Uncomfortable poems bring the best collection of short and long uncomfortable poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great uncomfortable rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these uncomfortable poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on uncomfortable are here for you.
now she is blackened ink bled over starched canvas her cursive forms whisper elusive words too many nights wasted on uncomfortable men her eyes roll mouth breathing nicotine air she beckons to me through locked doors
Let’s take a walk Just you and me and none of our goddamn pretensions None of the constant editing of words and phrases in our daily interactions Let’s say things as they come to mind Hell, let’s just not say
Mid May Moon, rise not now With such dim face in burnt haven. Troubling summer with fiery fumes Has filed the sky sphere to utter haziness Making your turf more tired and clay Sucking all azures from Venus scoop. The
Searing in sunlight and dense in humid breath that uncomfortable nether-ground we ancesterally dashed across to escape the swift and sharp toothed now is a show of umbrellas and baking skin joy of wading into the delicious cool feeling sand
When things go wrong as they sometimes will, When the road you’re galumphed seems all uphill. When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh. Remember a beggar and
Are you the gentle breeze that, Wafting timidly o’er the arid lands, Bring with it the bounteous seeds Of life, scattering them far and wide Over barren plains and greying crags, Altering the countenance of what we Perceived originally to
Being in love is a funny term An uncomfortable, constant squirm. Life, longing, touch and pain Everything at once, goes in vain You can’t see this, you won’t do that And all of a sudden, what are you looking at?
Self-love is the path to enlightenment, they say. A needle in the arm, a line snorted will never compare with a kiss on the cheek. A shot down the gullet or vapors inhaled will pale to a long lingering hug.
It’s the end of April, winter’s signs are just fading And we’ve gone to the seafront, walking along the promenade. Sometimes stopping To gaze at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean… But why? Stepping down onto the shingle, The large pebbles
Sick of paranoia tired of absurd thoughts Constant grind hearing things assumptions being distraught If it’s not derogatory voices talking constantly about me Random thought will make me act quite obsessively Can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched all the
A 5-year-old girl Throws a chair Because her teacher Doesn’t seem to care About how the girl Can’t sleep at night And nap time in Preschool Was where she might Two years later The girl is seven and she still
“At least eighty dead,” is all you’ve said…. As that charred colossus, Grenfell, towers overhead. The hopes and fears of those you loved, Dead. Those missing, without mention, who died, without dying, who cried, without crying. The faceless, euphemised headlines
As they were walking on the empty roads, empty hands and with empty pockets, everything became silent for a moment, both thinking what to say and a sudden emotion of unknown was raising making both of them uncomfortable. While she
You get on the freeway and floor it all those maplines and dots coming briefly to life like water drops in a hot frying pan you stop when you get hungry you fight through the tired trying to save money
Heart burning bad, her eyes wanna cry Carving for death bt for some she wanna try Again she takes a chance bt no one to rely Everything is fine, to herself she lie. People around name her a heart breaker
Compassion, so precious a gift Incomparable to all earthly things So transient and dismally brief Compassion, a myriad of tears Seeing the hungry, desolate and grieving A wish to share their pain and fears Compassion, an opening of the heart
The time of youth maintained its presence , Never move and detaches the young to the old, The memories of spring clouding the vision of departing days, here the wine flowed, the cup filled to its brim, celebrate the old
I’ve blown some rocks and now I’m chillin’, An’ around my head my thoughts are swillin’, It’s a warmin’ cool without a doubt, So good when lighten’d up an’ mellow’d out. In dear drugs I find solace, not cheap friends!
Under the gaze of bald beliefs a warped dialect becomes a squeezer. Helplessly I watch the slashing of my wrists. Darkness burns, without light only intense heat. The expected miracle digs in around, in trenches of my knees. I become
Be it at 9 in the night or 6 in the morning, she is required to quicken her pace, She lives with worry lines that crease her forehead, with fear that clouts her face, She isn’t allowed night outs, parties
Casting aspersion on caste is like digging one’s own Grave For we know not why we have come but we know for sure where we are destined to Go When the coffin doesn’t differentiate who you are Why do you
And how shall we trace the trajectory of a lungless scream coming out of a slit throat? Time was overrun by gnostic resentment in absolute mind. The fury of a gathering food riot: do you hear the memorial rising, rising
Be my sleep, I tell a dream. A lantern was chasing the shadows on wall. My fever? I say, past one awakening I will sleep eternally. The age licks the grief of fallen pride. I was still walking on sharp
When I awoke that fatal day I knew there was something amiss the agonizing striking pain doubled me over on the cold floor My eyes began to well with tears and gushed down like a rushing waterfall a cold eerie
The little shadow walked into her lonely world, his eyes candid, covered in a helmet, he looked onto hers. Into that dark, holy night of a love unfelt that swirled, Her eyes wandered and recalled “dear love bereaved”, the echoing
Hero never whispers, makes all clear Before man born were in ancient world lies? They say it wasn’t solid transmission Words been spoken aloud Slow pictures out of focus getting sharp Surrounded stiffness of plenty spikes You live in the
My tomb is spread with bear’s garlic I was once a scourge of smoke the margins of the forest are lined with sharpest light city folk shriek and bleed my sepulcher is a woven oval ancient beeches clutching shoulders crooks
That’s it! Now that’s the stuff! More drugs. Damn doctors, actually believe this is fair? With their fancy and witty mugs: With careless hugs, And their snobby shrugs. The older pretentious ones don’t even have hair, Just cheap and obvious
Room full of candles, crystals and paintings Well and this one is my little masterpiece… Deja vu in my silver and black I am pulled Back in a flash like lightning from out of the Midnight blue to a certain
Evil whispers to darkened hearts Seeds of destruction; plans for death Kill a mind, a heart, a life By choices of darkness or light Blind arrogance They can’t see themselves in the dark Lips speaking crooked lies and deceit. The
M portrays my feeling of MISSING something that I never had, and could never see; The feeling that people were always MOVING away from me; The feeling that MONEY would never come my way, but only flee. I is for