Hatred

What can I say, turning 40 sucks. You can't ignore the dark side and this actually helped me deal with some things.

 

Hatred

 

I gaze upon a breathing waste of flesh.

Hate colors my sight.

This man is beyond pathetic, he sickens me.

 

His hands are too small.

His waist is too big.

His hair is non existent.

His teeth aren’t white enough.

His complexion is oily and he has moles on his face.

 

Revulsion consumes me.

 

He complains too much.

He accomplishes nothing.

He whines constantly.

He expects everything to be handed to him.

He has no work ethic.

 

What good can possibly come out of his continued existence?

 

How does his wife sleep with him?

How does his son put up with the embarrassment?

 

Is it any wonder?

His mother barely speaks to him.

That his father ran away to Georgia,

marrying the first beast that would take him away.

 

I gaze upon a breathing waste of flesh.

I gaze upon my own reflection.

Reviews

[Salvatore Buttaci]

Yikes! And I was beginning to feel repelled by him! Sorry. All kidding aside, we all have some ugliness no one sees and we are adept at hiding. A philosopher once wrote, "Disguises make the man." Unfortunately, he was right.

Good descriptive poem.

Sal

[Susan S.]

At 57, I can sympathize.

Your poem is raw and painful. I appreciate that it isn't filled with adjectives and words looked up for the occasion, but it has some punctuation problems that could be worked on. Keep in mind that however close to your soul you cut, there will always be the need to look at the written word dispassionately before presenting it to the public.