Long Personality Poems
Long Personality Poems. Below are the most popular long Personality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Personality poems by poem length and keyword.
The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.
It’s because though,
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…
And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative,
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,”
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively
from others simply because reality goes before me.
Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think,
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.
Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose,
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men
who are not able to face the facts as they are.
[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place
full of wonders.]
From the heart of green naïve village
surrounded by corps field, mosque, ponds,
ancestral grave yard, school, college,
madrasah (islamic school) etc he is
brothers, sisters with parents, a beautiful family
with relatives, neighbors he had
learned person he was, full memorizer of
the Holy Quran and institutional study was 10th grade
but dreams touched his eyes, his breaths, his veins
the dream in the hollow eyeballs of him
flaring dreams have been gathered in his sight
dreams touched his ideality, his mediocrity, his learning
against the holy verse
dreams touched him inseparably
dreams touched him within vain clothing
dreams touched him within flirting industrialist mind
dreams touched him within merciless sky scraper building
dreams touched him within fake benevolent charity right hand
dreams touched him abortive assurance giving to others in generosity smiling
dreams made him blind to the path of income
small income once made up him happy with family and relatives
but leaving small, come to big on the lame stretchers dreamy boat
he did not understand- dreams in lazy hands is
misfortunate hell for upcoming every steps
dreams made him luxurious ambitious as
the begging bag before learning how to beg
dreams made him laughter in garrulous argument
as happiness of billionaire under torn blanket
in biting cold winter dreamy night
dream made him foolish dandy in business world
as Xerox machines copying activities
which has no personality to make another root
to survive with it as parasite
dreams made him passerby the dark path
dreams made him lonely walker
dreams made him lonely resident on title-less building of hill view
dreams made him unknown religious in the eye view of unfamiliar him
dreams made him a dark horse in flattering broker world
dreams made him hilarious land lord in his verbose copying documents
dreams made him a beggar in heavenly real eyes of the sun,
crystalline day approved him he was dreamer only
from the dreams he made his journey to be great
benevolent helper of relatives and neighbors
he was dreamer but in paralyzed bone and indolent veins
and this dream awakens him in tears of mysterious death
(Written on my Maternal Uncle Hafez Abdul Allam 4th July 1962-29th July 2018, who was inactive but great dreamer, but sudden death of him makes us heart rending cry)
I'm a simple guy,
I like video games, music and succeeding without trying,
So when a man comes up to me and tell me he can save my life,
Who am I to turn down a free book from a generous passerby,
Strange how after hundreds of Reddit articles I find these red words the most astounding,
Each verse saturated with a truth beyond my understanding,
I embraced the scripture in my new-found belief,
Ditching skeptics and scientific contention for a biblical motif,
So with my newfangled faith I embarked on a holy endeavor,
To sift through a lifetime of personal uncertainty to uncover the answer,
I found myself under bottomless pizza boxes,
Buying time stocks from the evolutionary clock,
Discovering purpose through glimmering game discs,
Fashioning polygonal personalities into personable obelisks,
Uncovering the depths of my psyche excavating mountains of dirty laundry,
Rinse on, dry off, purging both physical filth and emotional quandaries,
Sharing walkways with speeding cars enslaved to a monetary duty I can't shirk
A journey of a thousand steps every pilgrimage to work,
My blood a bubbling brew of ambition and potential,
Yet required to surpass insurmountable credentials,
Ignoring the marked symbols in newspapers they seek to brand on my forehead,
Subjective opinions of civility and idealism dropped on me like warheads,
Cryptic predictions of personality and fate,
You think I need a dice roll to determine if I'm straight?
Countless evaluations to rationalize the psyche and soul combined,
What makes their opinion more viable than mine?
I'm taking buoyant steps upon the swamp to reach my destination,
Swapping carnality for divinity to achieve the ultimate self-preservation,
Cremating my mortality I seek to ascend,
Past primitive understanding of a purpose I cannot comprehend,
This road we walk is coated with trip-wire and paved with scorching coals,
Watch out for those flaming hours in your 5-day forecast so find the nearest foxhole,
The burden on our shoulders has already been lifted so there's no reason for us to be aching,
We're on the path to eternal salvation why aren't we skipping?
