Long Abusive Poems
Long Abusive Poems. Below are the most popular long Abusive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abusive poems by poem length and keyword.
Easy targets are those being trampled on rights wise
least we forget where the truth stands voicing an opinion
take the structure of your argument cursing and name calling
it embarrasses righteousness to even speak in defence
Now search your soul for a few minutes addressing subject matter
moral deformity within society has taken a dark shade
nothing is impossible for you to see when push comes to shove
If one looks the right way around with a balanced view
identifying grave error surrounding values
many in this world today are complete frauds
Justice no longer exists to protect the innocent
instead it latches onto the guilty parties side
Three times today one individual roared in such vulgar language passing back and forward
whilst we prayed adding this soul to the list for conversion of heart
sad to see some people totally possessed and so abusive
MY STALKER SMUGGLING DRUGS WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND OBSESSED WITH MY.LIFE I DONATED HOM TO HER I REMARRIED THE DU.MY JAMAICAN STALKERS SHOTTING AT MY HOME JEALOUS OF MY. EQ HUSBAND WHAT CREEPY DAME THIS IS SOME LIFETIME FREAK OF NATURE FATAL ATTRACTION MY GOD DUMB GIRL MY NEW HUSBAND DON'T NEED SCUM LIKE YOU SLEEPING WITH JIMS DOG WISHING YOU WERE ME WOW NO GOOD MEN IN JAMAICA OR IS IT ME YOU WANT THIS IS CREEPY YOU WANT BOTH MY HUSBANDS YOU FEEL CRAZY YET YOU REMEMBER TO STAY A CITY BLOCK AWAY FROM MY FAMILY YOU ARE A JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY FRAUD JIHAD DOMESTIC TERRORISTS HA HA HA HA THIRSTY CHICKEN FEET WEARING SCUM SHOOTING AT MY HUSBAND A POW YOU ARE SCUM MY HUSBAND WILL ALWAYS HAVE MY BACK HAND I. HAND TAKI G YOU DOWN CORRUPTION AGENTS CANNOT GIVE YOU MY IDENTITY CIRO PETER CAN'T GIVE YOU MY LIFE I KNOW YOU HAD FUN CROUCHING DOWN USING MY NAME COMMITING FRAUD UPON VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES YOU ARE A COCK ROACH A PALMETTO BUG HIDING THROUGH PAPER TREES PAGES LEAVES FALSIFYING DOCUMENTS BECAUSE MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND DUMPED YOU CIRO KICKED YOU OUT THE BACKSEAT PETER PUSHED YOU OUT THE SIDE DOOR EVEN YAGA WAS TORED OF SUPPORTING SHAINA ALAINA TEESA TONI TOWANDA SMUGGLING DRUGS YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED SPAT WE ARE LOCKED AND LOAD TRY US AGAIN JJJJJJJJ DUMMY DRIVING A HONDA SEARCHING FOR SOMEBODY ELSES STALKER VETERANS AND THEIR WIVES LOCKED AND LOADED SHOOT AT MY HUSBAND AGAIN WE BOTH SAW YOUR ASSAULT RIFLE POINTED AT HIS CHEST YOU ARE LAUGHABLE SCUM SPAT SPAT ON JJJJJ ROACH STALKER DISABLED VETERANS A D THIER DISABLED WIFE HA HA HA YOU CIRO PETER ARE SCUM EXTORTING MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM BACH OFF NO MORE HANDOUTS FOR JAMAICAN DEALERS ORGANIZED CRIME FRAUD AND WASTE
MORASS OF POOP
lucid crudity,
profoundly abusive,
mostly nudity,
but for some crass morass of poop.
the dam’s jammed with ***********,
jelly-like googly eyes,
a real mr. potato head.
i scream,
someone change mr. wonderful’s diapers!
upon exclaiming this topic,
excrement of cussing,
like diarrhea deserts the hell hole.
something clean,
like angel’s wings,
with diaper pins and all
W W
W W
W W
W W
an angel, nothing like a nun, with cherry cheeks,
simplicity’s smile, and a big bar of soap
at first he froths and foams like a madman
but with a clean diaper and pins in place,
he almost looks like a saint
4/8/2018
John Lawless’ Changing The Mind’s Diapers
Old Bolsanaro wishes he was, and takes strides to become, a fictional character as a way to promote more predictable backlash from his invasive, divisive and inflammatorily abusive comments—you know, to make a level playing field and billiard table smooth backboard for his me-against-them game of basketball. A wealthy slob such as him whose shrewd post-modern financial skills extend not beyond personal aggrandizement into the ‘for the public good’ realm as implicitly promised by what seems to have been an epoch ago when he snatched victory from the hand of a former First Lady, to say nothing about the his recent failed victory snatch, has plowed the net worth of countless thousands of homeless people into the creation and deployment of an amplifier to blast the sound of his one hand clapping in much the same way the Communists continually saturated the soundscape of the populace with their brand of propaganda. Your five point safety harness, designed to assure that you arrive intact, will do nothing should you, or your seatmate, have undiagnosed severe motion sickness that is revealed during this rollercoaster ride we know as the 24 hour news cycle that opened not that many decades ago but has yet to receive any scheduled maintenance.
I cry for those who are needy,
Those who are emotionally greedy,
Those who never had your love,
Those who know not of what’s above.
I cry for those who have no peace,
Who live to have a cheap release,
Those whose parents broke them down,
Those whose families weren’t around.
I cry for those who hate your name,
They will spend eternity in agonizing pain,
I cry for those who fight and scream,
Abusive partners and dope Fein’s.
I cry for all the little ones,
Whose parent’s sell them too make ends meat,
I cry for all those women ,
Giving themselves to the devil on the street,
I cry for this generation,
All they know is abominations.
