People Like This Will And Can Victimize
If someone believes,
They can do as they please...
Including be disrespectful,
With a negligence?
And others they have known,
'Had' accepted them for this?
But the more this is shown,
Many have grown tired of it!
And from them have flown away.
If you know anyone who fits,
This appropriate description...
Split or they will make you sick.
Especially when you get caught up in,
This web that begins to spin.
No need to get upset by them...
Those people who believe,
They can do as they please.
However...
Know them to be usually the youngest born,
If not the only child.
And the signs of who they are...
Are not easily detected.
They are generally protected,
By exaggerations embellished...
With their time spent practicing delusions.
Instead of attaching their minds to truth.
But...
When they do become 'suspected',
By a pattern that is set...
Do not around them stay!
They will convince others you are out of 'your' mind,
For descovering something to be wrong with them.
And...
This will happen!
Since people like this will and can victimize.
With gentle voices and innocent eyes.
Like a deceiving child trapped in an adult body!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My true story about myself
People stop ordering me around. I am only one person, yet you treat me like I am twelve people. I can only do one thing at a time. I am sorry I am really slow. I am only a child, I'm still trying to be kid while I have a chance. But, you see you people give me the responsibility of an adult. I am tired of ruining my plans, to do adult things. I don't want a perfect childhood but I would like a nice one where I would be able to do teenager things. I want to be a normal child, even if I am not. You people are driving me crazy with all these do this, do that. I'm sorry, but if this a normal childhood, I rather be dead. I feel like that when I try to talk nobody could hear me. I could scream and nody would hear me. I am invisable. Besides who would want to see a girl who has no mother, a father she never sees, who is a nobody, who can't make a difference, who is hideous, who can't do anything right, who is ashamed for everything she is? Sometimes I think about killing myself, actually I do it a lot. It's just I am so tired of being used. I am used one way or the other. I always wonder what would happen if I die. Would anybody care? Would anybody even notice? NO! Yes I know I made mistakes. but isn't the point of life, is make mistakes and learn from them. I know I made a lot, but I would never take any of them back. I don't care anymore about what other people say. I am just so tired of this. I can't live like this much longer. There has to be a change, and quick. To tell you the truth, I even thought about running away. I don't know where I would go. I do know is that I would never return. I'm sick of having responsibility of an adult, and everybody tells me to be a kid. HOW? When I'm constantly cleaning, cooking, cleaning, cooking, school, school, homework, cleaning, cooking? Can I please have a break once in a while. I am begging you. What did I do to deserve this? I think I have a right to know.
poem by Makayla Straight
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Angered That Truth Now Sits
The first time I was introduced to truth,
I had to walk around with my head down.
The obviousness of it had yet to arrive,
In my environment.
And the mindsets of the people,
Were still locked into blocking...
Anything that dealt with truth.
When it was spoken,
Voices were raised in protest.
Accusations of being negative were mentioned.
People had become sensitive in the protection,
Of their delusions.
With a defending of their ignorance!
The first time I was introduced to truth,
I had to walk around with my head down.
Today?
People are protesting the fading away,
Of their delusions.
They have begun angered that truth now sits.
Truth has declared it remains to stay!
And not make a temporary visit.
People have become upset with it!
And obsessed with the turning back of a clock.
A clock that has long ran out of time...
For them to find themselves and embrace reality!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fee Fi Fo
Fee fi fo she smells his body
She smells his body
And it makes her sick to her mind
He has got so much to answer for
To answer for, to ruin a childs mind
How could you touch something
So innocent and pure
Obscure
How could you get satisfaction
From the body of a child
Youre vile, sick
Its true what people say
God protect the ones who help themselves
In their own way
Its true what people say
God protect the ones who help themselves
In their own way
He was sitting in her bedroom
In her bedroom
And now what should she do
Shes got so much insecurity
And his impurity it was a gathering gloom
How could you touch something
So innocent and pure
Obscure
How could you get satisfaction
From the body of a child youre a vile, sick
Fee fi fo x4
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Available To Be Annoyed
No one who has grown tired of being tired,
Should make it a career of tolerating anyone...
