Poems About Myself Seeking Honest Critique
#myself
Poems about myself seeking honest critique. Honest feedback has been requested for these poems.
AverageJoe
Poem Published
Yesterday 00:21am
Yesterday 00:21am
Ha!
Perhaps, like Icarus
My words are too high flown
But love should dare the tongue of angels
If love would hope align the stars
*
Not a lot to say. I know my love poems [rambles] weren't for everyone and I was always good with that. I'm always better with with a merry little band of misfits (if I can't find a forest to get lost in) than a crowd any day. So thanks for taking my poems and paintings in stride. Those are the things that keep me off the streets and out of trouble!
To my friends here, until next time!
Keep living your best...
My words are too high flown
But love should dare the tongue of angels
If love would hope align the stars
*
Not a lot to say. I know my love poems [rambles] weren't for everyone and I was always good with that. I'm always better with with a merry little band of misfits (if I can't find a forest to get lost in) than a crowd any day. So thanks for taking my poems and paintings in stride. Those are the things that keep me off the streets and out of trouble!
To my friends here, until next time!
Keep living your best...
#myself
49 reads
3 Comments
PAR
Poem Published
6th May 2025 1:37pm
6th May 2025 1:37pm
The Poet’s Tale
A poet sat,
a thought unfurled.
A poem waiting to shape the world.
With ink and dream,
a line took flight
spinning verses soft as night.
The poem hummed,
a gentle tune
swaying beneath the silver moon.
It spoke of love,
it spoke of fate,
It whispered truths
both small and great.
And in its words the poet found
a story turning, round and round.
For what is art but echoes bright,
reflections cast in golden light?
A poem sings, the poet hears
and writes again through...
a thought unfurled.
A poem waiting to shape the world.
With ink and dream,
a line took flight
spinning verses soft as night.
The poem hummed,
a gentle tune
swaying beneath the silver moon.
It spoke of love,
it spoke of fate,
It whispered truths
both small and great.
And in its words the poet found
a story turning, round and round.
For what is art but echoes bright,
reflections cast in golden light?
A poem sings, the poet hears
and writes again through...
#DeepUndergroundPoetry
#mirror
#myself #WritingPoetry
#myself #WritingPoetry
43 reads
6 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
22nd Apr 2025 5:56am
22nd Apr 2025 5:56am
Back to Gemini
(Castor and Pollux 2)
Back to Gemini that space between him and I
When we see eye to eye in that dual personality
One’s a fly by and the other can be the fall guy
Like a balance act between absurdity and rationality
And perhaps this is why Gemini is my favorite constellation
As if the astrological sign is in line with that characterization
There are two temperaments but usually logic is at the helm
While the mad enthusiastic maniac wants to overwhelm
Castor and Pollux watch from their positions in the sky
It’s like their...
Back to Gemini that space between him and I
When we see eye to eye in that dual personality
One’s a fly by and the other can be the fall guy
Like a balance act between absurdity and rationality
And perhaps this is why Gemini is my favorite constellation
As if the astrological sign is in line with that characterization
There are two temperaments but usually logic is at the helm
While the mad enthusiastic maniac wants to overwhelm
Castor and Pollux watch from their positions in the sky
It’s like their...
#confessional
#identity
#myself
#stars
#universe
90 reads
4 Comments
doreenheimer
Aether
Aether
Poem Published
19th Apr 2025 5:20pm
19th Apr 2025 5:20pm
Entry 3
I’ve seen friends go mad trying to fight these beasts.
I’ve seen comrades tear gas-blind, screaming at riot shields.
I’ve seen friends vanish into the psych wards and come back stitched together wrong.
I’ve seen kids in drag beaten by priests.
I’ve seen anarchists arrested for throwing a single rock,
while fascist militias march in broad daylight with iron crosses and icons held high.
At some point, you stop asking questions like
"Is it getting better?"
or
"Will voting change it?"
And you start asking...
I’ve seen comrades tear gas-blind, screaming at riot shields.
I’ve seen friends vanish into the psych wards and come back stitched together wrong.
I’ve seen kids in drag beaten by priests.
