Best Self Loathing Poems
Peroxide blonde and covered in petals,
Bleach kills flowers - She’s less softener than metal
A body rooted in pride, trying to run, Jackal and hide.
There’s some double entendres, catch them if you can,
There’s something about her, try to find it, you’ll both be damned.
To Cinderella she’s her own step sister,
Crying out for love, afraid of those who’d listen.
Just someone out there longing for a cause in existence,
Just someone out there, longing for a reason to stay persistent
My suit of self-loathing no longer fits
The mirror of compassion tells me so
Years of bad-intentions held back growth
After a time, the length of my sleeves bind
I didn’t realize I’ve become over-sized
These angry pants are fit for a small child
How silly I look with cuffs choking wrists
How I’ve loved my painfully straight jacket
Like it or not, the right suit still waits
No one other than I can disrobe loathing
The best cloak is the one from the womb
It takes skill to unstitch a childish blazer
It takes care to unhem pants outgrown
It takes love to go out in my birthday suit
Let tatters of anxiety fall down the chute
Self-loathing keeps me from disrobing
But, I’m not ready to shed my suit yet
The manly scissors that cuts are too heavy
After self-loathing is bare understanding
Forgive the man unstitching childishness
Let go of short-comings without clinging
Take the macho suit off the rack with care
Try on that fitted suit made for just me
Wear it till love fills the over-sized space
Take it all off till nakedness feels nice
Matthew 24:18
"Whoever is in the field must not turn back to get his cloak."
Step after step I move forward.
Into the abyss,
Into the pit
Black, thick, silent,
The pool is filled
Yet the tar is so bleak and empty.
Fully submerged there is nothing,
Nothing but me
Nothing to smell hear or see
So I focus on me
My weaknesses
My faults
My mistakes
I feel all the pain as the air leaves my lungs
As the pressure of all that I’ve done bears down upon my chest and back.
Bones bend and muscles contract.
That last bit of air
Right before sweet eternal sleep
Escapes into the darkness
And for that moment the pain stops and the pressure fades…
I am cold.
I am lost.
Floating back to the top…
I inhale
And life is restored…until next time.
Wither away in my old shoes
rust brown thoughts
sorrow is not anyone's possession
a single tear belongs to us all
I know
I have stolen the book of wisdom
in the blackness of life
looking back
I see it all
beauty
loneliness
sad songs
beaten dreams
In a broth scolded hot
boiling all my clichés
steam fills the windows pain
but I do not see this
A burden of proof
I can no longer carry
the light switch , switched off
the stars sleep
I am your defication
I am farted galvanism
To be wiser than one's creator
Is no great source of pride.
The mind is a mysterious vessel
It carries decisions and memories of yesterday but
No matter how many whiskeys, they will not disappear
It replays life altering choices
Alongside choices not made, in a whine
A stamp of regret imprinted on the brain
The only way to erase it, through death
As Sisyphus, my punishment is grueling but deserved
The ache of self-loathing is like shouldering 100 slaughtered men
The colt 45 calls louder today than normal
Its call seducing
Claiming the pestering will dissipate if only
I paint the ceiling crimson red
Oh, I think today its victorious
As the liberating barrel tastes of sweet escape
Its forces are immense and face withered resistance
Swimming thoughts fly away
Refreshing darkness comes with one, quick, pull.
My messed up mind draws a blank,
My motivational efforts have sank
Nothing but a chaotic stream of stagnant thoughts,
Starting a mental battle which continuously has to be fought,
Sleep deprived and mentally drained,
My eyes can’t lie they truly show there strained,
Trying to hide my psychotic state from everyone,
Even though the person I once new has most certainly gone,
The mask I choose to wear helps me hide my dispair,
From the loved ones who I feel no longer care,
The promise I once made,
Does not cause the thoughts to fade,
Depression haunts every corner of my mind,
Causing me to have cried,
It takes hold and feels like it’s tearing into your soul,
Until it finally takes its last toll,
Deeper thoughts swirl in my clouded mind,
Now Happiness seems so hard to find.
I don’t like much poetry,
as I dislike most modern art,
there is too much fakery, even here,
in these paltry words, the effort
not living up to standards
I set for myself and others, unfairly,
but still bothersome.
Evict me from this grimy house
My son asked me what self-loathing is
His home still occupied with laughter
I was taken aback by his cleanliness
I told him it gathers like dust over time
Sweep my house free of grime
Adults self-loathe their homes best
I bade him to keep his house clean
I spoke from my home in unrest
With words from a dirty hypocrite
How do I dust things so unworthy?
Aged I covet this grimy restlessness
Ushering demons to trash this nest
Self-loathing is self-destructive
It starts with a back door ajar
It ends with a house in flames
Invite you through the front door
Into these charred walls of hate?
You turn back time full of soil
You give me rest in my lazy-boy
For a lifetime I’ll make amends
Comforting fractured self-loathings
Till there is nothing left to break
Someday I won’t bang these walls
I’ll wait for you on my uncomfy couch
Hoping my son’s house stays clean
Hoping my elbow grease makes neat
When the master returns to mine
Will this residence be unoccupied?
Will it be swept clean and put in order?
Will I have a response to self-loathing?