With the giving of unconditional empathy.
No!
Not when someone has earned,
A cherished peace of mind.
Listening to every detail of their likes and dislikes,
On a daily basis can be easily avoided.
By simply not answering the telephone.
OR pretending not to be at home,
Available to be annoyed...
By someone who enjoys the spewing of negativity.
No one who has grown tired of being tired,
Should make it a career of tolerating anyone...
With the giving of unconditional empathy.
This leads to becoming disrespectful...
When all that had been initially wished,
Was a day to spend away from people like this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Expect An Apology
I have not been a child for so long.
So if my offensive demeanor,
Comes from an adult mind...
Free to express itself from a hiding,
You have yet dealt with.
Don't be stunned.
Or run away in tears!
With a nose you sniff.
Perhaps you should leave the playground,
Of scraped knees, sandboxes
And petty childish gossip.
I have not been a child for so long.
My adventures have been aged on paths...
That have shown me a life,
To live as it is!
And to find myself alone,
Being accountable for my steps!
Sometimes I have experienced regret.
But like all things I have accepted...
I am blessed not to stay in one spot,
To complain of rain that got me wet!
Nor do I get upset...
If thunder, lightening and clouds,
Are temporarily above my head!
I have felt sunshine too many times...
To find a moment of whining as a means,
That have ever attracted my happiness!
A maturity with learning,
Has come to me it seems!
So if my offensive demeanor,
Comes from an adult mind...
Free to express itself from a hiding,
You have yet dealt with?
Don't expect an apology.
I only give those when they are meant!
And I feel that one should be given.
And 'that' no one else gives to me,
To determine!
I'm in this life to live it!
Not to split from it...
When my feelings are hurt!
Or to dig up dirt to spread.
Don't expect an apology!
You 'aint' gettin' one of those.
Not from me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your Children Are Always Your Children
In your eye’s the child
never ends,
nor should it
Oh the limbs grow,
the body matures to adulthood
But in your eye’s and heart
the child remains
The laughter though a deeper tone
Still holds that
joyous golden ring
of Christmas presents
or a birthday game
The hair now full and Silky
Still holds the urge
to touch and stroke
The smile though older
still makes the heart leap
The body may be
tall and lithe and grown
But in your eyes the outline
of the child is still seen
Though they are grown and flown
Never does a day pass
without the same worry
how are they, where are they
though they may be grown
In your eyes the child never ends nor should it
poem by Bill Mitton
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Running Around Loose
People who have spent,
Years of their time...
Trying to convince some who do listen,
There has been others who have treated them...
With offending indifference.
And have done this to them,
For no apparent reason...
As their telling of this story begins.
Upon hearing this,
One should take two steps backward right away.
But these sympathy soliciting conversations,
Can be difficult to detect...
When a professional is in action.
They know just what to say.
These same people...
Seem to have no excuses to make,
Or alibis to offer...
When they are caught in the midst,
Of trying to sell new versions of their lies...
To anyone who had missed the originals.
But had forgotten who they were told to...
With a re-telling to include omitted names,
And what they did that was found to be horrific.
People who have spent,
Years of their time...
Trying to convince some who do listen,
There has been those who have treated them...
With offending indifference.
And have done this to them,
For no apparent reason...
Can be directly associated with,
Why there are so many mentally sick folks...
Running around loose yet appearing totally sane.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Innocent Child
In the eyes of an innocent child, you see all, you know all.
In the eyes of an innocent child, you know why the sky is blue and the
leaves fall.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is no peace and there is no
war.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only peaceful co-existance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only here and now and
nothing in the distance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, there are the colours of the rainbow,
black and white.
In the eyes of an innocent child, Grey areas are not right.
We look at things in grey, black and white, but not like a rainbow.
Some say we even look through rose coloured glasses.
It would be nice if we could look at the world through the eyes of an
innocent child.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Belief System
Some folks do things,
Because they want others to 'believe'...
They 'are' somebody.
