a little eye of newt,
or mandrake root, or hemlock bark,
could turn these loathsome suitors
into lovers handsome, tall and dark.
They paste their unappealing photos
next to profiles trite and silly,
and send flirtations cut-and-pasted
into the ether willy-nilly.
Don’t you know my time you’ve wasted?
I have no interest in your wooing.
Instead of listing your opinions
there are things you should be doing:
Learn to listen, read more books,
lose 15 lbs and use some manners.
Answer emails, learn to cook,
travel widely, study language.
Say what you mean, do what you say,
you’ll find a date without delay.
I haven’t found the witches’ brew
that will turn boys into men.
'Til then with dating I am through,
and bitter missives I will pen.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC