Long Counselors Poems
Long Counselors Poems. Below are the most popular long Counselors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Counselors poems by poem length and keyword.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
Dear Mama
I'm older now and so much has changed
I miss you don't get me wrong
but I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place
and I can't even tell you to your face
so I'm writing because my cowardliness has forbidden me to speak
like my lips have been locked shut and somehow
I lost the key
and my mind is overflowing so please don't hate me
I'm trying to balance my reality and form a friendship
without hurting your feelings
and I know I sound insane
I get it, you don't think it's that deep
but you don't see what I see
we haven't imagined the same future for me
you're so stuck on what you think is for me
that you're to blinded to witness
that I'm suffering Mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
thanks for keeping in touch
thanks for all the over-text lessons
but I'm good
I don't need a schooling session
I have teachers
I have counselors
I have coaches
For God sake I have a mom
who puts me in the right direction
you missed your chance years ago
So you need to hear this
let me go
I'm only hanging on by a thread
yet you still dangle from my leg
WHY? because when it snaps
we're both dead
Can't you see that I'm not just gonna hop up and leave when I turn 18
classified as a runaway
and for what?
so you can just go back to you old ways
Can't you see that you've broken me
caused my head to spin uncontrollably
I want to please you but I want to be happy
Can't you see that I'm suffering mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
I realized that I really don't know you
we had visits and sleepovers
I was a kid, you were all I knew
But I'm older now and so much has changed
I don't see things the same way
I've found somewhere else where I feel safe
I hope you will understand one day
I want you to be in my life
when I graduate
have kids
and heck when I'm a bride
and yes I'll still take your advice
but Don't turn advice into teachings
I hope now you can see my reality
and your heart isn't broken into a million pieces
just know I'm always here to be your friend
and if you never want to talk again I understand
but you see that would just add on to why I'm suffering mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
It's time
to say goodbye to that title
Dear Renisha
I love you always
-Angel
Note* (I have two moms)
I call my biological mother "Mama" and my adoptive mother "Mom"
I remember my mom having a collection of hats she stored under her bed.
For any occasion that could arise…she had a hat to set atop her head.
Moms of today are different…often they go out with their heads bare
because of this we don’t often realize…all the hats they wear.
If we tried to count all their hats...we can’t…for the list goes on indefinitely
perhaps one way to approach it...would be alphabetically.
Moms are Accountants, Babysitters, Chauffeurs...They do what Doctors, and Electricians do
They are Farmers, Governors, Housekeepers, and Ice cream vendors too.
They are Janitors, Kitchen and Laundry workers, and Maids who clean the floor.
They are Nurses, Optometrists, Painters, Quality control inspectors…there’s more.
They are Receptionists, Seamstresses, Teachers…Umpires…and not always soft spoken…they are Valets, Wardens, X-Ray technicians who can tell if that bone is broken.
They are Youth counselors and every Mom I know is a keeper of the Zoo
If you’re keeping track that’s 26 different hats...26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multitaskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet.
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store them in boxes beneath their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience being a mom until their first child was born.
For it was at that miraculous moment in a panic mixed with calm
when the doctor handed them their baby and said, “Congratulations…you’re a Mom!”
And to any Mom who might not have given birth…might not have been there from the start…here’s to all the Mom hats you’ve worn once you opened up your heart.
Do you remember that miraculous feeling…with a mixture of panic and calm…
whether you chose the moment…or the moment chose you…
when you became a Mom?
And therein lies the hat that encompasses all the rest...the hat called motherhood
and to all you Moms out there…I must admit…you make that hat look good.
So to all the Moms everywhere,
here’s wishing you a wonderful Mother’s Day…for all the things you do…
for all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
Dear Molly,
For you, I feel nothing but anger, contempt, and disdain, because you made me believe that you were the cure for all my psycho-emotional pain. I surrendered my heart and my soul to you Molly and I even let you take control of my brain.
At one point in time, I didn't know who or what monster you turned me into. But one thing I do know, Molly you made it impossible to get through my days and nights without you.
You had control of my body now Molly, and if I didn't choose you, you would make me feel so sick inside to the point where I was helpless not knowing what to do.