Then I’ll be led out hand in hand
After remodeling this divided space
No longer foolish to tear a home down
The floor scrubbed raw but still they reflect
Stains from my own mess of stupidity and regret
A contaminant leper for all to see
This holy place I should be forsaken to be
My tainted soul shown through the cracking mirrors
I do not deserve even one of your tears
This corpse is rotting from the inside out
Cries of forgiveness from my mouth so desperately shout
Every morning I wake up not knowing if ill look in the mirror at either Jekyll or Hyde. Not knowing if ill be praying to die or feeling alive.
This right here is my typical bad day, keep your pity or judgement to yourself
. I don't need an instant replay of what I'm already thinking anyway.
Slammed by everyone's negativity. That just stresses me.
Putting everyone ahead of my own needs, my wants, my dreams. Mind in disarray, screaming at myself everyday. Trying to motivate myself, getting lost in my thoughts, fantasizing about death, smothering myself in self doubt.
Ever since I was a kid I felt something with me wasn't right. Always confrontational, always ready to fight.
Constantly seeing the negative over anything optimistic. Delusions making me think I'm being realistic
I remember back when I was only 4 was just the 1st time I ran away from home. Before that though I'd leave my bedroom window open praying someone would sneak in to slit my throat.
But I guess nothings different til today cause I'm still praying for that same fate. And trust when I say I will never exaggerate. Cause I want to obliterate
these times I feel the energy from the pain of every living thing at once, suffering and in pure agony.
The pain so untouched and raw, it steals my breath from me and blinds me so I cant see.
Overwhelming as this energy rips through me trying to surface. Tried to stifle it down but end up regurgitating their anguish out my face. Purging...
I need air... I feel like I'm buried alive and dragged underwater at the same time
And no one sees me struggling or they just don't care, though, all my life its been the same morbid tune... Being relentless. Always cocked and loaded ready to pop off at anyone who dares cross my path. Then reloading, only to pop off again at the next poor son of a who questions me or who I claim to be.
I don't even know where I'm going anymore.
Will any part of my life ever make any sense, or will I continue being relentless in my uncertainty of what to do next.
Maybe ill accept all this pain and anger I carry with me cause this is just who I am and was just meant to be.
Might as well wear my self doubt and self hatred on my sleeve, cause days like these make me feel like my soul has never been clean.
stealing space,
the only thing that disappears when new ideas are born.
we are clothed in past experiences, divining directions
from someone else’s shadow. We clap applause for airs
that carry each of us to cause, support us in our stirrings;
give us strings to act as wings, wipe memories away
at the end of every day. We pray, We play, We say
we are awake from all our dreams; or so it seems.
gather together each of who you think you are
and join to yourself an idea that will someday not exist.
a stirring you cannot resist; A stick without a switch,
eternal scratch without so much an itch. To write or not.
Confusion, disillusion, intrusion, conclusion,
Such is life’s ever-changing, smiling face
Ferocity, atrocity, generosity, velocity,
A whirlwind of emotions, a fate you can't erase.
Alienation, fascination, cancellation, race-relation,
Seeking understanding, longing for a deeper connection.
Enduring, procuring, assuring, alluring,
In this journey of life, we keep pressing on in every direction..
Oh, the human experience, so vast yet inclusive,
In our hearts and in these words, so often abusive.
Love and loss, expanding happiness but at what cost
An ode to the souls whose hearts are dead in the frost
So now, let us dive into this mosaic of time,
As words entangle with rhythm, they dance and they rhyme.
In the footsteps of The Great Ezra Pound, we shall tread,
Exploring the depths of human nature and those things left unsaid.
Each line, a voice searching for meaning and light,
Encased in a prism...imprison our vision execution on site.
Fragmentation of what is acceptable become non-traditional forms,
Bring forth the essence of revolt and oppression to our culture decided before we were born.
Four beats, then three, alternating in sound,
Like the beating of hearts, a pulse can be found.
From stanzas to verses, the story unfolds,
As we delve into tales of the brave and the bold.
Love, oh love, the sweetest of all emotions,
Loss, a bitter pill, causing commotion.
Adventures untold, mysteries to be unraveled,
In this narrative poem, our souls are easily traveled.
With equal number of words per line, we play,
Crafting a symphony, calling words to obey.
Each phrase, carefully chosen and placed,
Leads us through journeys, with wonder and grace.
Culture, politics, and inhuman plight,
Are the threads that hold this poem fastened together so tight.
With fervent strokes, we paint scenes so grand,
A reflection of the world, where we all stand.
Confusion, disillusion, intrusion, conclusion,
Love, loss, adventure, life’s grand illusion.
In this narrative poem, we embrace it all,
And now through four beats and three, we answer the call.
Aren't we?
High class my ass
A veneer
That's all it is
Different thicknesses
Undercover libertines
Counterfeit Charlatans
Not everyone, maybe
But the majority
All the worlds a stage
As you like it right
Not everyone, okay.
Yeah, altruism exists
In its anonymity
Even Mother T. supposedly had her hand in the till
Can you believe that
Negligence too, Lawks-a-lordy
One hundred and ninety-five countries
Eight billion people
Seven thousand languages
Forty-two hundred religions
The makings of a show
…and it is, isn't it?
Nuke up
Puke up
Tally ho and away we go
Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor
diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.
Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.