Best Angry Poems
Not friend of man or beast, or kind to any soul,
not even their own.
Perhaps compassion deserted them, along with reason
leaving not even an even-tongue..
in a dangerous clouded head.
Or maybe found under a curse from a long ago wrong.,
cast at birth or last dawn' cropping season, ill thoughts
impure to many.
Maniacal in gaze. Sees.. but doesn't see,
no feeling left..
if ever there was any.
When encountering something perceived to be weaker,
don't respond the way most would.
As I write this, feel so sorry..
for all smaller creatures in wrenching hands..
crushed without a twitch of remorse.
Talk in whispers, don't wake their ire..
you can't outrun or outlast them..
not in words, or mannerisms, no chance.
Don't cross them, or fall hard in love..
they're already jealous., quick to anger,
always seething, like a kettle ready to boil.
One with nothing left to lose.
You are a player in an unfamiliar game..
tilted off balance of normal,
just a prize for them, all the same.
It's easier to be anyone else than the others.
Standing out in a cold dark night looking..
at the warmth that true companionship brings.
Life's best to live, and to give, though sure and not sure,
were it your neck so close to break.
Be the soul of leniency and mercy.,
send prayers, show kindness, and in kindness judge..
if you must.
Though never invest, or feel too sorry..,
nor trust what you hold dear..,
and never turn your back on
the others.
~~~~~~~~ Dedicated to Stephen King ~~~~~~~~
God, if you're listening,
I haven't heard from you in a long time.
I thought we had a great thing going here, but my prayers have yet to be answered.
I know this sounds crazy, but I think that I am dead.
That must be the only answer. That I must be stuck in this spiral of hell for my sins.
That he murdered me that day when he pierced through me. That I must be lying there dead this very minute, left alone on that splintering, cold, hard floor.
God, if you're listening,
Is this some sort of punishment? If this isn't hell, then what messed up purgatory is this? What is my test? To see if I can make it out alive? Or, better yet, to see if I turn to you in my time of need?
God, if you're listening,
Here's the thing. Why put me in this place?
Why give your "strongest soldiers your hardest battles"?
Why give me so much pain that I must reflect it on my skin?
Why make me feel shame for tarnishing my porcelain hips with marks that burn like a scarlet letter?
God, if you're listening,
I don't think I quite understand how all of this is part of "your plan".
What exactly is your plan?
Whatever it is, since it apparently involves me having to relive my most traumatic moments in my head from dusk till dawn, I do not want any part in it.
God, if you're listening,
I'm sorry if I am coming off too harsh, but don't you see that I am angry?
How can I worship you when there is so much pain in the world?
For someone who claims to love all of their children, sir I would be calling CPS for child neglect.
God, if you're listening,
Your children are crying and suffering. No matter how many times we go down on bended knees, proclaiming our dedication to you and our love to you, it seems as if it will never be enough.
So, God, if you're listening,
Go to hell.
I have been angry at the world these days
I think I have just been flustered at my own sins,
so much I have been storming on the earth.
I have been cursing at race for existing
been complaining at critics,
been cursing homophobia
been crying over body judging people.
I am full of anger, some of it is funny
I am angry at slow network,
at authors who killed my favorite character
at trees that don't have shades,
at the air fill bags of chips in my house,
at celebrities for not giving me a shout out,
at people who never liked me back.
just been angry,
that's the only feeling I can ignite and subside,
I can use diversity to calm down,
use positive criticism to relax,
use open minded people to sleep well
or just a comedy to laugh.
but I still choose to be angry,
to be storm and thunder, '
because if I stop being angry,
I'll just be rain
and I have no control over that.
A sky of angry screeching,
demanding;
like a raptor in the wind.
Doesn't have the impact
that simple warbling brings.
With fear of cruel words spoken,
love retracts,
like claws on birds of prey;
and all I loved about you
has now flown far away.
Predatory words can rip,
into beings
lovelorn at their peak.
Not accomplishing anything but
the sharpening of the beak.
Thoughts of suicide running through her head.
Feels like she’s at the edge of a cliff hanging by a thread.
Want to so badly escape the reality she faces.
Even when she’s with people she still feels outta place.
Angry. Afraid. Alone, she stood out in the cold
Wondering how did she get to be less bold?
Is this a test we all go through in life?
Coz she seems to be failing each day with strife.
Her smile and happiness seems to fade away.
She’s losing her strength each passing day.
How can she explain the feeling inside?
It’s like part of her has completely died.
She’s tired of the façade she keeps putting on.
Pretending to be happy all day long.
Deep inside she’s hurting real bad.
Anger taking control over her, she thinks she’s going mad.
Friends and family are all nearby.
But lately all she wants to do is just cry.
Feeling alone in this big world
She’s nobody special just an ordinary gal.
So Y me? She questioned in the open air.
Hoping to get an answer from up there.
But all she heard was the wind as it passed by,
She looked on down with a huge sigh.