Who knows what's up,
The sleeves of people like these.
And those folks with 'beliefs'
Who know they have 'always' been 'somebody'
Don't need to look for acknowledgement.
They are going to get it anyway.
Because of who they are!
And wherever they are...
Good deeds done,
Seem to be always something done they do.
There is no belief system used to convince.
There is an obviousness without the need to mention.
It is in the existence,
That transcends what may or may not be...
What comes forward off of people's lips,
For others to physically with their eyes see.
And...
It is not because of what they want others to believe!
That this is so,
From embellished exaggerations.
Entertaining and released from an implementation.
And fantasies from them born...
To come to life and grow!
It is in the observation,
That proves a deserving worthiness...
Upon which others bestow,
Those of merit that receive attention.
Leaving to be distanced,
Those folks who wish others to believe
They are 'somebody'.
And they are...
Provoked into some self serving action.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One Winged Angel
A goddess with grace
A demon with strength
Will be born
A child of faith
A child of wisdom
A child of might
The child will know the way to fight
The child will soar the skies above
The child will know a once true love
The child will sing a loving tune
The child will die a once full moon
A child of good
A child of bad
This is a child that cannot be sad
A wing of an angel on the left
A wing of a devil on the right
This is the story of the monster of the night
He walks through the day a normal man
Through the night he's one you cannot stand
Once a child of beauty and grace
Now a fiend of wicked and waste
He walks through the forest seeking all
Creatures of size big and small
In the night he finds a place
With a man he'd like to taste
Closer up he begins to walk
While the man begins to talk
A song he sings
The monster does hear
Calms the beast while so near
The beast begins to change its face
And once again the child of grace
As the child stands in wait
An arrow strikes to seal his fate
In the moonlight a child has died
On horseback the hunter rides
Closer to see his kill
In his mind for just the thrill
As he sees the fallen angel
A puddle of blood with body mangled
He cries in tears for what he's done
It's now time for the sun
The child rises from the ground
With a halo so very round
As the angel takes it's leave
The man now he so believes
Of the one winged angel.
poem by Cody J Walker
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Born To Be Ransomed
Born to be ransomed,
Born for a reason,
On one side Love,
On the other side Security,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed elsewhere,
Or,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed with them,
Born to be ransomed,
Held ransomed by those,
For security measures of the father and mother,
So,
They are called on by the beckoning,
Of,
Those holding child held by ransomed,
Is what people do when child means,
A lot to mother and father,
Love and security in family keepings,
Born to be ransomed,
With intent to use child,
By the takers of child,
To profit and gain,
For themselves in lifes times,
When child born is then used,
Till,
Mother and father is killed,
And,
Child is then raised in a racket,
For,
What mother and father were,
And,
Left for the child when child grown,
In giving is receiving,
All that has good intentions,
Gives for good reasons,
Yet,
Why one is born to be ransomed,
Is,
The what see's and pre-desires,
The placement and life,
Of,
What two in love have made,
The unborn child then becomes,
The ransom of what wants,
What,
The two have in love and wealth,
When this goes on and child is grown,
The eyes that see and yet do not understand,
Is,
The child raised seeing all,
From,
The good ways,
To the bad ways,
To the cruel ways,
To,
The crimes committed and seen,
Is,
The eyes of seeing,
From,
Been born in a world disrupted,
Is,
A child born and ransomed,
What is of matter,
Mattering to two,
Two in love,
That,
Choose to be one,
One as in a couple,
To matter and be,
For,
What matters to them,
Is,
What brings matter of two,
To,
Become a matter of one,
A,
Child born of two,
Yet,
Now matter's to none,
But,
What ransoms the child out,
Till,
The child grew to be,
And,
Left them all behind,
Knowing,
Mother and father are dead,
Living,
Life knowing too much,
Just,
From been the ransom,
The ransom,
Of,
All,
That,
Is,
Of,
Mother and father,
Till,
All,
Of,
Mother and father's,
Income and places,
Was,
Spent and giving to others,
Tis,
Then,
Ransomed child grown,
Can,
Leave,
With noting,
But themselve,
To have some kind,
Of life,
Somewhere else,
Faraway!
