Best Struggling Poems
12/12/19
"Struggling"
I've been struggling
Doing things that are puzzling
It's rather troubling
How much liquor I've been guzzling
Shiiiit
I admit
I'm not proud at all
I got a problem with alcohol
It'll be my downfall
If I don't fix it
Instead of always getting twisted
On my end, there's been a lot of resistance
It's been hard, and I know that I'll miss it
But I want to follow through on my wishes
And get after serious riches
All the while, taking care of business
With god as my witness
Up until the very last minutes
And at the finish
I don't need anybody's forgiveness
Just got to make the best of my existence
Another relapse, because I always got to get my fixes
On the walls upside down triple sixes
Pictures of provocative b**** es
Blowing kisses
And a tank with fishes
As well as a few glow in the dark crucifixes
Life's tough, yet sometimes it isn't
Good riddance
Once again I've done did it
I'm starting to get suspicious
Of much more than the superstitious
I've been ambitious
Yet still oh so vicious
Sorry, can't relate, I'm not very religious
And that's just one difference
Use to be a jock and a nerd
Nowadays I burn so much herb
I've been feeling disturbed
Because there's been so much I learned
Yet the problems always return
When you're at your lowest or feeling superb
On my back the weight of an anvil
Been trying to leave it at the landfill
But keep ending up at a standstill
Damn girl,
You really gave me feelings of ecstasy
Turns out it wasn't always meant to be
You'd best believe
Working my ass off, to barely earn ends meet
Only to struggle on through the next week
Makes me feel like a ****ing dead beat
Life continues testing me
Getting the best of me, but I can't let it be
I'm ready to achieve
An outcome that turns out successfully
Living rather recklessly
Been at odds and making some enemies
Doing things that'll shorten longevity
And life expectancy
Having strange tendencies
And certain dependencies
Which could very well be the death of me
they're not speaking to me now, the Muses;
they're being stubborn,
witholding information, like beetle-browed accomplices -
their mouths pulled tight as drawstring purses.
they sit on their twin thrones of epiphany and genius,
smiling silently,
mockingly, while my fingers twitch with impotent yearning
and the chambers of my mind are cold,
dark and hollow as a cave.
i have become a contradiction in terms -
the wordless poet strikes again...
writer's block is the yoke around my neck,
the anchor that sends me drifting lachrymose
into the suffocating depths -
i am drowning,
swallowing tendrils of seaweed and tufts of
gossamer melancholy.
a struggling artist shouldn't have to work this hard -
to pay the bills yes, but not to create;
without the birthing process there is no artist...
yet there is still hope, a smidgen, a dark smudge on the horizon.
some knight errant might appear, with golden locks
and a smile that trembles the knees,
to inject love and longing back into my sulky heart.
he might extend his brave hand, down into
these murky depths, and yank me up;
dragging my creativity, bedraggled, choking,
retching, into the bleak light of inspiration's flare...
but then again, who believes in knights these days?
i am just as likely to wither away down here,
among the fishes and the wall-eyed anemones,
until the words have all filtered from my brain
and poetry is just a fond memory
from long-ago halcyon days...
When last we spoke
An image came
This latest journey
The latest challenge
That will test
The strength of
Our RESOLVE to
Build upon the love
Begun long ago
Now re-inspired
Hesitant at first like the
Faltering steps of a foal in spring
Struggling to stand
Kicking up its heels
Now thundering hoofbeats
Racing toward an
Ever closer
finish line
Two hearts then
Pierced
By arrows from
A Cupid’s bow
Souls now merged by
Love in overflow
the most beautiful smile,
is the one that struggles through the tears.
Dear God I been struggling all my life
for the sins I committed I paid the price
learned to live with regrets and sacrifice
da da da da da da da da da da da
I contain unspeakable secrets in the depths of my mind
my eyes have witness the wickedest sickness of mankind
In been conflicted at times
by my on mind confined
implicated in crime and briefly confined
Now I'm a family guy and there much more than worth it
but what if all the beef from my past comes to the surface
that's not what I sweat I got theLord to protect
if the strings get pulled on the devils marionettes
but in the event they approached with the intent of my death
I'd still send shots down the center like I'm dialing collect
always a peaceful cat except for my youth
when I swore that I wore a bullet proof gorilla suit
and in the heat of the streets deepest beefs I found
every shot that came would miss be by a country mile
until that one that came to erase the life of Dwayne
it murder portions of me and the rest if left in pain
in a since he's still here cause his blood flows through my veins
and my faith dictates I can see him again
all though the pain never lessens their are lessons in pain
for what does not kill me gives me strength to gain
Dear God I been struggling all my life
for the sins I committed I paid the price
learned to live with regret and sacrifice
da da da da da da da da da da da
The government and its people stay on antagonistic sides
but what stimulates the rulers’ infidelity to patriotism
can easily be bought by any, over the counter.
They are desperately in need
of sailors to guide through the storm
yet for some reasons,
nurture a belief of so called anointed but empty vessels.
Structural human developments
siphoned by leadership’s exhaust pipes,
desecrating humanity’s sanctuary
for corruption to sell in wholesale.
The public treasury flows down
non-stop even bypassing its bladder,
as materialism and the quest for good life
break all of conscience’s administrative protocols.
Survival instincts undergo inflation
for civilization to suffer a recession
to this end, unity’s objections are overruled
by Nepotism and favouritism.
Social growth is blocked
and always in need of foreign catheter.
A direct current links poverty to the mindset and way of life,
giving a clear evidence of an economy
in desperate need of reconstructive surgery.
