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"unlikable" poems
He’s not like the others, he’s not even a wholly likable child. I mean, he has the cute face high squeaky voice chipmunk cheeks. It’s his personality, his attitude, it’s the fact that he’s only 7 years old and already hates the majority of what he’s seen of this wide world. It’s the fact that he manipulates everyone’s words until he’s made the collage that meets his ideal visage. He’s more than a handful. He’s even more than a whole village’s armful. And though I know a part of its’ the diagnosis it’s hard to keep that in mind all the time. (It’s hard to forgive an unlikable child) Even harder as he swings insults your way, as you have to take off running after him for the nth time this week. It’s hard keeping a straight face, keeping the unflappable demeanor through every offense. It’s hard not to scream, curse, cry, to remain the calm island in the face of the raging tempest. But you have to. (Even though he’s not the most likable child) He is still a child. And you’re loving compassion is stronger than his self destruction.
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May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
The (unlikeable) Child
My roommate and I were talking about The Barrel Roll the other day. Now, the Barrel Roll sounds incredibly difficult, rolling around the outside of a giant imaginary barrel, but you can do it. Apparently. In one of those rickety World War Two fighter planes. The Aileron Roll sounds even more difficult. You roll around an imaginary needle… of infinite length. To avoid the Germans or Chinese or whatever. Even more difficult than those, of course, is the ******* Roll” wherein you stop the fighter plane in midair like a hummingbird. Then, turning sharply, you spell out the words **** all of you” in luminous green smoke and then you explode into a million purple cubes that then fall to the earth and bury themselves upon impact. Then, with rain and sunlight and so on, up grow an assortment of tall, unlikable trees that bear unpleasant fruits that fall to the earth and decompose until the seeds plant themselves. From these, more trees grow, hundreds of them, thousands. All growing inward and converging on one point over the course of many years. The dew of twenty summers winking and sparkling on this forest of wonder. Until one tree grows in the absolute center of the others and it has this huge fighter plane dangling on a little stem. The plane breaks off and flies up into the sky and the pilot alternates between shouting **** off!” at the Germans and raining stagnated walrus carcasses down on the Chinese who have forgotten all about the second World War and the fact that it was actually the Japanese who were involved.
0
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
On Flying
My roommate and I were talking about The Barrel Roll the other day. Now, the Barrel Roll sounds incredibly difficult, rolling around the outside of a giant imaginary barrel, but you can do it. Apparently. In one of those rickety World War Two fighter planes. The Aileron Roll sounds even more difficult. You roll around an imaginary needle… of infinite length. To avoid the Germans or Chinese or whatever. Even more difficult than those, of course, is the ******* Roll” wherein you stop the fighter plane in midair like a hummingbird. Then, turning sharply, you spell out the words **** all of you” in luminous green smoke and then you explode into a million purple cubes that then fall to the earth and bury themselves upon impact. Then, with rain and sunlight and so on, up grow an assortment of tall, unlikable trees that bear unpleasant fruits that fall to the earth and decompose until the seeds plant themselves. From these, more trees grow, hundreds of them, thousands. All growing inward and converging on one point over the course of many years. The dew of twenty summers winking and sparkling on this forest of wonder. Until one tree grows in the absolute center of the others and it has this huge fighter plane dangling on a little stem. The plane breaks off and flies up into the sky and the pilot alternates between shouting **** off!” at the Germans and raining stagnated walrus carcasses down on the Chinese who have forgotten all about the second World War and the fact that it was actually the Japanese who were involved.
Continue reading...
44
it isn't right the way you tease me much about and inside me isn't right and I believe that you can see why You must see right through my  body to the downward destinations inside Where I hide exactly what is felt And when my heart is caught is the trap then forgotten On the contrary, the ordinary, the less than savory, The nothing special as the ignorant laugh And as they do, the wise understand this in itself cannot be easy What is there yet that may be coming So much wrong beneath Some beyond, buried, unlikely Other pieces are much less deep These are mine, my secrets, My own unlikable qualities, proud moments Terrible wants, disturbing fantasies Awful enough that they must stay down Down is where demons go, But I think you've seen them
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Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Inside Isn't Right
i need a reason to believe my "friends" haven't given up on me. i need a reason to understand why i am so unlikable i need a reason to know why i'm always the last pick with better kinder prettier people always climbing over me. i need a reason to understand where my qualifications for being considered "worth it" went wrong. i need a reason for the endless feelings of loneliness and isolation. i need some solid substantial evidence that can help explain why the second i start trusting someone they seem to forget about me. is this paranoia? is this a normal situation my mind is altering? is this reality? is this the way it has to be? with being last and being left out and simply not being enough to be included? if this is the way it is going to be, please just give me a reason why. - a.g.
