Long Psychologists Poems
Long Psychologists Poems. Below are the most popular long Psychologists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Psychologists poems by poem length and keyword.
What did I do?
I don’t understand my life
I don’t understand the Life
I am suffering a lot
Day by day and day to day
When will this be over?
When? When?!
Evil psychopaths following me
Psychopaths: Oh, no. No, no
Sociopaths, like serial killers
And they are psychologists
Sadistic killers, evil beings
Ruler of life, dark monsters
I am suffering, I have death feeling and panic
I am a victim of psychological human experiments
My life is ruined, I haven’t other, coming to my end
Yes, yes. Oh, sweet death, please kill me, and save me
I put my life into your hand, be my ruler, get my life
Take my life. From here. Far, far, and far. On the other side
This is one of my confessions:
I don’t want my life, I don’t need to live
I can’t do this life. It’s very heavy
Fearing, panic, alcohol, medicine
So many years ago I used grass and hashish
English psychologists took me into that life
Oh, God, I am sorry, I am sorry, I am so sorry
I try to live, I try to live, but evil people…
Evil psychologists makes me ptoblems
They block my life to the Life
My life is nothing. I am just a man from Europe
Maybe this is the problem. And I love women.
I loved someone
Someone
A woman
Hm, beautiful
But a bad memory
She killed me
I killed her
Bad meeting
Now graveyard feeling
I am in the cemetery
I don’t kill myself
I am waiting the investigation
I have only one way
Win
If not…
Then death
God
God
Help me
Help me
Give me power
I need these few years
The rest of my life
Dear death
Dear death
Give me more time
Life, don’t love me
Life, don’t love me
Don’t love me
Please, forget me
I want purity
Kill me,
Kill me.
You can’t give me light and purity.
I want life
I want to stay alive
I want to enjoy my only life
But there is an error
But there are errors
I haven’t freedom
Blocking my way the psychology
My life, goodbye
Psychology, misty psychology, please respect life
Respect the Life
Life is life
My one isn’t yours
Do not care about my fate and life
I don’t want psychology in my life
I don’t want this disgusting damnable science
I don’t want this stinky invention in my life
My life is my life
I got it from the God
Psychologist, you didn’t get my life
Psychologist, please go to work
And don’t live off other people's lives,
Psychologists learn, please
Learn, please.
Questions:
What is love, what is life?
What is freedom? What is an independent life?
I haven’t that
I haven’t that
Wild boar psychologists crossed the path of my life
No, I am wrong
They aren’t wild boars
I stop myself now. I don’t analyze them.
The wild boars are noble animals.
Life, life don’t love me
Life, I am talking to you
Life get back my life
Life, let me live my life
Life, go away from me
Life, I don’t want this dirty life.
Goodbye.
A dress blew up the internet: a fact that's strange but true.
It seems that some saw white and gold, while others, black and blue.
For nearly one full day or more (a web eternity),
On Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, ’twas all that one could see.
The cat memes and the llamas too had to take a backseat,
And ISIS, CPAC, trending down, did scarce receive a tweet.
The fabric of the universe was nearly ripped to shreds:
A world divided into camps by how they saw these threads.
Some, like a double rainbow, trip; they ask, "What does it mean?"
And others know we're all quite mad; the dress is orange and green.
The world itself could be on fire, in greatest need, distress,
But none would care until we knew the color of this dress.
The physicists, psychologists, the learned men of science,
Unveiled the doubt that shadows cast on visual reliance.
The theologians and the priests assuage our image flawed,
For if we cannot trust our eyes, can we believe in God?
The wise man knows this too shall pass, finds comfort mid the rift;
The silver lining in the cloud: the dress presents a gift.
For when the dreaded question's raised, he knows he's off the hook
When asked the no-win question, “Dear, how does this make me look?"
But if he's feeling spry and young, ambiguous but clear,
He'll say, a twinkle in his eyes, "No dress improves you, dear!”
----------
I wrote this a few years back when the image of the blue/brown dress was all the buzz on social media. Still trying to collect and get some of my earlier stuff over here to "home".
You entered my home, as a new bride, snow-white embellished!
I was in my bride-groom-dress, looked royal and unblemished!
All so, due to crude cultures, where marriage is a system,
Where prestige and status overpowered love and wisdom!
Though, like expert psychologists, they knew your commitments,
They knew I loved another and under love commandments!
They dared to enchain us, as both were caste-color-creed-fit,
Though they were aware of our heart-soul-mind mountainous rift!
You chose an edge and I another on the king-size bed,
Neither you nor I dared imagine what's lying ahead;
Then like beasts, we met as copulation too was custom,
While your eyes and mine searching far for another bosom!