So why don't you tag along with me on this self-realization odyssey,
I can't promise explosions or tentacle-headed aliens but I know it'll at least be interesting,
Just you, yourself, me and I,
The most dynamic duo to ever breach the sky.
I can see the smiles all over your face and something is telling me that you have found a new date, what could be so revealing when a new year’s resolution throws you all over the place, you walk by in a hurry with a pleasing personality and there is something so different about you it is as if your long-awaited dreams have come through.
Your spirit is bold, your steps are firm, and you are ready to take on the world. I can’t tell if it’s real because I am viewing it from the side of my computer screen.
Some things look larger than life and what you see on the screen can be very deceiving. I can put on an eye glass on your face, and I can change the color of your race, I can make you look younger and make you look stronger with the technology in my fingers.
I can see your smile evoking pity with the divine and there is something different about you that cause everyone to click when you start a conversation, you have that mesmerizing voice, baked in the spirit of manipulation and if you asked for a wish, I would tell you that you already have it in your dish.
There is something that is different about you that cause me to think, It is the way you maneuver your body when you stand at the kitchen sink, the brief flash back moment you had holding the umbrella and standing next to the natural juice vendor at the street corner.
I kept seeing that image everyday with you holding the mug on the StreetSide and the rats running around in the bushes and the dogs barking in the streets. You can lip sing in South Africa and your voice can be heard all the way in America, you can shout from the back bushes with the same voice and the sound can come out from someone else’s mouth, let the ventriloquist tell you what it is all about, some voices are deceiving not everyone can sing the amazing grace hymn.
More than a century ago when civilization was just getting out, men of valor walked upon the face of the earth searching for an answer; they got it quite alright, but they had to put up a long vicious fight and then they walk around the bewildering town scattering garbage all around trampling the dignity of the city to the ground and the earth began to shake.
I can see the smile on your face, it’s as if you are holding up the entire human race; your heart is big, your spirit is bold but deep down the wounds are festering in your soul.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
If you look close you can see my disguise
I've got the mind of a killer buried deep in my eyes..
I've a different mind set than most you see.
I'm driven and fueled by a pure sense of apathy
just to take blood, just to get my thrill.
I have a demon inside I can't seem to kill
Another day. Another dead.
I slash my knife till I see red.
There's nothing left to do today.
Another life has been taken away,
but not in haste and not in waste,
only just in time for me to have another taste.
I'm lost in a state of mind.
I'm lost searching for another of my kind,
but my lonely mind is my only friend.
My lonely mind will be with me until the end.
A lonely whisper in your ear
says the very last thing you want to hear.
I stare into your eyes and you hear me say,
"Believe it or not, you're going to die this way."
Another day. Another dead.
There's something wrong inside my head.
I'm a serial killer. I am a true monster.
I kill only to satisfy my deviant pleasure.
I wear one face to the public and another to only me.
The true me I must never allow anyone to see.
One small glimpse into my non existent personality
can very well be the beginning of the end for me.
My prey however do get to see
the monster I keep caged inside of me.
You may awaken bound to my table one day
and with my blade held above you I will then go on to say,
"You're going to die now, and you're going to die my way."
Another night. Another bloody success.
Another craving satisfied. Now I can get some rest.
Yes I am a monster but I do live with a strict code.
I never kill innocents. I kill killers ruthless and cold.
Some killed for pleasure. Some killed for pay.
There's plenty of killers to kill to satisfy my sick crave.
If you've ever killed an innocent life
I'm going to one day introduce you to the blade of my knife.
I'm not trying to be a hero or a vigilante kind of fella.
I'm a psychpath with an addiction. I'm a serial killer,
but I guess you can say that I'm doing God's will.
It just happens to also provide me with a deep, dark, sick thrill.
My code is to kill killers who kill for pleasure or who kill by being bought.