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Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 6:21 PM UTC
just give me a reason
What good is a junkie's love? No good. Unless you too are a ****** And even then...well... we'll get to that. But here's the thing... Most people will abandon you when they see the unkempt hair and glazed over eyes. When the phone bill doesn't get paid so they can't talk to anyone besides you and your murmured incoherence. When too many calls in to work pile up along with the dishes and garbage and they keep wondering how long until they find you drowned in your own ***** When you won't stop scratching and when you are just plain all around one hundred percent unlikable and annoying. They will abandon you. But the fellow ****** The fellow ****** will stand with you and fight for you until the end of time... ...so long as you've both got junk. Holding spoons and needles and spinning those lies right alongside you. The fellow ****** will hold a candle for you when all other light is gone. But once it runs out- -the money or the junk -once they get what they want they move on to find a new source. So a junkie's love is much more intense. Like nothing you'll ever feel. But in the end, you'll still leave them or they'll leave you. Did you ever think we would be anything else when all our heroes were liars and thieves and loners? Suicidal freaks and criminals and junkies? In the end why did we want to be just like these people? Did you think that we could really pull this off forever? But hey... I've got one last hit. Want to love this ****** one last time? You should know by now with me it's never about the drugs... ...it's all for love.
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Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
What Good Is A Junkie's Love?
What good is a junkie's love? No good. Unless you too are a ****** And even then...well... we'll get to that. But here's the thing... Most people will abandon you when they see the unkempt hair and glazed over eyes. When the phone bill doesn't get paid so they can't talk to anyone besides you and your murmured incoherence. When too many calls in to work pile up along with the dishes and garbage and they keep wondering how long until they find you drowned in your own ***** When you won't stop scratching and when you are just plain all around one hundred percent unlikable and annoying. They will abandon you. But the fellow ****** The fellow ****** will stand with you and fight for you until the end of time... ...so long as you've both got junk. Holding spoons and needles and spinning those lies right alongside you. The fellow ****** will hold a candle for you when all other light is gone. But once it runs out- -the money or the junk -once they get what they want they move on to find a new source. So a junkie's love is much more intense. Like nothing you'll ever feel. But in the end, you'll still leave them or they'll leave you. Did you ever think we would be anything else when all our heroes were liars and thieves and loners? Suicidal freaks and criminals and junkies? In the end why did we want to be just like these people? Did you think that we could really pull this off forever? But hey... I've got one last hit. Want to love this ****** one last time? You should know by now with me it's never about the drugs... ...it's all for love.
Continue reading...
51
Poetry flows through me no more, what spell have you cast. Leave me be - beauty, bewitch me not, my past. Let go of me - serene, for you already have. Leaving behind a scar until my grave. Never did you ever care, how bare, when I was, where. Neither did I ever blame you with a blank stare. I loved you, beauty, with all my heart. expressions condensed, a mere stare - Art. I know it is not you, I'm fighting through. Just my impression though a bit skewed. Unable to express, unable to speak, a mannerless Frankenstein. Unlikable, lonely, thus I am, in a memory clandestine. Rendered useless by you, this you forced me to do; Little is my agony - belle, today as I strangle you.
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Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
His Last Verse.
Wine has a color like my thoughts Dark and wet Because my mind is a dark room, with dew on the walls And mold in the corners It’s so empty I hear my dreams echo from when I was sleeping Eleven hours ago And honey has the consistency of my thoughts Slow and thick And sticky Not letting go of the past And collecting everything as it blows by Just to get heavier and Have me grow more sorrowful My honey-thoughts and mind of dark places are unlikable And I much prefer my old, fan-thoughts That would blow the negative things away and cool me down And my old mind of a castle so broad and beautiful with framed pictures on the wall And marble stairs Clean (never collecting dust), and organized Where did it go? Why did it leave?
