Best Frustration Poems
Do not call me
strong Black woman for
it is not a compliment
It is a title given to us
boxed inside expectations that
weigh us down
We are not superheroes
yet we are branded with
an "S" on our chest
forced to steer clear of
the kryptonite called failure
Black women aren't
supposed to fall
We're expected to
stand tall
and during the whole time
of this masquerade ball
we wear a mask
colored with yes we cans
and I got this
all the while we are
withering away in our own silence
We have no chance to
prioritize the cruel
balancing act
song and dance and
one trick pony show we
must perform
We are tired and filled to
capacity with fluids of frustration
but you'll never know it
because showing any
inkling of weakness
will paint a negative
picture for us
and how dare we
make ourselves look bad
When was the last time
we could just be ourselves
without ridicule
and disgusted stares
because we don't look or
act like like Becky with
the good hair
They label us strong
yet they want us to
be submissive
and if we're not
They deem us
unmarriageable
To them we're unrelatable
Lord forbid we set up
boundaries
then we are considered
undateable
So we're damned if we do
Damned if we don't
So on behalf of all
Black women I am here to say
it is NOT ok to be strong
However it's ok to fall apart
pick up the pieces and
rebuild ourselves anew
So the next time
They call you strong
Black woman
Let them know
Strong Black woman
is not a compliment
It's the hardest job that
that we have and it is a
job that is slowly killing us all
Work, as fun as death
More, more, more, they want always
Sweet relief, paycheck.
School
They say they are here to help,
Yet have never actually helped.
They say they are there,
They are nowhere.
I don't see why they hate me,
Maybe they just can’t see.
All this rage,
I want to change.
I hate who I have become,
Yet I'm still so young.
I try to do good,
They never really understood.
I try,
But all I do is cry.
I hate this place,
They act like it’s a race.
I'm supposed to be learning,
Yet all I do is concerning.
Always in trouble,
It’s become a struggle.
Nobody ever wants to hear what I have to say,
One day when I’m doing better than they always did maybe they will regret what they didn't say.
She's too skinny. She's too fat.
He's too white. He's too black.
She's too pretty. She's not hot.
He wears stripes. He likes dots.
She's too peppy. She's too sad.
He's too cheerful. He's too mad.
She's too quiet. She's too loud.
He's too humble. He's to proud.
She's too much a lady. She's not enough.
He's too weak. He's too tough.
She's too lenient. He's too strict.
I can't have a conversation without pitching a fit.
It's too old. It's too new.
I want more than one, but I'll hate having two.
It's too original. It's too much the same.
I don't care if you say it's awesome, I say it's lame.
Too young, too old, too short, too tall,
I have standards to uphold, and you'll conform to them all.
Although we don't see eye to eye,
And our opinions are as different as whole wheat and rye,
I won't unfollow, I won't ignore.
I'll shove my opinions through your front door.
I'll shame you in public and criticize your name.
It's not "just a movie". It's not "just a game".
Your misery is my happiness, unless I get what I want,
And I'll get what I want through threats and insults, hatred and taunts.
You will confirm until we agree.
This is all about me, me, me.
KLOMM!!!
...Broken now.
I can change it!
That Daniel Amen
Says so...
I can change it!
...Plasticity!
OW!!!
(That's all I can take,
My Brain Hurts)
Date Written: January 2, 2019
For: Brainy Brevity Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
Things Grow Legs
Sometimes, I swear, things grow legs
Recipes, scissors, car keys in place
But when I look they move away
To floors, newspaper piles – hiding spaces.
We almost hear them laugh, or sneer,
“Catch me if you can – over here.”
Out of sight, out of mind playing hide and seek,
Warmer – warmer they move again - with a leer.
They love to play this mischief game,
When time is of the essence,
Deadlines loom, minutes race –
Panic in our brains - a presence.
Where do all the lost things go,
Those hiding places we forget,
Where even burglars would not look,
As we send out a wide dragnet.
Then suddenly to our surprise,
They reappear before our eyes,
Laughing at our confusion-delusion
So pleased they try to drive us crazy.
Copyright 8-28-19
Frustrated by great expectations
~ lower them for Liberation
Shopping today was a right pain
Stopping in aisles, searching again
Trying to guide useless trollies
Buying stuff like chips and lollies
Strained up high to the topmost shelf
Drained all my strength, frazzled myself
Standing in line to pay the bill
Landing back home, ready to kill.
focus on goals and results ... be a leader ... not a boss
27.05.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I know of a pretty New Jersey lass
Who decided to vacation First Class
But on the very first night
Oh no! Cancelled flight
What a total pain in the ass
I'm sure her tomorrows will be better
Or she'll surely be posting a letter
If her plane don't take off soon
It could be worse than High Noon
She'll be angry, we'll just have to fetter
When things couldn't have gotten any worse
Once again she has to dip into her purse
For the flight is okay
But triple charges she'll pay
A vacation just shouldn't be a curse
.
I dare not set free
kitten I have saved
from a certain death.
Crying at the door
she does not recall
how her siblings died.
October 15, 2014
Joyce Johnson
Written for contest. "Design Your Tableau"
# 1 quote You become responsible forever for what you have tamed."
Kulhmann-Frustration
Frozen pipe: leak, puddle, flood
basement soaked!
Igneous rock
Geological role
Puck or pumice
Sleazy plays
The tone
Keep your hands clean
Dig in your own dirt
This manifestation of colour that springs from a genome , eternal, nourished, weathered and fashioned by a dyadic fornication cradled in time.
A pigment of hues in an utterance of undertoned, ubiquitous discourses, leaves an impression of stereotype and a plethora of lasting self fulfilling prophecies.
Eyes of blue, green, grey, brown and black see a world in chaos from within the dark, see a postcode lottery determine who lives in peace and who’s under attack.
Born from this colossal chaos are children of men, pure beating hearts that know no colour, that know no attack and are born of wonder. Little beating souls, Tabula rasa’s cleansed from the outset by a Nature's nurture and positioned by fate to their eternal mother. LOVE, love is the battle cry of the ages, But Race, creed and colour, somehow becomes loves significant other.
To breathe is to live and to live is to be, but how can one be if their colour determines, fashions and moulds their destiny
This heightened hierarchy, Noble, dynastic and imperial accost the paupers and protect the privileged. This blend of white creates a world of grey just another spectrum added to this Strata’d state of play.
For no colour will protrude into my life for they tried to make it black and white, yet may they see the four seasons come, may they take back and change what they have done in return, for a speedy recovery of an illness yet unknown, as its no longer children who are above their throne. Can they take on their challenges and reveal their day, can they take away their loneliness and their dismay, from this magnanimous world that is diluted with hate, where its profits before margins, it's no social state.
Ever search for something interesting on TV
You finally give up and go back to your PC
Same old stuff
Enough is enough
Aliens, Sasquatch and monsters under the sea
© Jack Ellison 2016