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Someday Man
Some people always complain that their life is too short so they hurry it
Along
Their worries drive them insane but they still go along for the ride
As for me
I have all the time in the world
I was born
A someday man
Im a maybe child
I was born
A someday man
I was always wild
Tomorrows a new day, baby
Anything can happen
Anything can happen at all
Some folks are working for reasons and waiting for answers theyre never
Gonna find
They keep on searching for pleasures and looking for what they cant see
But for me
Life can be a sweet holiday
I was born
A someday man
Im a maybe child
I was born
A someday man
I was always wild
Tomorrows a new day, baby
Anything can happen
Anything can happen at all
Repeat and fade
I was born
A someday man
Im a maybe child
I was born
A someday man
I was always wild
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Tired
I'm tired of people messing with me
I'm tired of people treating me wrong
I'm tired of people saying I stank
I'm tired of people remembering the past
I'm tired of black people
I'm tired of stupid people
I'm tired of selfish people
I'm tired of being the target all the time
I'm tired of feeling sad
I'm tired of people thinking there better than everybody else
I'm tired of people not appreciating me
I'm tired of being tired
I'm tired of being tired
I'm just tired
poem by Shawanda Polk
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Hmph...People
Leave me alone.
'Okay,
I will.'
I'm not talking to you.
'I see.
Then...
Who ARE you talking to? '
No one in particular.
It has been a while since I've said it.
And it is refreshing to know,
You weren't offended at all.
I remember the days,
My saying that would upset you.
'Why should I feel offended?
Or upset.
I was hoping you weren't going to ask me,
Where I am going? '
What?
Where are you going?
'That's none of your business.
And I'm hoping that doesn't offend.
Now you can practice not getting upset.'
Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
And I'm not a child.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
And what are you laughing about?
'I was only teasing.
I'm not going anywhere.'
Oh yes you are!
You're going to leave me alone.
'Okay,
I will.'
People!
They will do anything to get on your nerves.
Upset?
As if I was that easily provoked!
Hmph...people!
'I heard that.'
Who cares!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Undergoing Vigorous Renovation
It is easy to win someone,
With the telling of lies.
Many refuse to call them that.
Preferring 'Embellished Exaggerations'...
As if a renovation has been made,
To mask flat out lies!
The act begins to win one's confidence,
In a dismantling of truth.
Innocent enough not to be noticed.
As deceivers take their passengers,
Through the weeds of deception.
Many have been encouraged,
To nourish this as a 'gift'.
It is easy to win someone,
With the telling of lies.
Many refuse to call them that.
Preferring 'Embellished Exaggerations'...
As if a renovation has been made,
To mask flat out lies!
And flat out lies told by those masking truths...
Are always undergoing vigorous renovation.
To be changed with the re-telling.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im so sick and tired...
