Long Confidences Poems
Long Confidences Poems. Below are the most popular long Confidences by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Confidences poems by poem length and keyword.
She is the gentlemen’s ultimate one dream girl,
She is a rogue who pompously goes the world in a swirl.
She is so called to be the best Queen Bee of all,
Deep inside is a rake Wanna bee of one famous gal.
She wears a smiling crown around her lovely hairy head,
Her sweetest angel scent smells like those flowery scented thread.
She’s a an ideal queen with a truly humbled personality,
That girl who wears a crown is childish in a comic reality.
She explicitly tells about her real emotions,
She’s obviously genuine in giving her friends’ attentions.
She easily gets irritated when they mock at her,
That childish reaction is so much funny to stare.
She is someone who I so always adore,
Confidences I see are fiery raging and soar.
That Queen in a yellow dress that always looks amazing,
Is a Queen on Demetrius fire who is incredibly fine and stunning.
while playboy hallucination at my male member does yank
key mud hood dill, where reality doth usually tank
with muss elf feeling prick
sans figurative or real shaft shank
quite the opposite with wife acidly rank
she frequently pulls my hair as childish prank
knowing full well that action turns my mood sour as a crank
I would escape, but no money in the piggy bank.
Other times, her karma roars into tempest with rage
lashing out like a half-crazed maniac loosed upon global stage
on account of silent battles we regularly wage.
I admit my own fair share of peculiar traits
which only to private confidences t'will now relate
keep on the q-t lest spouse doth berate.
Chief among these oddities comprise
lower gastrointestinal perturbations issuing from the ass
which prompt innumerable outbursts of gas
Ranging from quiet puff to a noisy, windy pass.
After usage of toilet with a bowel movement
large enough to sink a sub
wash rectal residue from my behind
with a hose attached to the tub.
This couple resembles Frankenstein
and his bride – argh what a pair
she taunts when i shower, clean the rest of my body including hair
dry follicles shaking head back & forth side-to-side through the air.
There you now know foibles and unusual personal ways
uttering that such antics how she plays
like netted in a one-man fraternity undergoing constant haze
pelting this poor soul with scraps of food, she flays
until these covered with thick pasty gloppy glaze as verboten entrees
Now laugh till you fall over and remain in stitches for days.
Six besties had agreed
at graduation,
pinky swore,
to meet ten years later
no matter where they'd be,
come what may.
And here they were finally:
Gayle, Suzie, Diane, Donna, Lucy, Michelle,
together at last from across the country.
They had kept in touch through facebook
as much as their busy schedules allowed.
All had gone off to university or college.
Some had since married, some had children.
But now it was all about girls weekend:
time to let loose and catch up,
time to reminisce about the ol' days,
time to extract confidences face to face.
Ten years had passed as in a flash ~
they vowed to turn girls weekend
into a much cherished tradition.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Let's wax poetic - wax on..
We’re in for it
When we enter
the insubstantial country of love
That secret theater, in an invisible mansion of moods
it’s a resort that houses its share of speechless monologues and sore disappointments, all lovers know that, but there are infinite discoveries too—secret, intimate delights and sensual confidences.
Ok, wax off.
My horoscope this morning said, “any tension you’re experiencing now is just part of the process.”
Peter (my bf), flew in last night. When we’re separated too long, remembering him, remembering us, can at times, seem like a memory exercise and I find myself wondering if I’m wasting my bikini years on a handshake deal. Then we’re reunited and bam, I’m reminded why it’s a ‘dub-u, dub’ again.
He’s a delectation—in a Christmas bauble kind of way—shiny and dangerous because I want to touch him—but not be loud or showy about it. Leeza (Lisa’s 14-year-old sister) whispered to me, when I was getting some ice, “You watch him with the too-still poise of a cat about to strike.” I smiled at the complement because I love cats.
Every once in a while I’ll pinch him, to make sure he’s real. “Oww! Stop that!
“What?!” I ask, pulling back as if innocently confused.
I got him a room at the Marriott Essex House. It’s 400 feet down W59th from Lisa’s building entrance to the front door of his hotel. I measured it off, with urgent steps—then I helped him unpack. We unpacked a lot.
Later, we joined Dave and Lisa for a Christmas light tour—Manhattan’s flexing its wow-factor for us.
I didn’t get to sit on Santas lap this year, I’m a little old for that,
but I did get what I wanted most—I’m sure I’m grinning like an idiot.
It’s not quite Christmas yet, but thanks, Santa.
Merry Christmas - Happy Hanukkah - Merry Kwanzaa - Happy Festivas!
.
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Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Same Songs by Kelly Jones
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Two days until Christmas.. how ‘bout some Christmas playlists?
www.daweb.us/xmas/
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dub-u, dub = a big win
Sitting there on the wet cold pavement
Here is warm solace from a cold bottle
Preaching the gospel of the destitute
Exploring the vanity of my self defeats
Anger leads to harmonious frustrations
I’m lying to friends that I don’t really like
These strangers who randomly joined me
To share confidences and profane insight
Tonight there are stories I want to tell you
But no one hears my words, silent they are
Dreams I once felt, they lightened my heart
Now thoughts that pierce with anxiousness
Times were so different then today’s now
Now was never what I believed would be
A path I thought to take went to somewhere
Not imagined, leading astray, winding away
Quaff the rum and feel the heat in my limbs
Numb my ranting and close my blind eyes
Silence the mute people who talk of nothing
But of failures they embraced to themselves
Should I continue to fight for a pyrrhic victory?
