Long Diary Poems
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I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
You don’t have to say I love you for someone to know
You think someone means it just cause they say it, no
I’ve tried all my life to find out what love means
I thought it was easy, but trust me, it’s a lot harder than it seems
God gave me the gift, he gave me the ability to write
But that’s hard to do when you’ve lost your sight
I’m not talking about my literal eyes
I lost the ability to see a future without my demise
I see a broken man, with one too many bandages
When you pray for strength, God will give you challenges
You have to overcome them in order to become strong
I thought I had strength, but it turns out I was weak all along
I’m nothing without you Lord, and that’s what really scares me
I sacrifice myself for others all the time, cause it’s my own worth that I can’t see
It’s easy to pretend to be something you’ll never be
When I look back at it now, it’s actually pretty funny
I look in the mirror and laugh at myself
Did I think they would remember me as a friend or as something else
Maybe a hero, someone admirable
But then I realize that word is unfathomable
Cause you can never give what you don’t have
Maybe that’s why no one around me can find happiness or a reason to laugh
I’ve been searching for a reason to even exist
I hope someone relates to the heart I put in this
Been alone my whole life, but not by choice
God’s the only one that’s ever heard my true voice
My fiancée left me for a person I called friend
If my life were a book, after that, it’d say The End
Or maybe not cause I’m still here
But if I ever saw her again, I’d say dear
Thank you for teaching me that all I ever wanted was to feel wanted
At first, when I thought of you, I was only haunted
By the thought of never being good enough
3 years together and you broke up with me over Facebook, man that’s tough
But now I can look back and smile cause we just weren’t right for each other
You’re the reason I value the relationships I have more, why I can call someone my brother
So thank you again, cause you taught me how precious it is to find something genuine
Cause that’s what lasts forever, and if it’s fake well forget it then
I don’t have time or room in my life for fake
I need to be more like you God every moment that I wake
You just read a page from my diary
But don’t think with that, you can ever define me
Am I invisible?
No, I’m not.
Sometimes I feel like I am.
Sometimes I wish I was.
But deep down I know I’m not.
Even if it was my deepest desire,
I’m certain it’d ever come true.
In this house,
I may not be invisible,
But my feelings definitely are.
Like they’re hovering,
far away from my body.
Where my family can’t see.
I soak in the words they preach,
When I become the outlet for sadness, anger, and grief.
My body moves mindlessly as
I comfort them.
Each and every person.
Even though it is never returned.
My brain taps restlessly at my skull,
Begging me to listen,
Begging me to acknowledge the twinge in my chest,
the tears building up in my eyes.
But I can’t.
I cant.
I lay alone in this bed,
Staring into the darkness,
Wondering why noone cares.
Shouldn’t I get some compensation?
Don’t I deserve something back?
Aren’t my kind words,
My selfless actions,
Deserving of something,
More?
I’m told to “keep it together.”
But why me?
Because I am stronger than them?
more mature?
more understanding?
And yet I am so young.
Can my heart keep beating,
With this many wounds?
My rib cage is torn open,
blood leaks from my chest,
dark crimson stains the world
around me,
and yet I still ask,
“Are you okay?”
Even if it is my life,
I will offer it to them,
For it bears no importance to me.
Surrounded by these people,
The ones I call ‘family’,
I am a counsellor, for all ages.
I wonder where I store it all,
All the trauma -
That’s been passed down to me,
Like a secret ingredient,
Measured by the gods.
A treasure to keep safe.
And I lock it all away.
Will I ever escape this?
Am I always to be seen as just another diary to dump words in?
Someone who will drink up the sorrow,
From her very household,
Just to prevent a flood?
When will this torture end?
I know I love them,
There is no denying that statement.
But I no longer wish to walk around with the label “therapist” stamped on my back.
Don’t you see the scales above my head?
Dangerously tilting,
About to fall?
I feel like sometime soon,
The bolts will loosen,
And all will fall apart.
I am breaking into pieces,
cracks appearing with each trauma untold.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here,
I wish when they saw me,
I was seen for conversation - normal ones.
And sometimes I wish I was invisible,
Or maybe not even here at all.
Be yourself
She paints a picture of the real me.