im so sick and tired of all this s***
of crying and people throwing a fit
Im so sick and tired of all this bleeding
of cutting and people not caring
im so sick and tired of drama
of the gov't and obama
im so sick and tired of tears
of crying and stupid a** peers
im so sick and tired of boys
of them treating girls like useless toys
im so sick and tired of ryhming
screw it,
im so sick and tired of being told what to do
im so sick and tired of being so sick and tired
but the most thing that im so f****ing tired of
is sobing and having the only comfort of empty echoes
poem by Erika Michelle
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The Story Of Nevermore
now I cast a hypnotic spell
to free a child from her hell
surrender now child fall deep in my spell
just come to me child and all will be well
rise now child in sleep you now come
walk now child thought your scenes stay numb
fall now child in to a peaceful dream
but nothing there is as it seems
even thought child in you dream all is right
really your body walks still throw the night
relax now child let that dream ease your mind
follow now child let my voice be your guild
don’t worry child my intentions are pure
you’ll be happy with me of that I am sure
I’m just so tired of being alone
I want a child all of my own
so sleepwalk now child to the pull of my charm
sleepwalk to me child you’ll be safe in my arms
nevermore child shall you cry out in pain
your old life will be lost but a new one will be gained
sleepwalk to me child you’ll be my daughter soon
find your way to me child by the light of the moon
sleepwalk to me child and I’ll show you my ways
all the things I can show you; you’ll be amazed
sleepwalk to me child your almost here
come to me child soon all will be clear
sleepwalk to me child come meet your new mom
soon the whole world will rest in your palm
I see you now child I have you in sight
I run to you child now all is right
your eyes are dazed child unseeing and blank
I can see you now child what a great daughter you’ll make
come to me child collapse in my arms
come to me child you’re safe now from harm
I hold you now child and cradle you close to my heart
I hum to you child as I carry you throw the dark
were home now dear child far from all you ones knew
were home now dear child only one thing left to do
I made this child a special potion just for you
and with it your life begins anew
drink this now child and let your past slip away
remember not one second not one moment or one day
your eyes close child as I release you from my spell
in conciseness you do not dwell
back in to slumber you fall ever so deep
I love how innocent you look in sleep
a new name you need child to mark your new life
you need a new name as you exist the light
your name is Nevermore My child Raven Nevermore
a name like none ever heard before
you are Raven Nevermore
a young witch of great power to explore
you are Raven Nevermore
my daughter now and evermore
poem by Raven Nevermore
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Runaway Child
Runaway Child, don’t have to take it anymore
Runaway Child, just walk out of that door
Runaway Child, no more chances to take
Runaway Child, it’s your choice to make
Runaway Child, aren’t you sick and tired of the pain
Runaway Child, here there’s nothing to gain
Runaway Child, you get treated like dirt
Runaway Child, get away from the hurt
Runaway Child, here it’s no use
Runaway Child, get away from the abuse
Runaway Child, you don’t have 9 lives
Runaway Child, take that step or dive
Runaway Child, why are you still there
Runaway Child, how much pain can you bear
Runaway Child, you don’t have to say goodbye
Runaway Child, say goodbye, when they DIE!
poem by Patrick Harris
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Meditation By The Stove
I have banked the fires
of my body
into a small but steady blaze
here in the kitchen
where the dough has a life of its own,
breathing under its damp cloth
like a sleeping child;
where the real child plays under the table,
pretending the tablecloth is a tent,
practicing departures; where a dim
brown bird dazzled by light
has flown into the windowpane
and lies stunned on the pavement--
it was never simple, even for birds,
this business of nests.
The innocent eye sees nothing, Auden says,
repeating what the snake told Eve,
what Eve told Adam, tired of gardens,
wanting the fully lived life.
But passion happens like an accident
I could let the dough spill over the rim
of the bowl, neglecting to punch it down,
neglecting the child who waits under the table,
the mild tears already smudging her eyes.
We grow in such haphazard ways.
Today I feel wiser than the bird.
I know the window shuts me in,
that when I open it
the garden smells will make me restless.
And I have banked the fires of my body
into a small domestic flame for others
to warm their hands on for a while.
Anonymous submission
poem by Linda Pastan
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The Innocent Child
I was just a child, an innocent child
I didn't know when, I didn't know how.
I was just a child, an innocent child.
She couldn't save me from what happened,
even though she tried. She always tried.
she was my guardian angel.
I was just a child, an innocent child.
I couldn't be saved then, and I cant be saved now.
The dark angel came over, knocked on my door.
sucked the life out of my family, I was only 5.
I was just a child, and innocent child.
I didn't understand, Where did they go? What happened to mommy and daddy? What happened to sissy? Why didn't they come home last night?
They brought the car to my house, thought someone else would be home, but it was just me, just a little 5 year old..I looked at it... I saw the twists and the turns... the dents and the broken glass.. the scars will always be there.. I see it slamming into a ditch..rolling, rolling, and when it stops.
Silence...
I was just a child, an innocent child.
I didn't understand. how could that happen.. what happened?
I was just an innocent child, the innocent child.
She went away that night.. and she never came back.
poem by Forever Gone
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