Own the end of the struggle, defined by the road
Or talk about beginnings to start the ending of all
Leaving on this trail, is there another path to take
These Kinetic forces that define my movements
Dancing to fates that hate the songs being sung
Music of remorse, harmony of horn’s cacophony
The orchestra that’s directed by a fickly conductor
Are these choices made ago, set by today’s reality
Or can the things that I do now be fixed in the past
Is it now time to do the things I want to do tomorrow
Can I stop what was begun by not ending the game?
The remorse of love not taken, not made, not tried
The safety of shelter when nothing is done or risked
Words that aren’t said to people who weren’t listening
So what is worse, not being who you were not to be?
Tonight, I am going to get drunk and explore my faults
Laugh at those jokes not told and cry from pains not felt
Dream of success not earned and defeats I am proud of
Try to be the man I was before I was a man full grown
*Kindred Spirits*
I am often labeled as possessing "special" needs, and while there lies a kernel of truth within that phrase, the needs which burn brightest in my core are no different than yours, dear friend. Just as you crave acceptance, I ache for it too; a longing that colors every sunrise and sunset I witness in this grand tapestry called life.
Like you, I dream of companionship forged through laughter and shared confidences, bonds that render the weight of solitude obsolete. And just as knowledge illuminates the path ahead for anyone brave enough to pursue it, I yearn for chances to learn and grow, to fill the wellspring of my mind with wisdom gained through experience and discovery.
In classrooms filled with desks of various sizes, I sit, eager to absorb lessons tailored to nurture my unique potential. Though some tasks prove elusive, my spirit remains undeterred, for I understand that progress is not measured solely by speed, but by the indelible steps we take towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.
She beckoned me to enter her world of mystery
Incense, smoke and mirrors, and untold witchery
I started walking by her, but something pulled me in
And so I dropped my money in her ancient box of tin
She led me through a corridor, into a darkened room
I followed close behind her trail of sweet, but strange perfume
We sat down at a table and she cast her cards aside
Uncovering a crystal ball with dancing flames inside
Her eyes began to darken as she stared into the ball
She fell into a trance, and then the Gypsy told it all
She talked about my sorrows, my failures and my wins
She knew about my deepest fears and all about my sins
From childhood to the future, she spoke about my life.
The little girl, the soldier, the lover and the wife
She knew about my lovers, and all about my past
And strung them all together like a movie’s greatest cast
Then suddenly, the Gypsy woke, the fire left her eyes
As if awaking from a dream in genuine surprise
Seemingly unfazed by all the confidences told
Dreams filled with the secrets which the crystal ball did hold
She walked me back out to the door, and we said our goodbyes
Aware of how her visions would forever keep us tied
Now every time I want to know what will and will not be
I’ll ask the Fortune Teller, for her crystal ball can see
Low Self-Esteem states of affairs differing impressions
religiously surround us/me? Uncovered at an inopportune time
range of possible options channeled to social pressures, sensing
to belong are we clones? Do you sense being on the same wavelengths?
swayed to authoring and bad decisions? Low Self-Esteem borrowed
from childhood tribulations and bad habits and decisions, t. Lorust
issues? job and health uneasiness, unhappy childhood, physical and
emotional issues compelled to Low Self-Esteem of the self void of self
expressiveness growth of self-abilities, and confidences of Low Self-Esteem.
Woe Upon the Ancestors’ Land
Woe to those
who wear the uniform to make the people tremble,
who send bullets where words should pass,
who use the law like a stick
to break the bones of those already bent.
Woe to offices filled with signatures and seals
that never sign for justice,
to ministries that speak of “security”
while the streets swallow the blood of mothers’ children.
They sit in executive power
as if seated on a mountain,
forgetting their roots in the mud.
They forget Haiti is not air-conditioned offices—
it is the market woman under the burning sun,
the student running from tear gas,
the mother crying when sirens pass.
In the middle of it all,
darkness walks at noon,
and they call it “order,”
they call it “mission.”
But Haiti never truly dies.
For in every street that has tasted bullets,
there is a child learning to read.
On every wall marked by graffiti,
a dream is secretly being written.
The blue and red flag
is more than color—
it is the breath of ancestors still beating.
They may make the people weep,
they may turn daylight into night,
but they cannot kill hope
planted in this soil long ago.
For even when the law sleeps,
conscience awakens.
And even when power makes noise,
truth walks quietly…
…until one day,
light will enter the Palace
not as flames,
but as the sun of justice.
Haiti will rise.
Wonders whisper hope
Into lives who know
Love so alive, it is like a sigh
Breathless and wise,
Laughing into azure skies
Miracles of life
Grace and mercy, serenity
Promising to smile
Joy through the heart
Erasing all the hurt
Marvels paint lives
In promises, confidences
Rays of light pouring
Praise through the oaks
Lifting the heart
Sensations so kind
They amaze the mind
With brilliant lights designed
To rejoice as praise rises
Adoring, revering
Worship is alive
On the spirit who cries
Praying, praying, praising
Erasing every doubt
Always pouring out reverence
God is my whole life…. Love alive!