I know in my heart that she truly believes.
She tells me stories that I always forget,
But neither of us mind that fact,
Because it means she gets to tell them all over again, I guess.
She tells my story to those who care.
She sings my praises, even when I am not there.
I would tell her story, but it is not mine to speak, or write.
She has always been there for me, so I will respect her copyright.
She is not a writer, nor does she have a poet mind.
She works to pay the bills and she leads a completely different life.
She held my hand and I felt safe,
As we walked on stepping stones over the stream;
She still watches over me, always, as I dash her hopeful dreams.
They all went up in smoke;
But I’m no gambler or criminal.
I’m just a humane being and my glass is never half full,
So I can only ever let you down;
I try to be a star, but I am still underground.
I have lived my story; it is mine to tell,
But I have no need to explain why I never seem to help myself;
Because she truly knows me and still she keeps the faith.
I hope and believe that she knows one day,
I’m going to change my ways.
This is my story; this is the tale I tell.
I have no diary musings, except the poetry; oh well.
With understanding, you will see my soul
And when I leave you all behind without me,
I hope that you know that I could only ever ‘Be yourself.’
If I write things that make you think,
I hope you know your love has only ever helped me to be.
She is at the window, the kitchen sink.
She can see me walking towards her house
And she can’t help but be welcoming.
That’s what I love about her;
For all she does,
Because without her I could never believe one day I will find true love.
She said be faithful and love will come.
I’m getting older now and I am still here unloved,
But I will promise, to maybe, one day,
Show her the love which I have found;
The love that takes my pain away.
Your understanding; it is your own,
But this is my story and its meaning has no need to be told.
I hope you forgive me, but this is mine.
I would give it all away,
But then how would I justify?
You see this is worthless, but priceless to me,
Because when I find myself in love one day,
I will, at last, find…my…peace…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
As a writer, people are my vocation.
As for humanity, men, women
And other abstractions,
Their interests constitute little more
Than my hobby; I can only deal in people.
As soon as I start dealing in sects
And sections, I am either an insider
Or an outsider, and I feel lost as either
And as soon as I feel lost,
I make no attempt to find myself,
But simply retrace my steps
And return to the people.
You can call me detached if you like,
But you see, the only way
I can remain sane as a person
With such an all-consuming instinct
For attachment, is to be detached.
The world of subjectivity
Holds no sway over me,
Because it is paradoxically impersonal,
Being affiliated to partisanship,
Sentimental causes and other such abstractions.
I couldn't possibly belong
To a school of orthodox thought
That accepted me as a member.
I don't believe in myself
Other than as a crystal clear container
For the freshest cream of human individualism.
When I was younger,
I ached to be famous for the sake of it,
But now it occurs to me
That anyone can be famous
Provided they are sufficiently audacious
And thick-skinned, and I desire fame
Not so much for the vain satisfaction
Of being seen and known and heard,
But in order to guide others
Towards a happier way of being,
The only precept for celebrity,
Indeed for being in general, as far as I can see.
Adversity seems to be my fate,
As well as fortune.
The meek ones gravitate to me.
I'm the prince of the hurt ones,
The damaged ones.
I resent all success and authority.
I'm so affectionate one moment,
So icy and evasive the next.
I'm in love with many people at present.
I over-accentuate my individuality,
Because sometimes I look at myself
In the mirror and I say:
"Who's that pathetic wreck?"
The more complex you are,
The less you like yourself,
Because you frighten yourself.
The more I find myself liking someone,
The more I doubt us both.
Liking someone negates them for me.
("An Aphoristic Self-Portrait" was based on a series of teeming informal diary entries made in various receptacles in the late 1980s. "The Compensatory Man Par Excellence" originally formed part of a novel written - at an estimate - around 1987. Its fate remains a mystery. "Self-Portrait" may also once have been part of it.)
From the Elephant's diary
You find me giantly like Gulliver, huge and obese
but I met my doc, he said take it with ease....
for you big is more beautiful so eat more cheese
I am on my diet of sugarcane juice,
lush green grass n' tons of bamboos
Mammoth was my forefather not anymore seen
Now I know being gigantic is in my genes
Instructor at the gym shooed me away
for I broke his treadmill with my single step I say
We love to have our bath in nature's pool
We dabble water with our trunk till we are all cool
A relaxing shower for all friends after hectic schedule!
