Christmas snow, chunks of glow
Church with lights, lights of show
Candies sold, drinks so cold
Children told, parents hold
Care and share, dare and bare
Come and go, girls and bro
Chase or hide, give or glide
Sat by the jetty overlooking the waters of Tombia
Waves and ripples by boats speeding past
Passengers and luggage disembarking from
the boats
All by the Tombia waterside in Riverine Rivers
Free from the troubles bedevilling Port Harcourt
Mayhem and chaos in the Oil city
Yet such serenity by the waters of Tombia
Piece, quiet and tranquility quieten my stress
I am trying to be patient, but my patience is
running riot
Trying to stay and remain calm
All by the waters of Tombia
Roasted peppered fish and plantains my
consolation.
All by the waterside of Tombia.
Why does laughter feel like a threat?
It can’t be about me… can it?
My thoughts get loud and messy.
I feel nervous, embarrassed for nothing.
I look around once, then again.
My mind can’t make sense of anything.
Were they laughing at something I did?
Or is this just all in my head?
I try to tell myself it’s fine,
But doubt won’t leave, it stays in line.
Every laugh feels like a sting,
Like I’m the joke in everything.
I don’t ask, I just look around,
Notice the way they laugh and sound.
I stay steady, I let it slide,
Focus on myself, keep my stride.
Maybe no one’s laughing at me,
But that thought’s hard to believe.
I stay calm, I let it be,
Just here, just me, quietly.
Laughter keeps ringing in my ears,
But I’m learning to face my fears.
Not every laugh is meant to break,
Some are just laughs — no mistake.
My mind is full of jumbled whispers
Whispers coming from each corner
Telling me how I am to be
How I must do everything
The whispers like smoke in my lungs
Filling me with darkness
Why can’t I be who I want to be
Why must the whispers tell me how I am
Why must the whispers travel through every Nerve in my body just to make sure I act how They want me to
I want to scream into the heavens
Tell the whispers this isn’t what I want
But every time I do
The whispers come back stronger
Like a blade to the mind
Slicing until the whispers contaminate my whole Being
I rip and tear at my skin to make the whispers Leave
But all that follows is crimson pooling at my feet
The whispers will always be there
Everywhere I am
Controlling my every move
They will turn me into darkness until all I leave is A path of ash following closely behind me
They will make sure everyone knows the scars They left on my mind
They will make it known that they own me
I will never be who I want to be
G: "Why do you hate me so much?"
B: "I was paid. And this is my life."
G: "If I am related to you, will you do the
same thing?"
B: "No."
G: "If there's something that I can offer you,
what would it be?"
B: "Your life."
G: "There's only sorrow and hardship in my
life. Why need it?... Save your life!"
When customer service forgets its name
and kindness dims to a fading flame ,
RESPECT grows thin and help grows small--
you start to wonder if they care at all…
She grew so harsh, as if kindness were a chore!
She pressed like a child, fierce in what she required,
never stopping to see how your body was tired.
She urged you to read - though the words turned to haze,
not caring your blurred eyes had reached their fading phase…
You try to rest inside that cramped small room ,
But comfort never seems to find its bloom.
No fan to stir the thick and weighted air ,
Just crowded bodies coughing everywhere…
You suffer through each careless, noisy burst
and peace , it seems , is always the one cursed.
And when all they care about is what they can gain,
not noticing your tired body or the strain,
it hits you somewhere deep, a quiet kind of sore…
some people put money first, nothing else anymore.
