Long Inadequacies Poems
Long Inadequacies Poems. Below are the most popular long Inadequacies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inadequacies poems by poem length and keyword.
Slim Fast
For the diet can not last
The weight that which we weigh
Is produced by the calories our mouth intakes
And if it is more cakes and bakes
Than salad and fiber breakfast flakes
The noise the scale's are bound to make
Are of a badly misfiring car
Rather than that of a well tuned athletic star
So the next time you choose to indulge in a chocolate bar
Instead of a carrot or a healthy yogurt bar
You chose to take a drive in your car
Because you were to lazy to walk
Listen to the way your thighs talk
And your bum sweats and boobs chafe
And the way your favorite old clothes no longer fit
And if you wear them the seams will split
If only gym and eating right
Was as simple as lighting a candle
None of us would have love handles
And fat and thin would mean the same thing
So everyone would be into the same thing
Maybe then when size no longer matter's
We could all choose partners based on who they are
Rather than do they fit into our preconceptions
Of size and what defines beauty
Imagine choice unbiased by insecurity
Choose life
Choose rather who is right for you
Not initially based on the beauty of there face
Or body size
The prettiest women I have ever dated
Scored at most 4 out of 11
But the so called not conventional or large girls
Took me to places no pretty girl ever could
And when the panting and boring sex had stopped
All I was left with was an empty vessel
Who couldn't hold a conversation
Unless it revolved around them
And paying them compliments
I would be forgiven for thinking they were shallow
But if it wasn't for the fact I choose them
Above all the other more suitable women
I cast aside
Because I put my own stupid personal pride
Above choosing someone worthy to Love
Just because the size does not fit
Doesn't mean you can not grow into it
Both people and clothes come in many guises
And no 1 surmises or gives out prizes
More than us and what is the fuzz all about
We all live in glass houses
We all pass comment and lament
Over choices other make
Its what makes the righteous shallow
And blow's Cupid's arrow
Many a time choose a different course
And so many couples in perpetual lovers remorse
Because it takes far more metal
To choose a mate
Than to please the inadequacies of our so called best mates
Nwobi is stoic but shaken by troubles,
Akanji is strong-willed but engulfed in his fears,
Maikudi is focused but allied by foes,
N'jobu is Herculean but drifted by falsehood,
Mensah is persitent but blemished by inadequacies,
Katosi is obstinate but deprived of worth.
Siyabonga is inviolable but encompassed by defiance.
These black giants are caged up in these fates.
Held by shackles to prevent a forward push.
Alas! ,the hands,legs and these whole beings are set free.
The giants steps are being taken,
Steps out of the African strength,
Leaps so bold and long!
The true African nature!
Those leaps,totally setting free
these African heroes.
Today I undertake to put on the highest cloak of humility.
To consider myself as an offshoot of Grace.
To act in the lowest denomination of pride.
As much as place other before me in love,
to place every human above my one unit cell of self.
To uphold the pre-eminence of Christ while He increases as I decrease.
I pledge to cancel out all forms of carnal competition which births in the me envy and pride.
And rest in the only favor our Lord supreme places in my realm.
I have decided to bend low to life and in life.
So that His strength will pull me on to honor, glorified in His righteousness.
I therefore declare, that I am nothing without Him and need His sufficiency to add flesh to my inadequacies.
I will let God completely have His way.
For if God claims me in my state of genuine pure humility, He will work it all out Himself,
As He is the one who works in me to do His good will and pleasure.
Neon billboards scream a symphony of
images
in attempts to sell
happiness
by bleeding dissatisfaction into her mind.
Glossy, crisp pages remind her that she isn't
good enough
to be accepted by a
society
that values celebrity over individuality.
Reflections in the mirror only
reinforce
her perceived
inadequacies
as mascara stains her fair cheeks.
The gears of discontentment crush
us all
and in our attempts to
rebuild ourselves
we realize just how broken we are.
But there exists a deeper truth:
Within our eternal
soul
is a beauty that no amount of make up can hide.
8.30.18
“It's a girl!”
The female form, the rounded edges
that soothe and nurture
Shaped and created by gentle hands
to fit a shoulder under a heavy arm
Beast of burden
I was formed this way and
now I am bruised and soft
from the many blows life has landed upon me
As ages pass,we continue to strive
to be seen for who we truly are,
not just the labels fixed to our mandatory name badges: “GIRL”, “WEAK”, “EMOTIONAL”, "WIFE", " MOTHER"
We are all of these and so much more.
We are none of these and that's ok.
they forget about yesterday
when the world held our bond and sewed our lips
When our bodies were public domain... were or are?
Will they repeat injustices because they've forgotten?
The world watches us for signs of inadequacies
Do they ever dread the color red?
Or, worse, do they ever pray for it?
Blessed day
New Year
a year in which we haven't seen
And what Justice
Why must us be
Redeemed
Why the populist screams
Free me freedoms from my inadequacies
Why shall I be
Old imprisoned in these bones
While my spirit my mind and soul wanders
Wonders
Been given daily bread
Yet I haven't digested it yet
As I'm laid out of Temptation yet I run back in
Why shall I be old in prison in my bones while my spirit and mind and soul wonders wanders
I may not be the bless but I' blessed
Yes, and I still haven't digested it yet
For my new wonder wanders
1/1/2020
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
One day in May my life became
a city of veils,
closed off and unseen like
a year of fog.