In our forest club, trophy for best music band,
we won last week for our trumpet troupe!
Large is our family my Jumbo uncle says,
Old and wise he is in our tuskers' herd
He says our eyes are small, to see
only little good left in this big bad world
And our ears are large to fan away
the gossips and bad we hear
Thick skin we do have so called pachyderms
to shrug off the hurling vices of the woods
but we have a large heart to spread
loads of love to all species widespread
In history, we have a place reserved
for in wars and royal processions,
we were used as pride symbols he says
Revered animals we are since eons.....
In country called India, heritage animal we are
and even worshipped in religious places he says!
Huge boulders or logs ,mankind used us for transport
We even entertain them in zoos and circus
But he regrets that we are poached, killed by men
to pull out pair of our incisors called tusks
who polish to make precious ivory to earn bucks
So useful and harmless friends to humans we are
I asked my uncle why so cruel the men are?
He said men show their power
of being Nature's superior creature
we elephant folk are helpless giants
We can do nothing but to pray that
we be valued for our selfless services and
be saved from going extinct from this world!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak,2015
For contest: Giant animals
Sponsored by: D.Nathan
Date: 2nd September 2015
For a long time, I dreamed
Of a place where fairies doth sing
Heaven perhaps or a never before seen sight
Filled with love and celestial lights
Where I can see the Aurora in the twilight
or witness an angel living in disguise
Oh, the beauty and passion of a fresh dream
Pure, like the heart of an innocent child
No longer do I find joy in things I have seen a thousand times
For let it night or day, what hath come and what may
There is sadness in me that cannot be expressed through poetical lines
Thousand years ago, I saw the tree of life
But to me, it spoke of nothing but lies
There were many roads I looked upon
All promised fake happiness that is long gone
Speaking through prophecies that were sweet
Doth every time the same tale of sorrow was a repeat
An endless journey of suffering,
Man oblivious to the reality, considering him to be everything
Indeed a beautiful thought that spring
I have seen the ravens singing in apposed
Each now and then spring comes and goes
The smell of a field filled with wheat or the beauty of a rose
A boy blushing at a girl, the birth of an innocent love story
Seeing angels doing God's work or reading the devil's diary
I have witnessed life’s enchantment in all its glory
I have seen mothers singing Lullabies
Of a peaceful world where children never cry
"Sleep dear child, for in dream angels will come and hurt all bad guys
And after you wake, God will turn this hell into a paradise"
Yet I know, everywhere I go, a dreadful melancholy thought
That the promises will soon prove to be lies
The soldiers in war will all die
That their children and wives will not be able to survive
Curse of immortality, I have seen kingdoms rise and fall
In the heart of a demon, I have seen the belief in God
From the mountains to the sea
There is nothing more left for me to see
And lies loneliness no pleasure of life can fulfill
For I also once loved, but now lies only memories
When will this suffering end, this constant guilt?
The monster I am, all the innocent people I have killed
Curse to the immortality by which I live
The meanest gift gods had offered me to give
All the sadness, broken heart, and fears
A song of songs, too deep for tears
28 April 2022
For the Contest " If I were Immortal"
Sponsor " Anoucheka Gangabissoon"
I only learned one thing in school
And that was how to fight
The teachers were always so good at it
And they were always right.
One teacher was nicknamed spitfire
Because she'd spit as she spoke
All the teachers wore mortar board hats
And wore long black cloaks.
Always late for lessons
Always got the cane.
School books hidden in your trousers never worked
You had to feel the pain.
One teachers face got so red when he got mad
We only had a riot in class nothing unusual
Didn't think we were that bad.
Our sports teacher used to whack us hard
When we forgot our P,E kir
And make us run through nettles
In bare feet the hurt more than a bit.
In science we always tried to make a bomb
And leave the gas taps on
We'd make pea shooters from biro pens
And when the teachers were facing the blackboard
We'd shoot at them then sit poker faced wasn't me Sir.