If I kill innocents, I stand a greater chance of getting mysef caught.
If you're a killer, you and I will cross paths and I'll sure be happy to meet ya.
I'm America's most loved serial killer. My friends all call me Poindexter.
The dark rooms of my mind take me to a new place every night,
This place beams of sunshine, with beautiful sight.
This feeling is indeed real, but far from reality,
Still, this place thrives my personality.
This is a dream, but I did not choose it, it chose me,
It is a new era in a different country,
Where it is normal to be a 'she.'
I can't recall the year, but maybe it is 1976 or 1983.
This era, back in 1976, History ribs were still not broken,
The pages of humanity were still not blood-soaken.
That time, mothers worried about her girl,
About what she'll have for lunch or in which dress she will twirl.
The time where footsteps don't dissolve in dust,
When pedophilia, child marriage was considered a crime of inhumane lust.
The time when ambitions were praised,
And healthy children within healthy families were raised.
The time where father, husbands, and men were true protectors,
And not Satan, whose role was of autonomy and tormentor.
The time where women like me and you had power in their ink and voice,
And the institution of marriage was a choice.
The time when daughters were not restricted to breathe fresh air,
And mothers did not gulp in guilt of having a girl as an heir.
This city was none other than the city of Kabul,
Back in the day, in the year 1976, back when the city was a fable.
Convince me all you want,
Tell me I am a wannabe,
But I know a gender apartheid and genocide when I see.
Every day where massacres are happening in shadows,
Still, everyone except people in power can hear the echoes.
Why did I choose this timeline, you ask?
Because this is clearly an injustice, which you call culture as a mask.
I may not live in that land, but those screams drag themselves to my city,
Begging for freedom and asking for our pity.
Why did I choose this era, you ask?
Maybe, because even in my own land being a lady is a frightening task.
The way a girl measures her skirt,
Because her dignity is defined by the length of the shirt.
The way a no feels like an invitation to fight,
And the constant worry of safety is the pain we hide.
You call it culture?
You call it a tradition?
But I know a cage when I see one.
That's all the reason for my choice to stay in that utopian time,
Because as you are reading this tonight,
A little girl is going through a horror, and she can't fight.
THERE IS THIS MAN
THE MAN THAT CLAIMED TO BE A FRIEND
THE SAME MAN WHO STOLE MY INNOCENCE
HE TOOK MY CHILDHOOD FROM ME
AND NOW THE ONLY WAY I FEEL LIKE A KID AGAIN IS TO CRY AND ROCK, CRY AND
ROCK, CRY AND ROCK MYSELF TO SLEEP
THE WAY HE LOOKED AT ME WAS LIKE A “MAN” IS SUPPOSE TO BE IN A “WOMAN”
BUT I WAS ONLY A GIRL
A GIRL TRAPPED BETWEEN THIS MAN AND THAT BED
I STILL SLEEP IN THAT BED
AND EVERY NIGHT THINKING BACK ON WHAT SHOULDN’VE HAPPENED
TWO YEARS LATER STILL IN FEAR BECAUSE OF THAT MISHAP
THIS MAN HAD NO RESPECT FOR ME
LYING INTO THE FACES WHILE STARING INTO THE EYES OF THE FAMILY
THIS MAN STILL HAUNTS ME
NOW EVERY GROWN MAN THAT LOOKS AT ME I FEEL IS DIGUSTING
WHEN EVERY MAN WITH BIG THICK HANDS, LOW CUT HAIR, CHARMING PERSONALITY
SMILES AT ME
I REMEMBER THIS MAN’S HANDS CARESSING AWAY MY INNOCENCE
THE MAKERS PROTECT THIS MAN
CHILD OR NOT, THE PROTECTION SHOULD BE FOR THE INNOCENT
FOR SPEAKING UP THE LADY MAKER TOLD ME I LOOKED STUPID
BUT IN MY HEART I FELT BRAVE
FOR TRYING TO PROTECT GIRLS WHO WERE UNDERAGE
SEE THIS MAN, (AND I USE THAT WORD LOOSELY)
IS NOT A FRIEND, NOT A GOOD KID, NOT INTELLIGENT, NOT HEAVEN SENT
BUT THIS MAN MURDERED MY SELF-ESTEEM
A THEIF!