We exhibited joy before parents, in-laws, kith, and kin,
While, like tigers or lions, we wished to tear their flesh and skin!
We shed a foggy smile and, like darkness shut them up soon,
Milky full-moons fail to remind us of our honeymoon!
How romantic the feather-like freedom we once enjoyed!
Slaveries of customs and cultures played on us great fraud!
Should we, like dogs or donkeys, bear these burdens whole lifelong?
And crash the necks of kids with milestones of our sins for long?
Or give up these hates, cock-hen-fights, make-ups, and put-ups,
And tell the world! Damn! Go to hell! Let's not fake! Need break-ups!
Are hearts tightly chained by scrupulous habits called marriage?
Should such marriage - carriage, need to carry heavy baggage?
(Though less these days, arranged marriages based on caste and creed, against the wish of couples have been common in India. These bring tumults in their marital life)
07 November 2021
''T'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I don’t want to be bad
I needed good in my life. House, family, civil work, and a position to earn
money to my imagined family, and my life, and the life goal of our future
Yes, my dear sisters and brothers, I needed only this. Nothing special
But the evil foggy psychology deleted all my love, needs, wishes, and hope
(Foggies are English psychologists)
No English psychology! Please! I am almost dead. I need a hand. Save me…
… save me please, from the evil foggy science. I just want to live. The rest of life
I just needed a simple life and a garden with a family house. Foggies destroyed
my life goals, my dreams, because I am not like that…, and I am not accepting their
opinion. About their morals. They like that. But God created woman and man.
I accept God. This is my sin. Disgusth is filth, it flows here. I love and respect God
Satan helped me and gave guns again to these monsters. I want to clear them
Foggy psychology blocked my way to happiness. I need, I need back my life
And the lost life, still alive.
I don’t need foggies
Only life
Only God
How are you and me?
Where did you learn? In my life? Be mine.
I loved you. You are a woman. Please. Love.
You come from a university in the United Kingdom
I come from a vocational training institute. And high
High school. And a higher vocational training institute.
And you, oh my English Love. You come from one of the…
One of the best universities in the World. London University.
Yes. This is our fate. You were born in London. I am in Hatvan.
Hmm. I just needed you. Oh, English Love. Vilmos. Guest yours.
Someone loved you, English Linguist! Give me time! I will be best,
better than you
I just loved you, loved you, dear English Woman. I respect you.
Satan loved you—forever life. Be with you. Someone loving you
Your life is yours. Mine. I will not forget you. You. Be my memory of love.
English linguist, I loved you. Time is mine. Let us our love. At the right time.
Our sad fate can not be lives. Yes. Your psychologists killed our lives.
English Woman, my loved linguist, but we never met, hmm, loving you.
This is true. Someone thinking about you. Yes. Someone. A nothing.
The man without money. Yes. I know, I know. This is the problem. I am sorry.
I am sorry, sorry. Oh, my dear love. Love is gone, and find you. Stay love?
I needed you, loved you a stupid Hungarian man. English woman, go love.
I needed just love
This my confession
And I needed your love
Your touch
Your hand
Your heart
English Woman
I love you
Go. Accept you.
Our fate is endless.
We live together. Yes.
I loved you, Stop. Please.
You are a heart killer. Sinner.
Please, feel me. Just a love.
I am talking to you. To you
Be my love of you. A girl!
Say! Yeah. The arm is yours.
English Woman, someone needed you
Me. Still feeling you. Get my soul. Take.
Still loving you
Still, want you.
Get my life
Wembley
Home mine
Loved you
This guy.
Loved you.
Vilmos
Bye
Inside my skull
there is a house
that never sleeps.
Its corridors are lined
with mirrors made of old wounds,
and every mirror
insists on showing me
a different version of myself.
In one room,
Guilt sits like a tailor,
measuring my mistakes
with a yellow tape
that stretches across decades.
In another,
Fear is a locksmith,
changing the shape of every door
just before I arrive.
Nothing fits.
Nothing opens.
Nothing stays.
Meanwhile,
Memory works in the basement,
a silent archivist
cataloguing forgotten afternoons,
preserving heartbreaks
in glass jars,
pinning dead conversations
like rare butterflies.
Sometimes
I hear them fluttering.
Psychologists call it rumination.
I call it
a graveyard teaching itself
how to sing.
The brain is strange.
It builds cathedrals
out of tiny accidents.
One careless sentence
can become a religion.
One abandonment
can become a climate.
One betrayal
can alter the migration route
of every future hope.
And still,
we continue.
What remarkable creatures we are—
walking ecosystems
of invisible weather.
Some people carry monsoons
behind their smiles.
Some carry droughts.