Molly, you made me fall in love with you, you are my smoove, silky slim! What did you say Molly? “To hell with my wife and kids.., I ain't worried about them!
I was so messed up about you Molly, I started doing things I swore I would never do, lying and stealing from the people who meant the most to this KID. Molly, they say, for a junkie to get what he has to have, he will do things he never did!
Molly, you had me convinced that throughout my whole life you were determined to stay, and I didn’t have the strength to turn from you and just walk away.
Before I knew it Molly, everyone I loved had seen this side of me that was hurting them inside, every time my family or my counselors questioned me and asked me to confide, I did what you taught me to do Molly.., I looked at them straight in their eyes and I lied.
I wanted to let you go so bad Molly and get you out of my way, but I was so scared to even tell someone.., so fearful of what they would say.
Molly, I didn’t want to be judged like that, so it was a decision I would have to make, but I've wasted so much time with you Molly, it might be a little too damn late.
Incarceration was a curse I knew it was going to come down to, but Molly the blessing is that it made me free and emotionally relieved, knowing that I could not get to you.
Dear Molly, it was a struggle, but it was a worthwhile fight, because now I’m in control again and today you are out of my life.
Being sober turned me into the person I've always wanted to be, and Molly, I know it was the one day you were praying I would never see.
Now I am doing all the good things I never imagined myself to do, and proudly I can say I am doing them Molly.., without you!
Little children slip and get hurt sometimes, in their daily play.
Mine was worse than others… he’s All Boy they would always say.
Not a comforting thought… when my little love, would do it all again.
Frustrations and worries would mount, as to my own son, harm would come.
So I eventually became more than prepared for everything that came along.
He was more than daring, as he spread his wings, his will so strong.
At each event I’d remind him that safety, was the key word to know.
But I’d always find out later that he didn’t remember, what I’d bestowed.
So after that, every single time I’d always remind him of his very first cast.
The first was at 3 and ½ as he was running and playing, on the tumbling mats.
When of course he stumbled, 2 toes going north and 3 toes going south.
A cast was in order that lasted one whole week, before practically cracking in half.
The next was reinforced doubly to withstand a whole lot more, after that.
Next week brought another visit to fix a crumbling cast, once more.
It probably had nothing to do… with him hanging upside down on the jungle gym.
This time it was double, doubly reinforced and worked until everyone began to swim.
Even with three counselors watching, he found enough moisture to tear it apart
again.
Finally at the end of 6 more weeks it was time for the crazy thing to come off.
The next day, you guessed, he tripped and for 3 more weeks they put the cast back
on.
Now don’t you worry, it eventually, finally, truly did come off…
But next time, it was somewhere else… they soon had to put a new cast on.
The counselors were good and so very kind, and no one else got hurt, except mine.
Every one apologized, as he got hurt, but no one could ever stop him in time.
He was a crafty wild man great at evading, when his mind found the next target, to
want.
And Fear wasn’t in his vocabulary, as he quickly and energetically, sallied forth.
I couldn’t blame anyone; of course, life for him was simply fuller, than for most.
We all simply gathered around to sign the new cast, each time his life went askew.
There was really very little else that we could do.
The moral to this story as I have often told...
Is to always be prepared for what life and little boys can bestow.
In deep nights, when the moon weeps its shadow on the windows of the soul,
My thoughts slip along the thin thread of trust, woven from spider silk and shattered dreams.
The eyes of the world, opaque mirrors, hide untold secrets behind cardboard smiles,
And I, a lost traveler on the land of friendship, vainly seek the key to full understanding.
Waves of words crash against the shore of my weary conscience,
Empty advice, soap bubbles floating in the wind of indifference,
Break at the touch of harsh reality, leaving behind only bitter drops of disappointment.
We are all lost children in the dense forest of life, searching for the way home.
Friendship, a shining beacon in the distance, calls to us with promises of warmth and acceptance,
But when the ship of our thoughts approaches, we discover only a deserted island of helplessness.
Our hands stretched out for help turn into fleeting shadows,
And words of comfort morph into meaningless echoes in the caves of loneliness.