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Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 3:29 PM UTC
Ingredients
walking deserted streets at night wondering where you are what you're doing who you're with do you think of me me, that freak you once knew me, the one you didn't understand me, the unlikable the unknowable the unwanted me just me without you to make me feel freakish misunderstood disliked rejected just me without you to make me feel not like me
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
labeled
“You’re so stupid!” You say, And I believe you “You worthless **** You say And I know it Unlikable Annoying *Insignificant ***** You call me And with every word My soul plummets deeper Into the hole Where no light comes in And you can never escape The suffocating darkness Well I bet that You weren’t expecting that “You” Is actually The little voice in my head That completely And utterly Hates Me
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Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
An Abusive Inner Voice
it isn't right the way you tease much about and inside me isn't right and I believe you can why,...You must see right through the downward destinations inside Where I hide exactly what is felt And one heart is caught is then this trap forgotten the less than savory, The nothing special the ignorant laugh And the wise understand this cannot be easy What is yet that may be might bear much wrong beneath Some beyond, buried, unlikely your pieces are much less deep These then are mine, my secrets, My own unlikable qualities, proud moments Terrible wants, disturbing fantasies Awful enough that they must stay down Down is where demons go, But I think you've seen them
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
then it seems
Silas has locked himself away in a skyscraping hotel perched atop a Vegas casino Belongings scattered throughout like passenger train derailments He was a writer with a jack knife vision Now he gathers dust next to a windowsill graveyard crumpled up beside his follow up novel sloppily sprawled out unfocused unedited and unlikable Unable to cope with fame stress addictions the last of dwindling fortunes afford the luxury of having everything delivered He hides from the maids thus his only face to face contact with the outside world consists of quick frightening glimpses - inquiring half-faces through the door chain Developed this shuffling submissive walk to keep from falling over compensating for dizziness from stolen prescriptions he doesn't need and shouldn't have Drowning his sorrows with grandeur - Eating nothing but eggs Drinking like a fish to chase runaway pills A stuck throat refuge lulling him to sleep Silas  drifts away into a comatose fate Left dreaming Hoping someone wants to ****** him in his sleep and end the dull roar
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Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
The Tomb of Silas Kickingbird
I hate myself not because I think I'm ugly or stupid or even unlikable,no, I hate myself because I can give you my heart, watch you tear it to a million pieces, throw it on the ground,stomp on it,spit on it,as if it was the most disgusting concoction you'd have ever seen. You'd just walk away and leave it there.I'd pick it up dust it off and run after you to give it back.
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
Untitled
denying what a beautiful distraction a nice escape a magical far away place depression what a dark place to be a moody cloud a unlikable state of mind anger what fury may come a red hot steam a uncooling rage acceptance what a sigh of relief a loving way to be a wonderful end
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Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
stages of grief
being battered emotionally time and time again has taken it's toll becoming bitter and unlikable is not my chosen route    but an established one something i've accepted    with open arms      and a needy heart you've throttled my compassion to the point i feel drained of goodness no one understands no one can relate and i'm viewed as ugly    mean      disrespectful       and cruel      10 seconds one derogatory remark      and you've ****** the life out of me once again.
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
mom
is there something wrong with me? sometimes I wonder if the reason I have few friends, is because something is wrong with me. that people may not like the way I speak, or look, what my interests are or may just find me annoying. this feeling causes me to feel as though I am unlikable, which causes me to feel lonely in this big world we live in. is there something wrong with me? why do so many other people have lots of friends? why am I so unapproachable? why have I been gifted with the jinx of never having long lasting friends? is there something wrong with me?
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Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC
is there something wrong with me?
I take a step forward Then life pulls me two steps back. I cry for help Get no answer. I'm ugly Unlikable Full of problems Maybe that's why he didn't want me anymore. Maybe that's why my friends tire of me. Maybe that's why I am unapproachable. People lie to me, They let those snakes slither off their tongues like false promises. I am different Quiet Strange Too much For anyone And everything And yet I'm not enough For anyone Or anything Especially not my father And never my step mother or that family. Oh how the medicine in my cabinet seems tempting. All my problems could be solved if I take too much And let it's empty shell fall to the ground Much like mine.
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Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Medicine
I started my day with a lollypop. at first it was bitter,lime flavor, with some sour aftertaste, until i reached the sweet cherry center. Unlikable until the very end.
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Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Lollypop
I can be just as likable as I am unlikable. I can be just as charming as I am annoying. I can be just as kind as I am cruel. I am not consistent, not predictable. But the one thing you can always count on Is my stubborness, My unwavering, steadfast spirit That will never compromise Despite my inconsistencies.
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Who Are You, Exactly?
Very, very often people compare mental illness to a monster. Big, parasitic, and life-stealing. I wouldn't not use this comparison myself. Because, anxiety... Its teeth are cracking my bones, peeling my skin, closing my eyes to the rationalities of this beautiful, beautiful world. I am not, me.   My thoughts are destructive hurricanes to my own mind. They dig deeper each time, into tiny spaces of my brain, my soul, and heart. It's a dark reality, with supposed reasoning... but no, it's a parasite, growing inside my head. I try to think I am good, but all it says is 'you are bad'. I try to think, they like me, but '*I am unlikable, unlovable,*' in the face of this Earth. How can you greet a thing that lives with you everyday, let alone, how can you say goodbye to it.
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Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
Poem x
You know if I don't like to be with someone, Then I just don't like to be, But it doesn't mean they're unlikable, It's just that a cup of masala chai, And a dessert doesn't go well together, The same goes for me, when someone Don't like me, It's not my fault either.
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Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 2:40 PM UTC
Untitled