Best Self Disgust Poems
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
Maybe...
it was not meant to be
The death of a heart...
Oh, was I really just too blind to see?
Maybe...
My heart is doomed
Forever failing...
Whenever love has bloomed
Maybe…
it wasn't enough just to feel
Should have done more...
Shouldn't have let my spirit kneel
Maybe...
You were really just a fantasy
That I'd built in my head...
Now it seems such a huge fallacy
Maybe…
By Ur actions, I was just too crushed
Utter chaos rampant inside...
Burning rage, grief, misery, humiliation and self-disgust
Maybe...
I never truly loved you
But then, even after all this while...
Why does it hurt me so, why does it cut so true?
Maybe…
My heart is now dead
Detached, stony, frigid, barren, untouchable...
Legacy, of heartbreak…Emotions all spent, fled
Three neighbors litter on our street
buzzing along as I stroll past their gates;
and they jiggle like vicious wasps
while a silent howl drills on my head.
Yeah…all that drama, women of farce,
greeting me coyly with pretentious smiles…
I hear them cussing behind my back
those verbal bacteria infecting my night.
So why not face me , confront your self-disgust
thrown at my now distorted eye-to-eye stare?
Maggots! Low-life drones who thrive
on cheap thrills weaving vile intrigues
just to get some flipped attention…
I close my eyes for a moment to grab
some air, but the noise yells without restraint.
Well, it’s my time to get back ,after I let a blade
of screech hit the asphalt ground.
Under a reddened sky, a fuse explodes,
“Hey, get off my cloud or you all will be squashed!”
SKAT's Get Off Of My Cloud
6/17/2015
Here in Bolehland, one video clip is making its viral round...
A staged episode of how talking to strangers can be far from sound...
The power of black magic via touch or suggestion...
Must be serious enough to warrant this video clip production...
Every so often you hear of people being swindled. ..
From old pensioners soon relieved of their life savings...
To everyday housewives losing hundreds of thousands...
And lovelorn ladies giving up more than just their thousands...
I'm sure we each have many a story of such subtle crimes...
Every once a while someone emerges as a victim of these crimes ..
It's so tragic the consequences for some hapless victims...
A naive young country girl in China ended her life after being a victim....
To end her shame and self disgust instead of getting on with her life...
This kind of crimes has no limits and spare no victims each time...
Leaving the targeted victim bare of all cash and cleaned right to the bones.
This video clip is timely warning indeed that we should all well heed...
Being thus forewarned is to be forearmed that we will not be victims...
Make no mistakes, it is some unlucky few who are targeted as victims...
Prevention is better than cure, that's one healthy philosophy to take...
We have got to take precautions, just so that we are not up to their grade..
Being alert, we'll do well just to safeguard our hoards of hard earned wealth...
All such sorry stories we have heard and are definitely going to hear..
Serves ample warnings that we should always be alert and beware...
Prevention is better than cure, why be caught unawares...?
Marriage
is being stuck in the elevator with that hot flirty associate
Clive Christian lux on him invigorating your senses
inviting muscles clearly designed on the twill tight shirt
his butt narrating all there is to know bout "his good loving."
he is the 'baller and the club manager'
and everything about him screams come get me baby
and everything in you screams "All ready for you papi!"
BUT
Finding the strength and courage to suppress all that want
closing eyes and recalling that ugly fight with your spouse this morning
and knowing too well you would rather go home to him/her even though you might not be getting none tonight.
Marriage is knowing the betray,the guilt,and the self-disgust that comes after the deed on temptation is not worth it!
Gladly Coming home to you baby after five!!!
I'm covered in dirt
that i can't scrub off
no matter how hard i try
A film of pure filth
of self disgust
still see that look in your eye
You did that to me
and you cant take it back
no matter what measure of time
Will feel your mark
in my skin and my soul
right till the day that I die
The Long Sleep
I had been sleeping too long hours lost
in a dream of deep dissatisfaction down a well
lined with failures
Its depth had silt of regrets and self- disgust
getting back up was a slow progress an eagle flying
In a vacuum, reluctant awakening like visiting death
and finding it hard to leave.
This time of the year makes me nervous it is called
the festive season, where to eat Christmas lunch,
will there be a hotel that will take us in
this fake friendship with people at the next table
cheers for the New Year that begin with arguments
at the taxi-rank.
Dreaming would be so easier with a log fire at home
something to eat and a glass of wine and the believe
next year will truly be a better place
I do not recognise my own face.
I have stared at this mirror too long.
Features blurred beyond understanding:
My eyes, nose and mouth seem to be wrong.
Eyes
filled with uncertainty;
glazed with world-weary despair;
no longer conscious of suffering;
unwilling and unable to care.
Nose
wrinkled in self-disgust;
helpless against the world’s stink;
ignorant of all the sweet smells;
oh whatever would my Grandma think.
Mouth
no longer expressive;
sneering even to my Mum;
filled with universal distaste;
twisted by logic which has gone numb.
Mind
battle of good and evil;
just playing out in my head;
withdrawing from reality;
wishing for religion to be dead.
My intention is not to ridicule,
For platitudes so easily sent.
