Long Loathing Poems
Long Loathing Poems. Below are the most popular long Loathing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loathing poems by poem length and keyword.
Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor
diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.
Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.
Why does everyone I love leave?
No matter how hard I try to hold on,
They always manage to go…
Is this what is meant for me?
Eternal Solitude?
I should be grateful for the time their friendship has stayed with me
But who should you share that gratitude with if everyone leaves you?
So here I am,
Left alone with my thoughts which made me wonder about my sense of belonging in this world.
Am I meant to fit in this world?
In some places I'm normal and in some places, I’m not normal enough.
In some places, I can’t truly be myself because it’s such an issue for them.
Some places I can’t speak for if I do I would regret it and then go back to self-loathing.
So where do I belong?
I’m friends with people at school but sometimes I feel guilty because I miss making memories with those from the past.
I belong nowhere
And am I okay with that?
It’s a hard truth I can’t seem to swallow no matter how hard I try,
No matter how many times life tries to teach me that I’m meant for solitude I won’t seem to listen.
I’m too stubborn for that
Somewhere deep down I think that everyone wants that friendship,
Wants that sense of camaraderie,
That feeling of belonging in this world.
Bring your thoughts to Jesus
Let Him silence all your doubts
Place your faith in His kindness
He is filled with mercy and hope
Allow Him to encourage your heart
With His grace, His joy, His peace
Feel the warmth of His gentle way
Healing all your worries and pains
Bring your yearnings to Jesus
Let Him fill you up with assurance
That love found in His presence
Is love that can destroy all mistrust
Freeing the soul from its past sins
Reassuring the light will shine again
Giving the seeker a second chance
To quiet all fears and wipe all tears
With the love that is forever awing
Bring your wars to this Jesus
Let Him know how you truly feel
Know that His love can destroy
All the darkness that shadows
The world with destruction, dismay
Despair that disgraces every chance
You are given to love unconditionally
With a heart and soul who believes
This Jesus fills the humble heart
With unending peace and serenity
Bring your worries, your discouragement
To the king of kings, the maker of dreams
The light of the world, the keeper of hope
Allow Him to show you the way to discover
A peace that is alive, like a fire inside,
Healing all the sorrow and revealing wonders
Alive inside the one who knows He is…
The answer to every prayer, the giver of life
The whisper of grace fulfilling our faith
With a love that comes alive on the inside
Of the one who knows that this light He shines
Is a light that will destroy all hate or loathing
Bringing kindness out of the shadows of aversion
Reminding the heart that His love is alive
And it is thriving inside the one who loves Him
Bring your battles to the One who knows the heart
And fills up the soul with the strength it needs
To end all war with a love that heals every wound!
World Peace Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
March 7, 2022
Rags To Threadbare Tatters...
(a true “FAKE” story
how Mein Kampf - chill as hoary
frost – and totaling lacking glory.)
A woeful disgraceful
cautionary tale stitched
from the barest thread
harkens back half life
of yours truly
comprising a few decades
in the pluperfect past,
when this husband newlywed
living hand to mouth,
when thy wife and me
occupied mine boyhood abode
sharing one kid size bed,
though dwelling under
same roof as parents,
this "pariah" did dread,
cuz prior to getting married
most every day
found me loathing mandates,
yet never fled
duet hoo bing
cowardly, yours truly
blithely endured pa
rant till fulminations,
and litany of"hateful"
broadsides at my head
minor misfortune, sans scant
details barely one
measly paragraph
tenuously stretched,
thus (with all manner
of dogspeed, I fetched
kvetched against restricted
poetic licensed finesse)
to complete
at least one
page (OpenOffice)
word document spread
attempting to convey penury,
but nonetheless I
consider meself
if nothing else
blue tiff lee well red
irrelevant to stand in good stead,
and pertaining to
profession of thespian,
never found me professionally
acting out a scene
neither did I glean,
nor memorized
scripts, thy counter
with applying literary mien
super tramp ping cheap tricks
to convince skeptical readers
"Quod Erat Demonstrandum"
just show up on opening night
when mine break
out character lean
on words since being "green"
behind ears of corn lean
refulgent klieg lights
will shine a light
asthma pantomime
dramatics mean
business and take
thumb page from playbook
portray me as
superb drag queen
when "lights", "camera,"
and "action" called
debut appearance
with stellar broadcasts
in every magazine!