I was in denial.
Could i restore my belief in my
lifes short career?
Learn to take away this howl
of bitter rage at my
healths inadequacies.
To maybe fufil a full life cycle of dependency.
I could only hope and pray.
My bloodline inheritance leaves
me with a furious love
building on a nightmare of weeks.
Fifty to save it
two to organise it"s end
a flickering flame that
will finally snuff out
and put paid to all my ambitions,
my fatal end.
If only i could move out
of my mind.
Find a hung jury
that still has a return policy
on defective breasts.
Time given out for
good bevaviour,
to go on fostering
my independent spirit.
My thoughts inside implode..
though my standard eyes still gush.
A blessed release.
Form:
Now, WHO
The towering twilight's twinkle tumbles thither thusly trembles Terra's theater, thwarting tales, tabloids, tidbits, totaling terrible troubles tethered to those traveling to Tibet...
An auspicious austere aubergine autumn awning advances, alerting all about appearances, alternating, almost alone, approximately ambiguous attitude abound, abroad Afghanistan...
Inevitably, indulging in ill-gotten information, involving inept individuals inadequacies, instituting invaluable, intricate, including, indisputable intel inside India...
Cool cast characterizes complete composites capturing celebrated cases concerning corruption, coercion, criminality, combustibles, calamitous crazed cold cases controlled comfortably choreographed Chinese counsel...
Now named, nay, nickname, naught, nice neighbor, no, naughty neighbor, nought, negotiable, never, noteworthy, nope, nevertheless noble, nevermore, nonetheless nifty--nincompoop!
2019 September 12
(The following vignette barely resists collapsing into raw blurting.)
Ask my priest and he’ll tell you
I have a long-term boyfriend, whom
I’ve loved improperly for years.
He’s the custodian of my sin (my priest).
The church has its own language of fault.
He might not tell you, actually, priests have rules
- there are legalities aplenty - but he’s sure,
I’ve laid it before him (confession).
I outsource my gilt to professionals
- I’ve left my faults behind -
who wants to cary all of THAT around?
I have an unstable and somewhat elastic
belonging to the Holy Roman Catholic church,
but there are tethers of family that hold me
- one of the obligations of inherited identity -
and I find it convenient that my sins can be
formally acknowledged while socially invisible.
“You have an unrecognized attachment,” he’d said,
moral frameworks often expose their own inadequacies.
Alas, my morals sit uncomfortably behind my desires.
In my mind, I momentarily see a triangular road sign that reads,
“Warning: self-exposure: intimate realities may exceed dogmatic frameworks!”
“Say two Our Fathers, three Hail Mary, and one act of contrition - and in the future,” he said wincingly, “use your indoor blasphemy voice.”
Yeah, I frequently leave ‘Our Lady’ with scheduling issues.
I use an Apple Watch app to tally my penances (Counter for Watch - free).
He did complement me on my consistency and how politely I misbehave.
Still, despite my over-caffeinated, theatrical guilt and moral dissonance
- I’m clean. I keep my sins organized
- Heaven, here I come.
.
.
A song for this:
Stoney End by Laura Nyro
.
.
slang…
Priest = my authority figure/witness
Confession = is not absolution, it’s documentation
Our Lady = Notre Dame Cathedral
It begins with her eyes, wells of dreams, doesn't it?
Not by the way they shine in the starlight,
but by the way they overflow, betraying gravity,
each tear falling like forgotten stars.
And you are there, a shadow of a lost man,
with hands that cannot touch without trembling,
a voice that falls apart before it can whisper comfort.
Her shoulders shake, like a silent hurricane,
a vortex that sweeps away everything steady and sure,
everything you thought you had woven for her from promises.
And you stand, a tree in the storm, unmoved,
frozen roots, powerless, without strength,
while the wind tears her soul away like a leaf.
Your words stumble over fears and regrets,
because what could they truly say?
Her sobs do not just sound, they invade,
a battle cry for a lost fight.
You reach out, but the distance between you is not just air,
it's denser, a chasm carved from inadequacies.
You think of all the promises you forged,
and how you were sure they would be enough to protect her.
But promises do not heal, they are not walls,
and now, they are only fragile memories trampled by tears.
There's no need for her to say it, she doesn't have to,
you see it in her trembling hands, searching for answers.
You have never felt smaller, a grain of sand,
watching her crumble while you remain powerless,
a statue, a monument to the ways you have failed.
You wonder if she hates you for this, for your impotence,
if she will remember you as the one who stood useless,
while her world collapsed under the weight of pain.
But does it matter? What you feel cannot matter,
her tears burn hotter than any remorse.
You would give everything, everything, just to see her smile again,
and so you try with desperation, a child with fragile fingers.
You try to tell her you are here, that you are not leaving,
but the words drown, knowing she deserves more.
"There is no worse feeling," you think,
than watching her break and realizing,
that you are not a hero, just a man too small to save her.
But still, you whisper, half to her, half to yourself:
"Don’t cry alone. If I can’t save you,
at least let me drown beside you."