We'd hide around building corners
To gamble and smoke a crafty cigarette
Until one day a teacher came around suddenly
With a water jet.
One teacher had an affair with an other teacher
With a very pretty one with nice legs and blonde hair
I used to dream about
In my fantasies she was mine
It just wasn't fair.
I was convinced they were not human
But came from some other planet one day in spaceships
And not cars
Maybe they were from Mars.
We'd put condoms on door handles
Let the teachers tyres down on their car
Sneak into the girls changing room for an eye full
And steal their knickers and their bras
Sing rude words to songs at morning assembly
Throw stink bombs in the teachers lounge
Draw funny pictures in our books of our teachers with their trousers down.
Sometimes I'd be madly in love with a teacher or a girl pupil
And do nothing but day dream all day long
Skipping through fields of sunflowers hand in hand
Kissing like to clams under a tree all day long
Oh I was always in love with someone
And would often burst out in song.
I got good at forging homework diary signatures
Explaining why my homework wasn't done
It was always some far fetched story
Like I was chased by Atilla the Hun.
Ahh school days yes we were nothing more than savages
But the teachers were savages too
They should have changed the name school
To Human Zoo.
''I was a good boy I was''.
Peter Dome. Copyright.2015. June.
So what brought you back here after twelve long years; what brought you back here when you don’t have any good news to share?
You run the company bone dry and suddenly took off to the sky. You have been living a life filled with luxury, hosting executive dinners and weekly exorbitant party. Pretty women dining on your lawn and men caught up in a brawl, exhibiting colorful socks and advertising their mother’s frock, the moment was rare but there was more to share.
So what brought you back here when you have nothing to fear, what brought you back here when the message is already clear? You have made a fortune from me to access my personal diary, you have used all my thoughts to buy house, land and property, limousine and an island across the stream and a big development called mountain of the past.
you have manipulated my words and distribute it around the world and when you get rich you throw my document in the ditch and then you come back here to continue your ridiculous irony.
See the cabinet sitting over there, it is filled with documents dates back for more than thirty years, you have build bridges and factories, trains airplanes, buses, trucks and van, development across the land and construction dating back for more than thirty years with my word running down those pages.
The words that make you into a man the words that cause you to stand, the words that send your family to school and the word that provide your daily food.
For what reason did you come back here? to drag me out into the street and disrupt my heart beat? I am just an island sitting in the sun without an amour or a gun, you have been so discrete, and I will not stop until you settle every penny you earn in the street and the sleepless night I stood on my feet, you will have to answer to the sky and compensate the people before you die.
See those people standing in line, that reaches the center of the universe, they are willing to stand there until daylight just to mark the x to remove you from that artificial intelligence desk.
Let your conscience speak to tend to matters, let your consciences speak to deal with what is proper; one group is moving out of town and I don’t know where they are bound , they are honking their horn but destiny will meet them before dawn for what reason did you come back here.
I recall it, and my eyes pump water from deep within my soul; I have to pause and wipe the tears away before continuing to write.
Not far from Wrigley Field nearly 50 years ago; From a little college on the north side of Chicago; I graduated, following four years of very hard work. There was a Bible College, training kids for Christian ministry. I have many fond memories involving good and noble people.
I must site one of such memories, planted so deep inside my heart and mind. It is not the one where 'I froze' in my attempt at learning to preach and sermonize, and experienced no pain nor change of professional pursuit because my teacher and fellow classmates were so considerate and understanding. Nor was it the one where my history instructor, without realizing it, gave me a fresh sense of 'belonging', and reassured me that I had made the right choice of schools to pursue my education. No, it was the one where my theology professor and college president conducted a communion service for all the students.
The manner in which the ceremony was done would be forbidden in today's world because of health issues and concerns. I suppose that is the primary reason I so treasure the memory. On a particular day in a chapel service, as I recall, there were some 25 to 30 students present. We all broke bread from a 'common loaf' and drank grape juice from a 'common pitcher' with never a concern for health. Never since have I shared an experience of such 'common spiritual intimacy', nor expect to; but that treasured moment of 'family and communion' is forever sealed in my heart and soul.
11/4/17PSContest, From My Diary, BW, 10P