AND HIS MAKERS…ACCESSORIES
CONDONING THINGS THIS MAN DOES TO YOUNG GIRLS
AS IF HIS ACTIONS DIDN’T ALREADY HURT ENOUGH, THE MAKERS ADD ON PAINFUL
WORDS
IM NOT SORRY THAT I TOLD THE TRUTH
IM SORRY THAT YOUR MAKINGS ARE DECIEVING YOU!
HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT WHAT HE DID DIDN’T MATTER?!
TWO YEARS AGO OR TEN, THIS MAN SHOULDN’VE NEVER DID WHAT HE DID
AND YOU ‘RE STILL IN DENIAL WHILE HE’S STILL DOING IT
THIS MAN KISSES HIS MOTHER WITH THOSE LYING LIPS
THE SAME LIPS HE USED TO KISS MY INNOCENCE AWAY WITH
THIS MAN CHANGED MY TRUSTING HEART
I CAN NOT TRUST ANY MAN
BECAUSE THIS MAN…
THE ONE WHO PORTRAYED A FRIEND
DECIDED TO STEAL MY INNOCENCE!
I DON’T WANT A MAN TO SMILE AT ME
BECAUSE I’LL THINK HE’S SMILING AT MY BODY
AND MY BODY STILL CARRIES THE SCARS FROM THIS MAN
FINGERPRINTS STILL VISIBLE FROM THE UNWANTED TOUCHES OF HIS HANDS
AS FOR THAT BED, EVEN WHEN I LOOK AT IT FOR A SECOND OR WHEN I LAY IN THAT
BED
I LET THE TEARS FALL DOWN THE CORNERS OF MY EYES BECAUSE IM SCARED AGAIN
ALL BECAUSE OF THIS MAN’S ATTRACTION FOR MY INNOCENCE
Form:
A casualty of a personality similarity, apparently,
though it's not apparent to me,
maybe in a parallel reality with unparalleled insanity.
My motto is true individuality breeds pure originality,
I hate monos I do but inconsistency prevents rhyme simplicity.
However, I endeavour to be quite clever,
and mix this rhyme with a talent that only said hello
and let itself be known when I sat all on my own
and met my lowest low and felt all was an unknown.
After I boycotted social events
and my siblings kept a distance
through a transition to clearance
and all was different but for my parents.
When I could of drank and walked around violent
or gone back to cannabis as a daily requirement,
but I vented in silence and sat and wrote a sentence
to then rhyme it in an instant and express a cruel incident,
all done with rational thought and I felt happy with the result.
I found a talent up my sleeve
better than what I ever believed,
assured by my second poem called "Believe",
13 months on there are 400 more to read.
I've covered a whole range of topics,
writes of stupid silly to writes of serious logic,
but lyrical writes enabled
a plastic Eminem wannabe label
as though I'm unable to be a creative individual,
and so slated for not being an original.
It seems that Trim Shady alias will stay with us
and I'll seem ridiculous but the influence
that became the fake appearance will see a disappearance,
I'm Nicholas or Trim I don't initial my title
I'm not trying to be like Marshall whom is unrivalled.
I'll do it my own way with individuality,
knowing that alter ego is the only reason you see a similarity,
but I'll make you see I'm a singularity,
a personality out to become a familiarity.
Though I've balanced my talents over a vast distance using
rhyme to reference these events it makes no difference to opinions,
yet I stay driven because I was influenced by Winston and his words to the wars winning.
Let's be clear Churchill caught my ear like Slim and I listened in awe to him when he said "Never Give In",
so if the world goes silent I'll start to sing,
if you attack me I'll whack you,
if you distract me I'll trap you,
if you perceive me as fake
I'll make you retract that statement with haste.
I'm evolution at play,
changing and adapting,
but I'll always do it my way.