Sometimes I struggle to write a poem.
Frankly it's really hard to do 'em,
With the meter and rhyme,
I do think it's a crime
To write poems to rule, not what moves 'em.
He maketh things on a dual- purpose:
He decreed work how can you doze?
He brought light but darkness you chose
O struggling soul to evil firmly oppose
Care not about the hardships a time so close
Will come for every act to disclose
JAAFAR SADIG EL WAAD
In spite of everything I try to do
I so terribly miss you!
You were my rock, my inspiration
No other can touch your magical sensation
After all our wonderful years
It is clear you have no peers
I will always cherish what we had
Reflecting back makes me so glad!
struggling
is my young tree
a peach or two
His stress is too much to take,
drinking to self-medicate.
Laid off from the job he loves
Covid shutdown brings heartache
Date written: 02/03/2021
He felt the beads of sweat trickle down his forehead
He hoped she didn’t notice his nervousness
For months he didn’t utter a single word to her
She looked surprised when their eyes met
She didn’t expect to see him that day
Trying not to gasp she felt the earth move beneath her feet
It was like something out of the movies
Everything around them disappeared
The people, the house, the trees, the ground
All she could see when their eyes met was his heart
She wanted him now more than ever
So much time had passed and many things had changed
Their love never wavered, she knew he could feel it too
Struggling to breathe, she could barely whisper a hello
“My girlfriend is asleep in the recliner,” he said pointing to the house
Staring at his muscular arms and wishing they were still together
She replied ‘okay, I can’t wait to meet her”
A car approached and the murmur of the engine startled them
He leaned his head into the passenger window and she heard him sigh
Her legs were trembling as she stood next to him
“Stop,” he said in a low voice, “we can’t go back to the past”
“I’m sorry I hurt you” She didn’t know where her reply came from
The words must have poured from that part of your heart few people ever see
“It’s okay, I am sorry we hurt each other”
It took every ounce of respect she had for him not to kiss his lips
She took a long deep breath and realized what she had to say
“If I can only have you in my life as a friend, it’s better than nothing at all”
His half-hearted smile let her know their love was still there
05/01/2021
If I became a pronoia non-schizophrenic
I might begin channeling Jesus of Nazareth
but, instead, dealing with my real world dysfunctional family,
with messianically depressing delusions
refracting illusions of gift-it-forward co-redemptive grandeur
leading cooperative economic explorations
into remembering pronoia hopes
resilient win/win regenerativity
despite win/lose verbally abusive
and actively distrusting history
Struggling to pacify
remaining cognitive v affective dissonance
about bodhisattva empowering
and economically enlightening assignations,
therapeutic communication
respectful of our integrally democratic constitutions.
Organic frames of sympathetic reference
and nonviolently communing dialects
and double-binding co-empathic
depolarizing dipolar Yang/Yin permeable
AnthroMind/EarthBody boundaries
Sacred anthropocentric messiah
of universally lonely
monotheistic protagonist ideation
within organic EarthBody bodhisattvas
of unitarian belonging
polytheistic pronoia win/win experience
AnthroMessiah/EarthBodhisattva
co-empathic peak health/wealth resonant
extended family longing/belonging resilient
cobinary resonant AnthroFamily care-giving
longs to belong inside GaiaBody's forgiveness
for past SacredMe v OrganicWe antagonistic hubris.
Pausing too briefly for peaceful family rainbows
of divine co-elational bliss
predicting further appositionally sustainable
spiritually healthy longing
and physically wealthy belonging
wu wei Tipping Points in-between Yang struggling bodhisattva with
and not messianically against
Yintegrity's sacred/organic
extended family bicameral transformation.
Belonging within Earth's bodhisattva climate of wealth
longing to cooperatively embrace
AnthroMessiah's peaceful Gaia Hypothesis
therapeutically supporting
our extended organic family's pronoia vocation
While dealing with my real world dysfunctional family,
with messianically depressing delusions
refracting illusions of gift-it-forward co-redemptive grandeur
leading cooperative economic explorations
into remembering pronoia hopes
resilient win/win regenerativity
despite win/lose verbally abusive
and actively distrusting anthropocentric history.
I am a poet,
futile it may seem
in the realm
I'm in
My word lost
its essence
against
the filtered ears
of the crowd,
It's subtle
as the mellow
gust of wind,
My words are frail,
for it can't pierce
the thickness
of your soul's wall
Wall thickened
by convention
your allowing,
But here i am,
striving to write
the song
I'll be singing,
hoping to find in writing
what's my true meaning,
Though my song
is not sung
and its worth
is unseen
I'll continue
to write
till breath to me
will part
Hoping someday
that my words
will crush
the walls of your soul
burn the lace
of your limit
to free at last
your unsettled spirit!
Deceit injects hurt with its sting,
piercing a heart struggling to cope.
And reality starts to slip,
adrift with no anchor of Hope.
As trust wanes, lies proliferate:
snagged on the edge of deceit.
And innocence gets compromised;
for a sense of feeling complete.
It is hard to face betrayal:
summoning all your strength of will.
For love's illusion gets exposed;
purging dreams that may linger still.
Fueled by fear, doubts resurface,
threatening to destroy your heart.
And emotions intensify;
as memories tear you apart.
There's no shortcut past heartaches,
no magic spell, or quick undo.
And you drown in a sea of tears:
thinking love has abandoned you.
Yet love has never left your heart:
like a sponge, it absorbs your tears.
And Hope offers you a fresh start,
free of past frustrations and fears.