Empty ideology and rhetoric
Means I feel compelled to vent.
The world is weeping, can you hear it?
For the first child whose innocence we stole, for the first tree we cut, for the first soul we omitted..the earth wept......faint.....distant...unimportant
As a writer I know many words.....but none of which grasp the horror I feel towards the human condition, none of which can convey the pain we have subjected ourselves and our planet
The world is weeping, can you hear it?
Love is a word we created to spite ourselves, to contradict the evident, for it truly is the one thing we cannot fully assimilate as a species.
We claim we know how to love, we claim we know the intricacies of freedom and yet there is not one night where the billions of souls inhabiting our world are not faced with the atrocities of pain, hatred, loneliness, and self disgust
We have now created a world where it is common understanding that “To Live” is to be conflicted with eternal pain
How many children must we mess up? How many souls do we intend to damn? How loud must the earth weep, our people bleed, and the planet die before the human race understands that we fear losing a “humanity” we never had. That in order to free ourselves of this eternal damnation we must truly, and not superficially, understand what the words pain, love, and understanding entail.
The Failure
When I was bored with sea life
and walked ashore in Santiago
I could find no work except in house of ill repute
throwing out the rebellious and for some reason
became a father confessor to the women, not a good start
No one wanted a book- learned man who had read Nietzsche
so when the money was gone it was back to sea.
any ship would do as long as I was paid so I could leave and
try my luck. I got a job on a Liberia type ship that looks as
it was ready to sink – it did after I left- for some reason
the ship was going to Norway it is a mystery we got there.
After years of self-disgust, I had a heart attack and the state
gave me a sick benefit which was not enough to live on
in Norway so I want to Portugal and stayed, there deep in
the interior and spent my time walking or writing
alternative poetry with little success, which disappointed me
that not being knows, until I realized it didn`t matter
I had found my Shangri La and that in the end is my goal in life.
I know I've let my body go and grow so spare me of your incantations,
The slither betwixt your pretty lips saying thoughts of thy own fascination.
Sinew may seep from neath thy skin,
And beauty is abundant in thy face,
But your olive tincture of unknown kin,
Ensures you're not of my Irish race.
My abhorrence for my very self,
Stems from the beauty atop your bones,
Yet I am a handsome Celtic elf,
So in grace I know you're not alone.
I suppose my unrequited love for you,
Is the root of my self-contempt,
I must learn to love myself as I do,
Love you without my intent exempt.
Broken bleeding heart
Tattered torn soul
Mind in shreds blowing in the wind
Like so many scraps of muddied linen
Blank eyes hiding an eternity of sorrow
Clenched fists with bitten nails
Restraining a life-long anguish
Milky flesh bearing the scars of self disgust
As if scratched by the venomous nails of Decrepitude
But really just the victim of a desperate mind
A defensive defenseless creature all in all
Sitting hunched in a blackened room
An opaque wall of shattered confidence
Fences her off from life and love
How she would love to tear down that wall
With her crumpled talons
To shake off her shroud of self hatred
To pretend to beauty and confidence
But there is no point in defying or denying
She can never be part of the world
For the world wants no part of her
I’m sorry I left so abruptly.
I knew it would end premature.
Wasn't strong enough you see.
Didn't really tell anybody.
Hidden from most
Exposed to few
Not even fully.
Masked by comedy.
The little things poked
Poked so much between my temples
Too many thoughts I suppose
Led to this manifestation
Self-pity
Self-disgust
Much love.
I am crying tears of loneliness, frustration and contempt
for a life that I know has not been too well spent;
for time here on earth that was wasted and for naught;
for battles that I waged in that never should be fought.
I am crying tears of emptiness, pain and heartfelt sorrow
for the guilt of yesterdays and the hopeless of tomorrows;
for taking away much more than I ever gave away;
for putting off forever those things I could do today.
I am crying tears of destitute, isolation and chagrin
for the ending of a good life that never did begin;
for taking for granted the advantages of my youth;
for letting my ego distort the moral truth.
I should have cried for my fellow man and the injustices I saw,
Instead of seeking my fortune and turning a blind eye to it all;
I should have long ago found causes for which to shed these tears,
Instead of saving them for self-disgust in my autumn years.
I wasn't ready for it when it hit.
Pathetic, self-absorbed, wallowing in grief,
plaiting the threads of self-disgust and wit,
I toyed with tragic sonnets for relief.
The night was hot. The cleft of Guadalin
crammed air, weighed down with jasmine, hard to breathe,
like musk in tall clay jars. I heard a skein
of song. It rose. It swirled. It dipped and writhed.
There, at my window, I was held, transfixed.
It was the ancient song of blood and soil.
That wailing voice was stinging, bitter - but was mixed
with darker tremelos which fizzed and boiled,
then sank again. It almost seemed the shock
of that shrill voice, embodiment of pain,
had stunned guitarist's hand. His rhythmic knock
reminded me of coffins in the rain.
Voluptuous and frightening at one time,
mellifluous and jarring, fresh yet rotten,
the music was both guttural and sublime:
my puerile self-obsession was forgotten!