written_12072025_PandaLodge HomeStay
some people hide a tornado inside their heart
strong emotions whizzing a hundred miles an hour
turmoil flowing in angry, disappointed, big feelings
these people sometimes build a fence around themselves
using their arms, and an angry frowning face
trusting no one, choosing to hurt alone
proving no one cares
People I have
My bright and dark side
I hate my dark side
Very much
My dark side
Is where my anger
And my frustration is
My bright side
Is my happy one
In my bright side
I have my positive thoughts
I also have a voice
That is very strange
Because it tells me
To do bad things
some people wear plain colors
not me
I wear paisley, flowers, stripes, abstract prints
some people wear browns and grays
I wear tangerine, turquoise, pinks and yellows
the more colors, the happier I am
I never wanted to be some people
Stop explaining—Soft the Tongue,
When Deafness wears a Crown—
The Ear that chooses not to hear
Is Tyrant of the Sound—
The Truth has feet—it walks alone—
Needs not a pleading Guide—
It knocks—but if the Door be sealed,
It passes—unapplied—
To argue with determined Night
Is to instruct the Dark—
The Sun expends no Reasoning
To justify its Spark—
Your Meaning is not made more pure
By Bruising it with Prayer—
The River is not altered by
The Thirst that waits in Air—
Be still—The Pearl explains itself
To those with Eyes to see—
The rest may clutch their chosen Shade
And call it Mystery—
Withdraw your Voice from barren Fields
Where Echo will not grow—
Consent no more your Soul be spent
On those who will not know—
For Silence is the Final Shield
When Hearing is a Wile—
And Peace—does not persuade the World—
It simply—wears its Smile—
They want to feel like their heroes
without ever having to risk,
they want to feel like their special,
without ever having to earn it.
They want to feel they’re put upon,
so they can claim they're virtuous,
without having to act moral,
feel good, but still do shady stuff.
They want all the praise and glory
without ever having to work,
they want to blame somebody so
they can fail and not feel the hurt.
some people love parties
yabber jabber talk talk talk
Eyes a flashing, ice a splashing
I am not one of them
too loud
too fake
too contrived
too many attention-seekers
too few listeners
pretense and anxiety
I prefer staying home
in my pajamas
reading a good book
Busy bee;
What would be,
Will so be.
Lazy fop;
Seems to drop...
But goes top.
Only God-
When trials plod,
Knows the odd.
In a room full of everyone I've ever known, I'd look for myself.
Not the me that I see staring back at me in the mirror when I brush my teeth, or the me that I see in the group photo that my friend posted without tagging me.
I'd look for the girl who was terrified to walk in on her first day of kindergarten
I’d hold her hand and comfort her even though I know that feeling will never quite go away.
I’d look for the girl who felt like everyone in her dance class hated her, even though they had no reason to.
I’d dance with her, comforting her, even though I know that feeling will never quite go away.
Id look for the girl who was scared to drive
I’d hold her hand, letting her know she's in control, even though I know that feeling will never quite go away.
I’d open my closet door, and look for the girl, curled up on the floor, holding her own legs to feel some sort of comfort.
I’d sit with her, letting her know she won't always feel this way.
Anger, the emotion of the unheard,
When words won't work, it speaks through hurt
Peace was never an option - when the hate you give continues to burn
When the hands you touch, turns to ashes
Anger becomes validation, for when comfort is a luxury not afforded
Outcasted, into the shadows, our pain overlooked
Anger, an echo of ancestral hurt,
Of justice unserved -
The rights of black people, constantly burned
This the reason why peace can no longer be an option
Anger is our self-made reparations
We decide how we recover,
We decide how to heal
We decide our emotions
Dictation is the tool of the weak, abused by our oppressors
We feel what we feel due to their racism
The way we deal, was never our fault
It was the world that forced us into survival
Our healing will be their downfall
Anger is one of our greatest weapons
It is the fuel for every revolution,
This is what gives every movement energy
It travels in our blood, in each blood vessel
Anger is necessary to our survival -
Because to be a conscious black person, is to live in a constant state of anger
Specific Types of People Poems
Read wonderful people poetry on the following sub-topics:
beautiful, differences, emotions, good, helpful, inspirational, life, love, married, personality, popular
and more.
Definition | What is People in Poetry?
Poems Related to People
crowd, family, community, nation, society, public, folk, population, tribe, proletariat, nationality, horde, populace, masses, humankind, folks, rabble, humanity, multitude, herd, kin, mob, bourgeois, clan, commonality