Some are entire oceans
pretending to be cups of tea.
For years,
I believed healing meant
demolishing this house.
Breaking every wall.
Silencing every ghost.
But grief,
that ancient architect,
whispered otherwise.
It said,
“The crack is not your enemy.
It is the window
through which tomorrow enters.”
So now,
when anxiety hangs its dark laundry
across my thoughts,
I do not fight it.
I simply open another window.
When loneliness arrives,
dragging its suitcase of echoes,
I make tea for both of us.
When sorrow plants its black garden,
I water it carefully,
for even suffering
contains seeds
that do not yet know
their own flowers.
And on certain nights,
when the moon rests
like a silver bandage
upon the forehead of the world,
I walk through the rooms
inside my skull
and discover
that I was never a broken house.
I was a lighthouse,
mistaking my own storms
for ruins.
Kill my life
Kill my life, oh my life
My life lost, got your life
Your life killed me, it’s lost life
Kill my life, I don’t want to live, I give you my life
Take it, get it, it is yours, I don’t follow my life
My life is only a monochrome photo, colors fly
Please, understand my fate, my stormy life
It’s not yours but created by you. My mistake
I still love you
Someone loving you. I am dead. Someone loving you
A love going to hell. A love turns into a dream. Going so far
I don't need this feeling. Suffering my soul. Forget me and give up my life
I need you. I want you. I wish you. I don’t understand you
Kill me, kill me, kill me please, and I will be a star in the sky
A light in the space who will give power to your life
Bright life, powerful life, illusion, disappointment, simple life
Tears, pain, sadistic psychologists in England in my life
I can’t keep this life. I am poor in life. I am pure. Only a faithful Christian
It’s my sin in this life
Oh my life, oh my life in Watford, please destroy and delete my life
Without you nothing in my life. Nothing, nothing. An amazing blonde woman killed my life
It’s my life. A pile of rubble. Nothing else. All hope is gone. Fly.
Kill my life, it does not exist, only an illusion, without any feeling of you
Kill me please, kill me. You are the reason of my life and my death. Kill me
Kill me, I don’t want to commit suicide. You are the end of my life. Please, kill.
Kill my life
I don’t want to live
I want to leave
Love is a killer
My one. Mine
Sadistic this alien.
I loved her
Nice woman.
My life is on end.
Forever
Forever.
Human Trafficking
The human soul is independent
God gave free will. Remember?
Humans want to live freely and well
Nature wants humans to live alone
God gave his words, read the Bible
Then you never will be you, alone
God is your ruler, hand, love, and helper
God’s words are the truth, life, and water
You aren’t alone, you have a friend, eternal
My fate, dark and sad fate, poisoned
I am a victim of psychological experiments
It’s English, ask the BPS. I am destroyed
I needed to be alone. Alone with God
For life and the knowing of the spiritual heart
This is a crime! You cannot live with God!
You can’t keep out the psychology! Never!
You are in the system. You are on a server
You are listed. Observed, monitored, followed
Where are the human rights? Where is the man?
Where are the personal rights? Where am I?
Why don’t I have the right to my life? Why?
And what about data protection? Data protection law?
Why do psychologists make a living from my life?
Who gave me to the psychologists? Who owns my life?
Who deprived me of my right to freedom? Who?
“The government. That. There.” Answered Satan.
“And they're talking about democracy!” Laughed Master Satan.
“You are a victim of human trafficking.” Added a demon.
Human trafficking. Does it still exist?
Hmm. Yes. Works. Unfortunately.
I am a product, a good. Hmm.
“Do you know their salaries?” Asked Satan.
“35k to 100k pounds per capita,” I answered.
“From your life, too,” Said Master Satan.
“They need your life for money,” Noted a demon.
Where is the freedom?
I haven’t
I am a product
I am a victim of corruption, too
And a victim of religious persecution
The patients often rock back and forth,
or pace as if to move away
from their frustrations,
their situation, their self,
but the same always follows.
Their only task is existence...
yet such a heavy endeavor,
like moving through thick mud,
always messy and often stuck.
As long as they remain their same selves,
they remain a prisoner of themselves,
haunted by screams of unworthiness,
threats of unforgiveness,
and insistence of victimization.
Psychologists ask questions
and sometimes make suggestions.
Doctors dictate medications.
Many have chemical dependency
or a congenital chemical imbalance
and lack the physical capacity to be happy,
in the same way someone with kidney failure
would die without dialysis.
Patients regress into numbness,
an unintrusive seclusion
and an attempt to avoid
misery's self-abusing mind.
Some find an escape,
by God's grace,
faithfully willing their way
out of their mental detention and
the "Rehabilitation" Center Prison.