Cutting Out Poems - Poems about Cutting Out

marionette of grief

They birthed me in a house of screams, Where shadows stitched my fevered dreams— No lullaby, no gentle womb, Just rusted chains and cradle's tomb.
A mother’s voice? A serpent's hiss. A father's touch? A clenched, cold fist. Each lull was laced with sharpened lies, Each smile a mask, each hug a vice.
I suckled rage from

My cutting vase garden

Here is a poem request I wrote. It's for a lady who enjoys gardening and has great pleasure in keeping her vases filled with fresh flowers.Enjoying the beauty of nature.
Poem and pictures on my Instagram :
daisymeadows2023 

MY CUTTING VASE GARDEN 
My garden is so relaxing for me, 
The bright green, lush lawn, 
Wonderful flowers, such

Cutting Room Floor Poems

Neighborhood Gossip

He walks all alone and does evil things,   
quietly making puppets walk without strings. 
He's the only one who emerged from the wreck.  
When you sleep, he'll stab you in the neck.

Am I Wiser Now?

I wanted to know what it all meant
so I visited the Asian continent.
Am I wiser now, back

Tivano Cutting Board

Tivano Cutting Board Built-in juice grooves channel liquids away, helping maintain a dry, clean workspace.

Cruel Cutting Comments

A poetry virgin... that was me
going through a purple patch,
a dismal dark period in life
Desperately needing an outlet
to focus on instead of the now...
this trying time I had to endure

I joined Poetry Soup to have fun
My ultimate aim was just
to bring a smile to others.
But 'HE' couldn’t stand the fact
that what I called my simple

Foreign Exchange

I planned futures with you,
but your happiness came first.
When anger calls, you shut off
I must stay composed,
must communicate,
must hold it all together.

Smile. Talk nice.
The bare minimum is not enough.

Imagine giving your life
to someone who would build with you,
then leave when joy runs dry.
Words once meant something.
Vows weren’t meant to break.

I could climb mountains,
cross oceans,
fly the

Cutting Words

                                          

Haven’t you heard 
Didn’t they caution 
I make haters 
Why they exist 
Why

Scars

I run my hand across my wrist,
The rough scars feel normal under my fingers,
But to anyone else, they would be foreign.
I was a fighter, I had to be,
But everything has its consequences.
Running the blade across my own wrist was mine,
It was the only way for me to feel something.
Since I was small I was forced

cutting edge of the pencil

plans incised on plain paper
careful calligraphy of a plane
sailing high above the clouds

shrouded in anticipation
veiled in smudges and tears
slowly running out of ink 

resolute fears fuel the fire
earthquakes resurface nebulous horizons
and I have not the foggiest idea

uncertainty shapes a landscape
full of thunder and lightening
a sinkhole for rainbows

handing over completely
to what to whom to when
a seeming

Cutting Edge Dysphoria

Ironic we live in a time when partial people 
Feel the need to cut off parts
To be more whole

These parts can range 
From friends and family, home and culture
To their own distinctive body 

But the effect is the same
Individuals made even less
In their effort to be something more

(1/2/25)

A Thousand Cuts

Like ancient rivers carved in stone,
These marks tell tales of storms now flown,
Of battles fought when night was long,
Of learning, slowly, to belong.

These faded paths upon my skin
Speak not of where I've fallen, but where I've been—
Each one a chapter, not an end,
A reminder of my power to mend.

They whisper now of distant days,
Of how

Words cutting deep

Sometimes I wonder
If I’m living a lie
I sit back in silence
As each day passes by
I ponder every word you release
Most of your words
Are words that cut deep
I’ve learned over time
Not to hold what you say
I let them go easy
So they don’t penetrate
Sick of your ego
Fed up with your pride
It marks up your character
Makes you ugly

I understand

I understand                                
You’ve never held that knife in your hand
 to need the pain it can cause 
And for your thoughts to stop 

I

CUTTING CORNERS

What of pride and presentation
When time is short in duration?
An octagon out of a square...
Proverbial scissors used there.
It is what it is - this, I hear
Constantly in and out each ear.
A triangle meets hexagon
In repetition, on and on.

Input dried of saturation...
Effort tried, no compensation.
Ongoing instances of these
Bring situations to their knees.
When unavailability
Of resources persists to

From the Cutting Room Floor

The duck has great features others lack -
Like water runs right off his back.
But for this hack, it’s too much work
To address that green-headed jerk.

• Short Cutting Out Poems
• Famous Cutting Out Poems
• Best Cutting Out Poems
• Read Cutting Out Poems
• Long Cutting Out Poems
• Cutting Out Quotes