They think I’m mean but I’m really just shy
They call me aloof when I’m afraid to say hi
They call me a b*tch cuz I’ll look you in the eye
They think I’m cold but haven’t seen the tears that I cried
They think I’m spoiled but I just hide behind my pride
They don’t see the nervous tension hidden in my stride
They want me to talk with my mouth open wide
But these fine ears have been fed too many lies
I’ve been misunderstood in so many ways
Might have something to do with how I was raised
Ive been yelled at and hit so I’m utterly unfazed
You call it self-deprecating, I call it self-praise
I grew up too fast, my childhood took a dive
I’ve been self-sufficient ever since I was five
The shell that protects me is why I survived
The dark broken pieces are what keeps me alive
My family and friends? Did they run and hide?
I’m the only damn person that stood by my side
And I’ll keep on trucking as a father-less bride
‘Misunderstood’ on my headstone whenever I die
He deserves a plaque
He so wanted a music school
but could not prevail
He was broken
by the dark side of the hill
He was at times self deprecating
forecasting his lack of success
always putting others first
because he thought it was his duty
He wrote an epitaph to Elisa Cope
and thanked Dear Marge for first love
One thing is clear
talent isn't always rewarded
An Ohioan, born with the last name Driver,
she was an actor, but an author she was too.
She first appeared in the film “Splendor in the Grass.”
TV shows she would also often do.
However, she is best known for comedy.
Self-deprecating her comedy could be.
Crazy were her clothes, her hair, and her laugh.
She was a fan of plastic surgery!
She lived a good, long time – to ninety-five.
Six kids had she; two times she was a wife.
But it was her final live-in partner that
she claimed was the great love of her whole life.
Once again, sleep evades me
Weary and worried, I lie awake
Struggling to quiet my anxious mind
The relentless 'why's' and 'what if's'
And the self-deprecating thoughts stealing my slumber
A complicated dilemma and a tough choice
An outcome and a consequence
Does my head know best?
Why does my heart feel otherwise?
Not sure the odds are in my favour
I continue to toss and turn
Feeling uncertain and ill-prepared
Exhausted eyes stare blankly at the ceiling above
Time is about to run out
Both on my deadline
And my night's sleep
You hear roses and violins
I hear gunshot, screams, open fire
I am heading toward trouble
But I cannot turn my feelings into flowers
The sun, the sky and the moon are for others.
They have nothing to do with me.
I am a wanderer with a self-deprecating attitude
Gunshot residue lives inside my mind
You can prance through the forest of pretty things
Flicking flower blossoms singing “he loves me.”
I watch you go, laughing at your optimism.
Can I flick the bullets out of my brain? Hardly!
Attempting to revive them
I felt my nostrils fill
With the bloodiness of their deaths
Determined I kept digging
My fingernails full of stench
of her hopelessness and despondency
You are in there! I told her.
I remember you.
But the problem is, she didn’t.
No matter how much muck and grime
I extracted from her beliefs,
I could not keep up.
She was a maestro at
generating self-deprecating
beliefs that kept her dendrite highway full of self-loathing
Read this in conjunction with my previous poem, when I wanted to be white
The Amazing Coconut. Why is it amazing?
It is like the people of India - Indians:
"Brown outside, white inside!"
canadian correct ~ rolling our eyes and dotting our arghs
*some self-deprecating fun
Am I that hard to love?
To be treated with some delicacy? Dignity? Joy? Celebrated instead of tolerated? Honored instead of scorned?
Can you hear me screaming, pleading, begging behind my plastic smile?
Words are like daggers...
I thought my shield was Impervious to your slurs and half-joking barbs, that rip at my inequities, as you sit in haughty judgment of me.
This isn't love; Silent torture I endure as my silent screams are covered by self deprecating laughter.
Pride is frowned on, however narcissism and egoism are celebrated.
In an upside down world this is normal...
I think you got it backwards,
Love makes you feel wanted, needed, dare I say...happy,
not aching, burned, lost, scared, scarred or hurt, that's not love that's abuse of a form most base...
So I strike out in the only way I know how, with my pen...
Half concealed daggers of my own, blindly hoping to hit a mark and make you see...
You say my words are beautiful, but I don't think you realize they are loaded daggers filled with poison that you carelessly cast off to me.
It is awaiting,
the prominent perfection I desire,
fingertips tracing insecurities,
media fuelling the fire.
The ideal takes reality,
burrows and distorts the view,
corrupting and twisting,
self deprecating smiles construe.
Along came a broken soul,
who desired the same perfection,
to stare at the ghost in the mirror,
and adore her own reflection.
As one we shall push,
rumbling and pain worth it all,
prevention can’t beat the cure,
or prepare to watch us fall.
I think this is one of my dumbest flows ever/
Cause it's a heartbreak I allow to repeat forever/
Refusin to quit, my loyalty is undying/
Heart doesn't wanna realize that it's lying/
To the logic, to my brain, to my god damn sanity/
Meaningless teases inflates my damn vanity/
Why can't you get her out your god damn head/
Why can't you choose another girl to love instead/
A self-deprecating angel is the saddest thing I've seen/
I Appreciate the beauty in HD on the widest screen/
My perception is perfection/
her perception is rejection/
Well, it's back to the sillies I go
This serious stuff is hurting my brain
If you notice I'm being serious again
Admonish me, must be totally insane
Must maintain my “silly” status
Or I'll totally fade away from the scene
“D'ya hear bout a guy who walked into a bar”
Sorry! Well you know what I mean
My humour's more of a cerebral nature
Yah right! Who am I trying to kid?
I'm down with all the rest of those guys
An image I could never get rid
Satirical, slapstick or self-deprecating
Puns creeps in now and then
Not what you'd call that high brow stuff
A hit with my P-Soup friends
Well hopefully I've got my point across
Though I might write a “serious” again
But they'll be rare, few and far between
A great big relief for my brain
© Jack Ellison 2013
* Wrote this one a while back *
Few who were as funny as you came after.
Wherever you went, the folks emitted laughter.
For a professional entertainer, you had a gift.
Your jokes gave us an emotional lift.
You described your life with “Fang” as self-deprecating.
Such humor was funny and stimulating.
When we saw you on television and the stage,
your style and delivery were all the rage.
We will all miss you as you have gone away.
You were a lady and a scholar in your day.
RIP Phyllis Diller
(1917-2012)
those dead-ends are just around the corner
where deep calls to deep,
that infinite-in just beyond where we sleep,
in that dream we don't have any names,
no games, no blames, neither waxes nor wanes,
no hell of flames, no self-deprecating shames,
a place where we'll all happily greet,
in a tunnel vision where all dead-ends meet
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