Rejection poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of rejection poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on rejection are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Your creativity whenever it is suppressed It finds another better way to tread such compression raises in you fresh zeal With strong sense determine when feel, Rejections by any authority might sometimes mean Presence there of a monster with eyes
Ghost and my girlfriend: She came closer and closer Just a millimetre away Her lips were from mine And the moment Was greater than fine I wanted to tell her my feelings Especially from last few days To disclose the
Thump-thump-thump A foggy haze. Moving bodies It feels warm in here. Or is it just me? Darkness. Then light. Pulsating. Excuse me. My bad. Thump-thump-thump Who is that? Squint. Lean against the rail. Look cool. You want another drink? I
Rejection and Rejection and Rejection How long will it take to acceptance? Everything seems eclipsed Sunshine seems so far Nights too are cloudy and dark Wandering down here and there finding solace nowhere Nothing seems to subdue the pain, Where
Like city wall that blocks off invaders, so is the skin which covers the body from head top to the sole of the foot. A wall that protects the body against known and un-known enemies, a drain pipe that discharges
There it was, A beautiful villa, Complete with lots of guards, From inside a cry would be heard, And the moaning of a person in agony, The mission would be in progress The new slaughter house, Trained untamed boys into
‘Tis easy to feel rejection and self-pity through plight Blaming outside circumstance toward reason When the best answer is, to stand tall and fight Good times and bad come to all like the seasons It is quoted: “The Lord helps
A purple umbrella What once blocked the rain Now catches the opportunity A purple umbrella What protected me from discomfort Now prevents puddles A purple umbrella The comfort of not being wet Has been exchanged for the freedom to breath
You thought, I came back As I didn’t have other doors open for me You must have been day dreaming I came back to see if my absence Made you poised or spoiled! Looking back where we left things incomplete
Love carries a natural gust. Always fulfils souls’ thirst. Sees nothing but completion, Brings forth, that is hidden. Oh! It does, it does… Love knows no limits. It exists beyond infinite. It obeys no rules. It never makes one a
The heart a magnificent work of art, amazing in its design, if you follow it you will shine, cause it’s for much more than pumping blood it carries very real feeling of sympathy and love. It also has compassion in
I will sit or lay. Not in sadness or tears, you don’t understand. I’m in-between everything. That time I starred at that horse. I wanted to be it so much. Its pensive eyes knew I was not worth a glance.
My boo boo what have we become, I’m so depressed an all alone. I’m desperate and somewhat oppressed, What’s a man to do when he’s distressed. Try to touch you but to no avail, All my efforts are quickly unrailed.
index finger of left hand (likened to Michelangelo meticulously chiseling away at marble block), this poe whit attempts to coax (zealously tap into his latent indivisible quo shunt, sans self imposed quotidian literary endeavor slow lee witnessing, an emergent reasonably
These are just random snippets that I will just post together. Title: Monster minded and egos Like an enflatted ego is my thought that im a monster. As with Ego you are never as big or bad as you think,
The walls were closing in on me. Frustrated and furious significantly. A grey cloud of despair, can’t you see it in the air? Where are you right now? You said you would always be there. As the emptiness filled the
Thankfully I was never bullied at school but for this poem I tried to put myself in the shoes of someone who was. Bullying hurts and leaves a permanent scar! Laughed at, taunted, left all alone, You tell me to
The chemistry of hate changes in a thorn’s shade. I start digging out the past for a blind sun, for a qualified rejection. He was stranded in a death-row: the civilians were killed. Was a meditating Buddha with a bomb,
The best dance will be praise. When my strength will finally be raised. Carrying out the heat and cold between fire and ice. Shallow expectations keep trembling as if someone is constantly rolling dice. Clueless as to what is supposed
Mind is a very tricky customer Sometimes it is in Ecstasy for no reasons Sometimes it is somber in spite of good reasons Mood changes according to desires Mood is pleasant when complimented Mood is murky when criticised None wants
With sticks and stones, to pass our time, we roamed the countryside. Like our mouths, the earth was dry. The sun poured down on our joy ride. Summer holidays always bruised my ankles and my knees. Once it gave me
Does God truly exist? The question of all ages. He says that He created this world, Yet we never see Him here, we only hear His praises. A child gets raped, Her father was the rapist. The third world is
When Mum first presented you I thought you were a trick. Your attempts to buy me off with a Metallica C.D. demonstrated your pettiness. I didn’t say anything at the time ‘cos I didn’t want to hurt her feelings in
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
Those tired eyes open, The forehead gleams with the first sunbeams, The Soul vibrates for a while- And becomes inactive for the day’s rest. That exhausted soul is coming back, Two weary feet are on the dark road, The shadow
Being not poetical, how pitiful it is, Sometimes I sit somewhere and watch the Slew of mass flowing over dusty street And a strange thought dawns in my mind How poetical these rushing souls actually are? Perhaps I know these
A bell rope secreted within you not some feeble metaphysics and not hemp or modern plastic more something like an umbilical pink-gray and kinked you feel it run through your parts aching in your Achilles like a misplaced wad of
You know, I just write as it flows Sometimes poetry Sometimes prose Who knows… What this life brings Who knows… When the nightingale sings Yesterday is history Tomorrow is a mystery Today is the truth Now is the reality I
I wonder if you remember Eloisa the skittish wind playing with your sand-colored hair drifting scents of orange tree flowers and you holding against your chest a crystal swan with a lithe neck but he’s gone and you alike, the