Hate Self Poems | Examples
These Hate Self poems are examples of Self poems about Hate. These are the best examples of Self Hate poems written by international poets.
An ambition to spread a message to exist in a self loving state
Manifesting joy let all anger abate
Bring about cohesion everyone's my best mate
Initiate much laughter each day i navigate
Take every opportunity to love a fellow man not castigate
Introduce a code of truth not one full of hate
Open the heart messages from God will satiate
Nourishment of the soul it's never too late
"Don't avoid extremes, and don't choose any one extreme. Remain available to both the polarities - that is the art, the secret of balancing." ~ Rajneesh
grapPle or avoid
violation or Obedience
hate or Love
peace or wAr
biRth or death
definite or Imprecise
resistanT or resigned
rivalrY or harmony.
Those smiles and laughs, those wild, irrational cries,
The ease of trusting all the souls around,
That prompt, sweet nod to check parental eyes—
Were these not graces with which I was crowned?
I lived in moments, free from heavy weights.
I did not label things as good or bad.
Was I designed for punishments or fates?
Could I be truly, deeply grave or glad?
I did not judge. I did not loathe or hate.
Each soul could trust and fully lean on me.
No one within my circle was too great.
In my calm presence anyone felt free.
Have guileless blossoms withered as I’ve grown?
Far from my own true self, has my soul flown?
Dear stranger behind the glass
Why do you stand there and watch time pass?
I see you when day breaks and night falls
I see your shadow when I pass you in the hall
You look right at me as we suffocate in silence
I came here in search of guidance
Why do you look away when I come near?
Why do you cry when I shed a tear?
You say hurtful words
But what I say is worse
Why do you ask me why you hate yourself?
Tell me if you wish to be somebody else
You look at me with sad eyes that never change
I always make you feel ashamed
Why do we hurt each other again and again?
I thought we were supposed to be the best of friends
Dear stranger looking in
When you're fighting with yourself you can never win
You do not know me. I hide so I will not get hurt.
I love, I hate, I trust, and I get up with the sun’s flirt.
That is who I am. For me, it is black or white not gray.
I do care. I am what I am, and I want to be someone one day.
I was a dreamer as I was growing up. A busy little bee.
From catching fireflies in a jar to playing baseball with a skinned knee.
Crawling under places where little spiders’ dwell,
A child building castles, climbing trees that never fell.
As I have gotten older, I have developed phobias of creepy-
Crawlers and being far from the ground left me quite weepy.
Squeezing moments with my grandkids and filling their appetites
A lady I have become, making Grandma’s dreams incredible heights.
There is a most peaceful, restorative place
where I can spend hours to unwind and renew.
Our sunroom addition becomes a showcase
for nature's blue sky, rolling hills, river view;
for many a year, my own magical space-
clear walls, a glass roof with sun filtering through.
My heaven on earth where life's joys multiply
indoors, yet outside, neath the beautiful sky.
Conversely, there is a vast space that I hate
and so, I spend minimal time being there.
It bothers me so to pull down the wood gate
to our attic above as I climb each stair.
Sixty-seven long years, to store things, our trait!
Claustrophobia hits the moment I stare
at all those saved items with no reason why!
I'm out of there fast before I start to cry.
Three simple words come to mind
As ignorance and hatred have become entwined
Compassion and selflessness have declined
Those three words ….. “ Just be kind”
This could be..."True Love"
If she only knew me, well...
It would be..."True Hate"
I was born in the smoke of silence,
where names were weapons,
and love came laced with barbed wire.
They said I was too much,
too loud, too raw,
a wildfire in a world of trimmed hedges.
But I learned to speak in embers,
to write with the heat of survival,
to stitch my wounds with verses
that refused to bleed quietly.
From the ashes of hate,
I rose—not polished,
but blazing.
Resilience isn’t soft.
It’s the roar beneath the whisper,
the spine forged in fire,
the poem that dares to exist
when the world says “don’t.”
Mama, Sissy, Hun, Chris, Baby, Beloved, Crystol Lynn
Compassionate, empathetic, self-conscious, undisciplined
Brother or sister of: One sister, three brothers, and all fellow Christians
Lover of : My family, Reading, studying the Bible
Who feels: With my hands, with my whole heart, and with my soul
Who fears: The unknown, humiliation, my child being hurt
Who wishes to see: My grandchildren one day, my name on a published book I've written, more love than hate in this world
Resident of: Dille,WV
Last name: Hundley-Woods
Blood of my blood and bone of my bone
Who, formed in my womb, has become my home.
Scarlet threads from far back in time
Connected by, and desirous are, these ties that bind.
Fighting against external enemies is natural.
Isn't my fight against myself a Herculean task?
Desires and drives that decrease me into an animal
In my predicament, my consciousness is in a mask.
Values and valuations, like heroes and villains, fight
Benumbed by existential angst, I resign to the fate
My conflicts between power, peace, and patience reach their height.
The poles of physique and psyche pull off in a hate state.
Discord between desires and deceit, like lane dividers
Divert my inner equilibrium from its axis
Even thick kith and kin seem out of the blue outsiders.
There's no logic between my philosophies and praxis.
As though unbridled, my horse of existence runs trackless.
I run fight battles within and lose hapless and helpless.
this summer I had six goals
one of them was to clean my bedroom
I was living like a hoarder
I was not sure if muskrats or raccoons were in there
a snake would not have surprised me
was going to compile some more books
that did not happen
might clean the kitchen
not a priority evidently
determined to drink lots of water
I hate water
I spent most of my vacation cartooning and painting
played word games
did whatever I wanted to do
whenever I wanted to do it
entertained myself quite nicely
I feel sorry for people who have no idea how to do this
No man nor beast can survive,
In a climate meant to deprive.
Barren of hope and loss of scope,
Where no one gets out alive.
Seeking a place to reside,
Full of contempt and pride.
You've followed a path, guided by wrath,
That destroys the goodness inside.
Lost in a forest of shame,
Looking for someone to blame.
Blinded by fears and drowning in tears,
Will mark the end of the game.
All that remains is a shell,
Now a prisoner bound in Hell.
The death of dreams and nightly screams,
Left alone in an empty cell.
Don't you know you hold the key,
And the will to set you free.
It starts today, once you say,
This isn't who I want to be.
I hate my coldness.
I hate my coldness; My ability not to feel
Walk away if pushed, grab the steering wheel
I can’t feel remorse, just another page turned
I won’t look back or feel my stomach’s churned
I go off like a firework and explode in the sky
When I come back calm, there’s no tears to dry
I won’t do anything physical, won’t land a punch
But decide never to forgive, even if it’s just a hunch
I make up my mind, leave, or open a door
Ready to accept if you don’t love me any more
I’ll pick up my rags and reminders never shed a tear
And if you lie or upset me, I show you the door, my dear.
And I do hate my coldness.
David Cox 08/02/21
Stress.
What is it? Something good, something bad?
Accepted. It’s part of British life.
If you’re a professional - you should be able to deal with any stress the job entails? Really?
Should we? Should we?
Stress. They make you eat it. They make you love it.
For what? For profit? For pride?
I am anti stress. I hate it. It makes me less effective. It makes me question my proven skills.
Why?
Is it a British stiff upper lip ethos?
Do we have to give it all?
Do we have to sacrifice our families for money?
Do we have to crawl?
110%? What is that?
Every hour, every day, every week!!!
Heart failure, mental breakdown.
It’s expected. You give it all.
For what?
For what?