Evil Mom Poems | Evil Poems About Mom
These Evil Mom poems are examples of Evil poems about Mom. These are the best examples of Evil Mom poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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A Very Inviting Temptation!
I remember of a particular situation.
I was offered a very "inviting" temptation.
The situation I was in... I didn't belong!
And lost any sense of "right and wrong."
At first... I felt no guilt or shame.
And brought embarrassment
to my family's name.
I tried to explain this to my wife and kids.
I heard; "Dad... please... no more fibs!"
The Godly principles were "tossed to the side,"
As the sin inside caused arrogance and pride.
Soon, all in my life that truly mattered...
Was gone! My life was empty and shattered!
I was sorry for all of the problems I caused!
This time... I took a moment to pause.
I cried to God to rescue me from my sin.
I confessed! Would God help me once again?
I read in the Bible of Jesus’ grace and love!
This time the help I needed had to come from above!
I asked him for a fresh and brand new start.
He removed the stain from a broken heart.
He restored to me the joy I once had.
I'm so blessed! Jesus has made me glad!
Jesus is the reason I'm here today!
I LOVE HIM more than words can say!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
The Devil got inside again
Charmed, i want to laugh and SIn
I just want All- That's All of HIM
Spreads His wings
I'm Christened in
And now you LOOK AT ME my friend
I'm stabbing stabbing all of them
It's just that way "We Win We Win!!!"
I'll be so charmed to Crown with HIm
Psycho Bates Motel
La Tí Da-
Stabbed and dR0wnEd
SweeT Licking lips
Dripping Bleeding Finger Tips
"Now who's laughing? LET ME IN!!!!•v"
Filthy Pleasures turning TrIcKs
Stabbing Stabbing little FiX
Masturbate THIS crucifix
WatCh me c0unTing
Count to Three
- Are y0u laughing
N0w with Me???
Don't close your eyes
Watching stabbing pull my string
La tí Da-
Oh My G0d!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's liKe a dReam
Stabbed her in the ShoWeR sceNe
Choking Choking Master Bates
--- Dear Mr. Stabby Friend,
We'll set the trap
We'll lay in wait
This tickles my FaNcy
And when they come
We'll have a look and see
Close my eyes
The count of Three
Beethoven hears this Symphony
It's just this way I'm losing me
I'm losing tO my soul, old friend
My Loving Stabby Friend
"NoW Clear That Dust And Listen In!!!"
I've got my madness to defend
All this darkness
Remember WhEn we fell ol' friend?
Holding hands And Stabbing Them
My mind is a definitive twist
I see me who you see I am
I am I am
I am The Man
I am The Man with the Golden Plan
A Master Plan so understand
We're all inside my boX again
Are th3se secrets scaring you
Little trinkets - Scary t00?
Are they Burning Burning YoU?
Let them burn "I DARE Y0U T0"
Dear Mr. Stabby Friend,
Stab me at my face and grin
Stabbed into my back again
I'm seeing who you see I am
My filthy pleasure's GreAtst DreAm
Stabbed her in the Shower Scene -
by €hr¡s?¡an Alexander
Copyright © 2015 Christian Alexander
Copyright © Christian Alexander | Year Posted 2015
Do you remember when we were small, so small?
All of us together in the years when Mom was still happy and He was still called Dad?
Back when they both were still young enough to see the beauty in all of lifes cruelties. The years before He gave into himself, the years before She had the wisdom and insight to understand the empty twisted eyes She had all along been gazing into.
It was when we were all loved, and we were still all of us together.
Do you remember? I do.
I remember the cookies She helped us make every year for Santa. Do you remember?
I remember the balloons, the cake, the candles and the gifts every year made special just for us on our day. The day She made sure we each knew just how happy she was that we were hers.
Do you remember?
I remember picnics at so many different parks, all of us together laughing together, parks with swings that He once pushed us on, and merry-go-rounds that he once spun just for us.
Do you remember any of it? Can you?
No, most of you probably can't. I was just moments old enough while most of you were just moments to small.
I remember watching the slow decay of the bond that held us, all of us together.
I still remember when Mom began to cry quietly alone more than she laughed.
I still remember as our home and lives had become less and less all because He began taking more and more. Eventually stopping to provide for us all together.
This is when He began the progression to no longer and never again be known as dad. When He started to become no more than a name that today we do our best not to speak.
I remember every cruel word, broken promise, and raised fist.
Do any of you? Any of it?
I remember when Mom was frantic for so long, desperate to just hold us together, to just keep us all together. Her love for us, all of us, was/is so indescribably deep and her pain as we all began to disappear without logic or reason was so overwhelmingly intense that it darkened the light around her. Stronger souls have crumbled to nothing faced with the weight of lesser pains. She never gave in, a true testament to her own strength.
I was there, I watched, I remember.
I remember watching as He twisted her love, her pain, and her fear into something He could use. As Mom cried wolf He already had them crying witch. I remember when I was all alone because of Him. I also remember that I survived Him. That Mom survived Him, that you survived Him. Remember, that one day we all will be able to remember that all of us survived Him.
Copyright © Ashley Dibble | Year Posted 2016
Everyone was laughing louder,
biting their lips and rolling their eyes
like actors in an Attic comedy;
mother was sitting, with her head down
and pleading not guilty.
A visitor was sitting, biting his nails
and frowning down at innocent ants.
“She has put Urea into the tea-cup,”
my sister announced with her head high;
all the pandits nodded their heads
assuring of my mother’s folly.
That was only a decade ago.
Five years went by
without any major incident
she repeated her folly
- a narrow escape –
by squeezing a common krait
in the kitchen zinc,
assuming it to be a dried stick.
Everyone was sure of her stupidity.
My eye-sight is now too weakened,
and while reading, even with
my goggle-like eye glasses,
I’ve begun to miss even jumbos.
Then I see my wife look at me
wearing that Tiresias’ sinister mockery,
assuring of my own folly
and all those Pandits,
who mock at human misery.
Long live the queen!
She’s now in her late eighties.
Copyright © Newton Ranaweera | Year Posted 2016