If love is...
feeling unloved,
anxious and starved,
give my regards
Does the torment of love's hate
eliminate pain?
If love is trembling lips
and sultry eyes, upon them
everlasting cries,
Charcoal tears that pour
What answers are there
for these unwanted sores?
Binding spells of
the unforgiving way swells
She the accuser shames
with her bitter blame
Aging with, until the bitter end
Accusing of his unrequited love
Awaits for his apologies
with a scorn, torn in self-pity
Nothing gained, nothing learned
Yearn, yearn, yearn
Self-loathing is apparent
Possibly inherent
Therefore, never really knowing
love and its understanding
and had mistaken it
enamored in its--lustful cradle
When the soul still yearns,
The chaos in her heart burns,
lonely is desire
If I ever meet depression in the physical form
I will inflict more damage than a biblical storm.
Invading my mind like satanic parasites,
feasting on my happiness bite after bite.
I'm hating myself for the person I've become,
I'm helpless to it, pathetic weak and dumb.
Thwarted and fallen, appallingly unproductive.
The torment insurgence transforms me destructive.
I'm useless and failing, increasingly alien,
these aint excuses, it's depression I'm wailing.
I'm left handed, right handed, ADHD,
depression, self loathing and anxiety.
My ambition went missing with drive and dreams,
my confidence in submission to doubt that gleams,
these parasites co-ordinate as an efficient team.
My one weapon is hope, and hope is supreme.
7/6/2019
Biography
The wind blew hard last night
the bedroom window was open I was too lazy
to get up and close it.
I was thinking of writing my biography but found
my life was too tedious to write about it,
Anyway I have only come alive for the last thirty years
before that, I lived in a bubble of self-loathing,
Of course, I could have written about my many illnesses
but I dislike self-pity.
I used to be a seafarer and remember vaguely how bored
it made me after ten years; sea life is for losers.
I could have written about women there has been a few, but most of
my affairs were insignificant, sex has no purpose if love is not involved.
I finally got up found a blanket and slept till nine.
Self-biography is mostly self-serving, and we only remember
the right part and our pretension.
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
The gambler
The night, on the other side of the bay, is a spinning roulette
garish, the entrance to the cave of the netherworld
guns and uniforms at the place of iniquity; remove your hat, sir!
The voice is menacing, a hand gripping a gun.
Eyes are dark pools transfixed, much to lose, one spin more
the self-loathing is a frozen grin, the light on the promenade
throws itself into the dark water simulating self-destruction
one more cast of the dice; luck will return
There is no winner in this obscene hunt for the unobtainable
small wins are quickly lost at the wheel of hope and sorrow
one more gamble before the day awakes to more indignity
as the losers walk home in defeated silence.
I think a modern version of Bertolt Brecht's 'The Threepenny Opera,' would better suit today's version if it were called, 'The Three Piggy Opera.' It's a biting satire about a criminal and capitalism. Sound familiar yet? It also includes moral ambiguities, which are not so ambiguous in politicians these days. Little Red Riding Hood was on to the wolf's guile from the beginning. Clever girl!
there's a big bad wolf
who huffs and puffs his vile threats
piggies are not safe
In homes of straw, one little piggy seeks refuge, but ICE breaks down its door, Immigrant or legal, they don't care when the big bad wolf says, "Bash it in, by the hair on my orange tanned skin." Then, a house of sticks they kick in. The big bad wolf can't do it because of his swollen ankles...err I mean cankles. Brick houses don't stop him from giving the command, "To make America great again, we have to take a stand."
chump, Trump wants a crown
he's ruined what used to be great
suffering country
A stand against who, or what? He's done nothing that could be mistaken as having made the US a better place to live. And now, he's started a war that he will never feel the effects of except in his further fall in the polls. America was fine the way it was until the wolf decided he was hungry for power, drooling for more and is never sated. It's rough these days, when Democracy is threatened by a wolf who doesn't even try to disguise himself in sheep's clothing. He howls at the moon with the lunacy of his drivel. What loathing for his actions we Americans are feeling and witnessing. No one is safe behind their own closed doors. Houses of straw, sticks and bricks... our rights taken away. The cost is too much to pay.
Lil Red Riding Hood
was always misunderstood
she saw right through him