Oh, how we long to be the flame that dispels the darkness from the souls of our loved ones,
But we are just lost fireflies, flickering weakly in the night of misunderstanding!
Wisdom, a rare bird, does not nest in the garden of barren advice,
But flies freely in the sky of deeds, feeding on the fruits of silent help.
In the labyrinth of relationships, we desperately seek Ariadne's thread,
But find only tangled balls of expectations and disappointments.
We are actors on the stage of life, playing roles of wise men and counselors,
Forgetting that the most profound monologue is the silence filled with compassion and actions.
The miracle of friendship is born from the ashes of burnt words,
Reborn like the Phoenix from hands extended towards concrete help.
We are called to be not fountains of words, but springs of actions,
To transform the ocean of mistrust into a clear river of understanding and mutual support.
So, tonight, as the Moon weaves its silver web over our thoughts,
Let us learn to listen to the silence of hearts and speak the language of actions,
For only then can we approach the mystery of the other,
And discover that, beyond words, we are all a single wave in the sea of life.
In times encrypted on the membrane of the universe, beneath the cold veil of unknown realities,
Humanity, with eyes welled with tears of questions, will gradually unravel the mystery from symbols.
A thick curtain of incomprehensibility will disperse, like fog on the lakes at sunrise,
And in the embrace of weeping mornings, the truth will shine, once concealed, now serene.
In this vibrant tableau, our conviction will struggle like a silver fish in an unyielding ocean,
Allowing us to understand that, since the creation of the world, the truth has been a wandering star,
Inseparable from hidden destiny, on our inner sky, traversed by nameless ships,
Ever gazing towards the pole of the wise Abstract, where those Lords of the Dawn wander, silent and rare.
They have always been among us, like the wind carrying pollen in the depth of spring,
An order without pomp, caressing weary foreheads and igniting the holy flame in hearts;
Whispering in the language of eternal secrets, watching like guardians hidden in ancestral times,
Destined to find our way back to the lost consciousness, through thicket of dreams and hopes.
They, the few but growing like an old forest of green stars in the night of the soul,
Open the gate to the kingdom where all is known, yet nothing is spoken.
On that day, our hearts will sing symphonies of light, glowing through the morning dew,
Reconciling the world with the divine, in an eternal embrace of the soul with those dreamt realms.
Thus, the human race, on a clear white day, when all symbols will take word and shape,
Will cross the threshold between worlds, with meaningful and dancing steps,
Freeing themselves from the heavy velvets of the unfathomable in a moment of self-discovery,
Rebirth from the ashes of time, understanding paved with the sparkling diamonds of knowledge.
In that magic and melancholic moment, when the veil will fall and eyes will see,
Every pixel of life will gain intensity and color, redefining our eternity,
We, a certain small number of souls who wander through grasses misunderstood,
Will be the counselors of the coming days, the keepers of the flame in the temple of relearning divinity.
Jobs 3:1-26
Let the day perish on which I was born,
and the night that said,
‘A man is conceived.’
Let that day be darkness!
May God above not seek it,
nor light shine upon it.
Let gloom and deep darkness claim it.
Let clouds dwell upon it;
let the blackness of the day terrify it.
That night—let thick darkness seize it!
Let it not rejoice among the days of the year;
let it not come into the number of the months.
Behold, let that night be barren;
let no joyful cry enter it.
Let those curse it who curse the day,
who are ready to rouse up Leviathan.
Let the stars of its dawn be dark;
let it hope for light, but have none,
nor see the eyelids of the morning,
because it did not shut the doors of my mother's womb,
nor hide trouble from my eyes.
“Why did I not die at birth,
come out from the womb and expire?
Why did the knees receive me?
Or why the breasts, that I should nurse?
For then I would have lain down and been quiet;
I would have slept; then I would have been at rest,
with kings and counselors of the earth
who rebuilt ruins for themselves,
or with princes who had gold,
who filled their houses with silver.
Or why was I not as a hidden stillborn child,
as infants who never see the light?
There the wicked cease from troubling,
and there the weary are at rest.
There the prisoners are at ease together;
they hear not the voice of the taskmaster.