I’ve seen anarchists arrested for throwing a single rock,
while fascist militias march in broad daylight with iron crosses and icons held high.
At some point, you stop asking questions like
"Is it getting better?"
or
"Will voting change it?"
And you start asking...
#memories
#myself
#narrative
#nonfiction
#prose
58 reads
0 Comments
doreenheimer
Aether
Aether
Poem Published
19th Apr 2025 5:16pm
19th Apr 2025 5:16pm
Entry 2
There are things I still don’t know how to write about.
Not because I don’t remember them—but because memory feels too small for what they carry.
I was only a child in 2008, but I remember the sounds.
The deep, mechanical thunder of tanks rolling through Gori hills.
Russian ones, crawling like steel insects across the land, dragging fear behind them like smoke.
Mother told me not to look, but I did anyway.
I had to.
Some part of me, only being nine years old, already knew—I needed to remember what war looked like if I was going to survive in the shadow...
Not because I don’t remember them—but because memory feels too small for what they carry.
I was only a child in 2008, but I remember the sounds.
The deep, mechanical thunder of tanks rolling through Gori hills.
Russian ones, crawling like steel insects across the land, dragging fear behind them like smoke.
Mother told me not to look, but I did anyway.
I had to.
Some part of me, only being nine years old, already knew—I needed to remember what war looked like if I was going to survive in the shadow...
#memories
#myself
#narrative
#nonfiction
#prose
57 reads
0 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
19th Apr 2025 3:15pm
19th Apr 2025 3:15pm
Morning Rituals
I lie awake
about ten minutes before the first alarm goes off
thinking about what I’m going to do that day
before I force myself to put on my running shoes
and go into the darkness
after an hour
or about when Clockwork Angels is coming to a close
the feeling of accomplishment Rushes through me
I notice I’m getting slower
and the distances are shorter
but I’m OK with it
after breakfast
after doing the dishes
I down my hot cup of coffee
(with my blood pressure meds)
but my body temperature goes up again ...
about ten minutes before the first alarm goes off
thinking about what I’m going to do that day
before I force myself to put on my running shoes
and go into the darkness
after an hour
or about when Clockwork Angels is coming to a close
the feeling of accomplishment Rushes through me
I notice I’m getting slower
and the distances are shorter
but I’m OK with it
after breakfast
after doing the dishes
I down my hot cup of coffee
(with my blood pressure meds)
but my body temperature goes up again ...
#confessional
#LifeAsAWriter
#LifeCycle
#myself
#SelfReflection
66 reads
2 Comments
doreenheimer
Aether
Aether
Poem Published
18th Apr 2025 12:12pm
18th Apr 2025 12:12pm
Entry 1
I never quite know how to start these things.
For all the hours I've spent alone with notebooks and loose scraps of thought, non-fiction—if that’s even what this counts as—has never been my strength.
This isn’t a memoir. It’s not an autobiography. And it sure as hell isn’t a diary. But I digress.
I’m just some punk in my late twenties, born and raised in Georgia, right by the seaside banks of Batumi.
Living in what I often call a post-Soviet dystopia, something I’ve repeated many times to my comrade Marsy—more about them soon.
Like any proper Anarchist,...
For all the hours I've spent alone with notebooks and loose scraps of thought, non-fiction—if that’s even what this counts as—has never been my strength.
This isn’t a memoir. It’s not an autobiography. And it sure as hell isn’t a diary. But I digress.
I’m just some punk in my late twenties, born and raised in Georgia, right by the seaside banks of Batumi.
Living in what I often call a post-Soviet dystopia, something I’ve repeated many times to my comrade Marsy—more about them soon.
Like any proper Anarchist,...
#memories
#myself
#narrative
#nonfiction
#prose
96 reads
1 Comment
Wafflenose
Ellie
Ellie
Poem Published
17th Apr 2025 2:18pm
17th Apr 2025 2:18pm
Where am I?
In my dreams, I am flying.
Almost weightless; feeling free.
I find the small entrance to the vast unknown.
Hesitating for a moment,
my likeness remains on the periphery
frozen in time on the edge of the horizon.
My body floats, then falls,
rushing and accelerating.