I cry for the Godly men,
That they will rise up and lend a hand,
I cry for the single mothers,
Who all they have is one another,
I cry for revival in the land,
Maybe than the world will understand.
By Sabina Nicole
Jahore Pakistani kind of terrorist driving a Tahoe shooting into my home attempting to impersonate me gain royalties from my American poetry sorry my ancestors served Wwll Vietnam Korean Afghanistan Iraq for these reasons I will never ever fear scum like you carrying a rubber badge you obtained from Gargano strip club on fletcher ave.in Tampa bay don’t forget who you are you are actually times 30 Gargano ran a garbage disposal strip club of females just like you only you become obsessed with my identity freak of nature back off sorry you got caught in bed with my abusive ex husband this gave you false hope that you could audition to become me after death Ha ha ha ha truly funny twisted and sick ha ha ha ha stop breaking in my home for underwear that won’t make you me dear ha ha ha ha you are very twisted ewwww thank you god for exposing this imposter jay Townsend Johnson Henry Tampainian clone.
I am American
Drifting between love and hate
chained spread-eagled in a tug-of-war
of extreme emotions pulling relentlessly;
her body aches ... her mind bubbling,
a boiling cauldron pleading for release.
In her parched throat a stifled scream
soundlessly quivers, then retreats
into the dark chasm deep within
cowering in the chilly dungeon
where her heart lies slowly bleeding.
Torn to shreds her dreams hang
in front of her misty eyes, blurred...
she struggles between the choice
of fire and water, courage and defeat.
A key turns...the door slams...footsteps.
His loud voice calls; her body trembles
as yet again she reluctantly succumbs
to overpowering waves of helplessness...
Silently she drowns in fearful anticipation.
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[Many women suffer in silence while struggling with abusive relationships.
This B&W picture reflects the dark mood of this poem.]
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26th April, 2016
Being Invisible Contest#2 by Skat A
How can you run from what’s inside your head?
How can you neglect the abusive thoughts
Those dark thoughts
That spiral straight down
On an unfathomable slope
How can the sun keep spinning
Yet some people’s world’s have been flipped-
Robbed-
Cheated.
How can the sun still rise-
With all of her empowering beauty
All of her hope she provides
All of the happiness
How can real-life feel like the worst nightmare
And the clock just keeps ticking
A ticking time bomb for your emotions
The trouble is to rebuild yourself
Find the light, you lost
Find something to hold on to
And when you want to cry,
Let it out like an ocean of roars,
Until the hollow cave in your chest is bleeding
Let it out so you can heal
Let it out while you’re in a forest
On a mountaintop, away from the city lights
Notice how nature remains,
Yet you actually shed off your worries,
But if you look closer
You can see the trees rings
How much has it really seen
How much living they are
How much life they contain
And I guess that’s where I’m left
Stuck in darkness,
Half in light
Because when we look up to the sky,
I can’t help but feel alive
People turn to her and say,
"Why are you like this?
Like a girl of modern day,
Dress up a bit, miss.
Don't sit with books all day long,
There's a world outside, you know,
These fairy tales won't help you
Live. Life's not a dreamy song.
You'll see beyond the rainbow
Some day - those dark gruesome hues."
She would smile at them and tell,
"I'm better off here,
With my books in my snug shell,
Life can't be severe."
Once they left, she'd sit and cry,
Why would they not let her be?
Could she not have her own dreams?
Should she answer their each why?
Would they not let her shine free,
Like those distant white moonbeams?
They who judged her by her looks,
Did they know her pain?
She was hiding in her books
From abusive strain;
Divorced parents did not care,
Grandma blamed her for their split,
Beat her up, locked in a room;
Was it wrong for her to dare
To read and dream of what's writ?
To set her mind free from gloom?
07/27/17
...First off it seemed that her husband
had no been an abusive man,
just a nebbish actually,
it was clear she had worn the pants.
She’d married him for security,
and his needs she’d most ignored,
she hadn’t strayed to seek out love,
she’d cheated because she was bored!
Deep down she’d craved the bad-boy type,
the kind she has slept with in school,
and that cowboy had scratched the itch,
but things would get even more cruel…
See her cowboy, he was married,
with a wife and two children fine,
but the author wasn’t bothered,
in fact she knew this the whole time!
She was fine with wrecking a home,
so long as she could see to her wants,
the only thing she didn’t know
was that he took other girls on jaunts.
And worse still there was that business
of him giving her a ‘parting gift,’
it turns out that he gave her three,
Her poor husband never knew it!
It only ever was found out
when the daughter who was oldest
wanted to research her family,
took an ancestry DNA test.
The results that she found shock her,
shocked the family to the core,
none of the kids were the husband’s,
he now was a father no more.
And even thought the kids all said
that the husband was still their dad,
he couldn’t make sense of it all,
and things got very, very bad.
She’d taken his whole life from him,
his understanding of all things,
all those decades of sacrifice,
and what, in the end, did it bring?
The thought that it was null and void
was just too much for this poor man,
he went out and bought a pistol,
ending his life by his own hands.
His no-longer children found him,
it was a trauma none should bear,
they no longer speak to their mother,
need therapists to fight despair.
All this was brought out to the news,
but it mattered little to them,
didn’t fit with their narratives,
society cares not for men.
And did the author feel awful?
Did any of this cause regret?
No, she wrote her romantic book,
made her millions off of the dead.
The best authors are narcissists,
not one of them think they’re malign,
Hollywood wants to make a film,
I think she’ll fit in with them fine.
But I can’t just ignore all this,
and when I see love tales with cheating,
I remember that husband’s death,
then I feel my anger rising…