The small and the great are there,
and the slave is free from his master.
“Why is light given to him who is in misery,
and life to the bitter in soul,
who long for death, but it comes not,
and dig for it more than for hidden treasures,
who rejoice exceedingly
and are glad when they find the grave?
Why is light given to a man whose way is hidden,
whom God has hedged in?
For my sighing comes instead of[a] my bread,
and my groanings are poured out like water.
For the thing that I fear comes upon me,
and what I dread befalls me.
I am not at ease, nor am I quiet;
I have no rest, but trouble comes.”
Let the day perish on which I was born,
and the night that said,
‘A man is conceived.’
Let that day be darkness!
May God above not seek it,
nor light shine upon it.
Let gloom and deep darkness claim it.
Let clouds dwell upon it;
let the blackness of the day terrify it.
That night—let thick darkness seize it!
Let it not rejoice among the days of the year;
let it not come into the number of the months.
Behold, let that night be barren;
let no joyful cry enter it.
Let those curse it who curse the day,
who are ready to rouse up Leviathan.
Let the stars of its dawn be dark;
let it hope for light, but have none,
nor see the eyelids of the morning,
because it did not shut the doors of my mother's womb,
nor hide trouble from my eyes.
“Why did I not die at birth,
come out from the womb and expire?
Why did the knees receive me?
Or why the breasts, that I should nurse?
For then I would have lain down and been quiet;
I would have slept; then I would have been at rest,
with kings and counselors of the earth
who rebuilt ruins for themselves,
or with princes who had gold,
who filled their houses with silver.
Or why was I not as a hidden stillborn child,
as infants who never see the light?
There the wicked cease from troubling,
and there the weary are at rest.
There the prisoners are at ease together;
they hear not the voice of the taskmaster.
The small and the great are there,
and the slave is free from his master.
“Why is light given to him who is in misery,
and life to the bitter in soul,
who long for death, but it comes not,
and dig for it more than for hidden treasures,
who rejoice exceedingly
and are glad when they find the grave?
Why is light given to a man whose way is hidden,
whom God has hedged in?
For my sighing comes instead of[a] my bread,
and my groanings are poured out like water.
For the thing that I fear comes upon me,
and what I dread befalls me.
I am not at ease, nor am I quiet;
I have no rest, but trouble comes.”
They think everything is perfect when the baby's out.
But the Dads so messed up he should be in a crazy house.
The dad doesn't take part in his children's lives.
But in his children's eyes, He drinks to get rid of the pain inside.
He sits there drunk watching baby crawl around the floor.
Baby hasn't eat'n since his mom left the door.
And the baby gets beat'n for his family being poor.
Child protective services couldn't help them anymore.
So mom comes home from work'n real late.
The pay aint real great, 9 an hour with no break.
So the mom goes straight to the medicine cabinet,
Because the moms just a junky with a medicine habit.
Four o'clock comes around one boy opens the door.
See's Dad drunk on the couch, baby crying on the floor.
He runs upstairs and stairs in the mirror.
Asking god why life isn't right, Why life isn't fair.
Why does his family have to live like bums and savages.
Why does his family's income way below average.
Why do all the cool kids in school get to have nice clothes and fresh kicks on?
Why does he walk through the halls at school and always get picked on?
But its ok because he has a specific date on the calendar.
Where he walks through the halls at school,
and shoots all the cool kids and the counselors.
This is the product of a life without real family or friends.
But at the end of the day this is just all pretend.
He wouldn't actually go to the school and shoot all of the kids.
Its not all there fault for the way his life is.
He's frustrated, He's hungry, but his family has no money.
He's tired of eating government cheese and expired lunchmeat.
This is it, He's decided, his soul feels like a mix of a massacre and a riot.
So tired of trying.
Deep thought about dyeing.
Finally grabs his dads gun and starts crying.
Drops down to his knees and puts the barrel into the hole of his mouth.
He has to pull the trigger because there's not another way out.
This bullet is for anybody who called me wimpy or tempt me.
*He squeezes on the trigger*
CLICK!
It was Empty. Second Chances.