An immense force pulls me taut
like a piece of spaghetti.
I hurtle, feet-first, through the darkness,
because somebody has turned out the light.
It's chaotic in here; crushing and stifling.
Am I speeding up or slowing down?
All I know is that I'm...
Almost weightless; feeling free.
I find the small entrance to the vast unknown.
Hesitating for a moment,
my likeness remains on the periphery
frozen in time on the edge of the horizon.
My body floats, then falls,
rushing and accelerating.
An immense force pulls me taut
like a piece of spaghetti.
I hurtle, feet-first, through the darkness,
because somebody has turned out the light.
It's chaotic in here; crushing and stifling.
Am I speeding up or slowing down?
All I know is that I'm...
#dreams
#myself
79 reads
0 Comments
PAR
Poem Published
15th Apr 2025 11:31pm
15th Apr 2025 11:31pm
A poem in bed
The sheets fold like paper,
soft against skin, heavy with dreams.
A book rests in open palms,
its spine breathing in the hush of midnight.
Words spill like ink across the quiet,
syllables curling into candlelight,
each line a bridge between waking
and the endless drift into thought.
The best poem waits in whispers,
threading itself through fingertips,
drawing the mind deeper
into the lull of imagined echoes.
The letters pulse, alive in their rhythm,
the room shrinking to...
soft against skin, heavy with dreams.
A book rests in open palms,
its spine breathing in the hush of midnight.
Words spill like ink across the quiet,
syllables curling into candlelight,
each line a bridge between waking
and the endless drift into thought.
The best poem waits in whispers,
threading itself through fingertips,
drawing the mind deeper
into the lull of imagined echoes.
The letters pulse, alive in their rhythm,
the room shrinking to...
#confessional
#mirror
#MyInspiration
#myself
#WritingPoetry
85 reads
8 Comments
Ash74
Poem Published
13th Apr 2025 11:17pm
13th Apr 2025 11:17pm
Midnight thoughts
My worst days pass in a haze
I'm always out of phase
Am I the product of an uncaring world
Or one of the reasons
Is my worth reliant on intrinsic value
or am I worth nothing
Is this a false dichotomy
What am I without my mad ramblings
I'm always out of phase
Am I the product of an uncaring world
Or one of the reasons
Is my worth reliant on intrinsic value
or am I worth nothing
Is this a false dichotomy
What am I without my mad ramblings
#anxiety
#MentalHealth
#myself #SelfReflection
#myself #SelfReflection
82 reads
1 Comment
Vision_of_insanity
Poem Published
11th Apr 2025 7:35pm
11th Apr 2025 7:35pm
Digital Madness
I'm locked in an insane reality
Like a TV or smartphone I can't turn off
Sometimes I want to rip my face off and lose my identity
Hack open a hole in my rib-cage and get the fuck out!
Like a TV or smartphone I can't turn off
Sometimes I want to rip my face off and lose my identity
Hack open a hole in my rib-cage and get the fuck out!
#anxiety
#identity
#MentalHealth
#myself
#technology
140 reads
11 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
4th Apr 2025 2:03am
4th Apr 2025 2:03am
Pretender
It takes some time to master decorum
Social queues and all that jazz
It takes a great deal of control
Meanwhile on the inside
It can be quiet the mess
I’m a sweater
Like hairy but also a person who sweats a lot
But in situations that require intense interactions
I can feel my body heat turn up when I’m on the spot
It’s taken years for me to work this resting “ick” face
Learning how to:
Respond without a stutter
Or not trip over my words
I had to learn to listen
And not just be a pretender
Because it takes...
Social queues and all that jazz
It takes a great deal of control
Meanwhile on the inside
It can be quiet the mess
I’m a sweater
Like hairy but also a person who sweats a lot
But in situations that require intense interactions
I can feel my body heat turn up when I’m on the spot
It’s taken years for me to work this resting “ick” face
Learning how to:
Respond without a stutter
Or not trip over my words
I had to learn to listen
And not just be a pretender
Because it takes...
#Autism
#confessional
#myself #SelfReflection
#myself #SelfReflection
128 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Myself Seeking Honest Critique