She closed her eyes n pictured herself far away.
Escaping all her thorts to visions of a sunny day.
A place she was happy at, no worries in sight.
Just clear blue waters and beautiful sand so white.
The vision was short lived as it started to rain
But she just stood there hoping it would wash away the pain.
Falling to her knees as the rain washed her tears.
This is the story of her life each and every year......
Angry words on humbled paper
Staring with contempt at the face of their maker
Regretting being created completely inferior
To much better poems by writers much wearier
Silently screaming and burning with rage
If he had any sense he would burn this page
Angry words are eloquent not
Spilled in weakness from an emotional robot
Blistering ignorance fills this space
Words without meaning are such a waste
Shred this page and start all over
If this poem grows you are just getting colder!
it's like
the petals
of flowers
are the pins
on grenades
i pick them
one
by
one
are we better
are we not
one
by
one
until they all
drop
Sat in rows dressed for summer, we convene to talk about winter and death. There are four screens in the room.
one in front
left right
and behind
that/reflect my face and body. I feel like an angry dog, wishing, anxious, snarling, wanting to claw at the animal. In the tomb of my ancestors, carefully collecting pieces of cream porous bone to dash out my brains, asleep and awake and dreaming—a staircase, with its finality!— The spirits that track scum within my veins (The professor says that Loneliness creates Weight) are restless and full of impure intention. Relieve me of dogs, winters, ghosts. Let me catch myself upon the concrete wall and maybe I could grasp what it is I’m supposed to be thinking about. Anchor me against the day, forlorn with torn, torn nails. It were
as if my plastic chair was wood
and the ground before me scattered with
locks of a girl’s hair, every few seconds
I am executed. My brains fried
beneath the metal dome, cold
and shining like the hand of God.
Twitching, extending outward, I
release
foam from my mouth
wishing to feed someone’s children
baby, baby birds. My executioner
asks again if I had something to say,
and always, I will say
continue.
The fire burns the forest
The scorched birds fly away to build new nests
The sky descends dancing to join the smoking fest
The ashes settle in blazed history to dowse and rest.
The anger burns the mind
The brazen thoughts run to find revenge blind
The soul ascends pouncing to blow soothing wind
The serene sanity makes singed senses calm and kind.
I look in your eyes, the colors are changing your not the same person I met in the
beginning of the season. Why all this jealousy I am only trying to love you and now you
look at me like an enemy would a foe. Excuse me for thinking this but now your getting an
attitude. I see the roll of the eyes and the whispers behind my back. It doesn't hurt me
you know because I could really care less it just angers me that you are still
pretending. Don't smile if your really mad. Because I am seriously getting annoyed with
all this deceit. It's obvious that you don't want me around, constantly giving me the
cold shoulder. Don't you know i'm better off I have people all over the world I don't
need you. So if this is an attempt to drop me like a egg out of a window please warn me
before I crack because then it will get brutal. I am mostly a nice quiet girl but that's
only when i'm relaxed. You don't want to see the demons within me, take advantage for as
long as you can but you know that as long as your picking i'm steaming. I am boiling
slowly like water on the stove. Touch me after a while and boy I will get cold. Don't you
think it's funny, don't you think it's sad. I'm shuffling my feet lonely but true fully I
am not alone. I just wondering why i'm here... It used to be so much fun. You loved me
then you loved me way back when. I guess everyone backs out when they find out the real
me. Anger me go ahead, trouble me, but I've dealt with this before. It's nothing new,
It's the same old same old and no matter what you do this time I won't fold. So i'm
angry, just look beneath my brown eyes. Behind that softness lies a hard shell that's
taken many blows.
He was an angry wasp, zooming around the kindergarten classroom.
Stinging other children with hits, smacks, pops and bites.
They were terrified of him within the first hour or so.
The teacher was losing her cool, her anger was showing on her face now.
Even the kindergarteners who had not been stung did not care for him.
They did not like watching him hurt others, and they saw the teacher’s face.
She hated him, so they would hate him too.
It was what he wanted. He liked the validation.
It proved that his parents were right.
He was unlovable.
The world has turned angry.
Families have been replaced with technology.
Swiping and dinging has replaced listening and learning.
Drivers are enraged; impatient, unkind.
They plow over each other, like angry puppies
Because they must wait their turn.
Instant gratification has become the go-to now.
We want it immediately – information, food, attention.
The world has turned angry. The families are gone.
Technology has replaced love and kindness.
People spend more time in cars driving frantically
Than they spend in homes.
No one is listening to our children.
They sit in front of a tablet poking buttons
Wishing someone cared.
The world is sad.
Why does this happen to me everyday, When I scream why can't I have it my way? When I
cry why dont you ask if I'm o.k? When I drop to my knee's as if I should pray, But nothing I
do is getting to you, only when I dream I can create a pure fool.
ain't it a shame
when hate lynches
a 14 year old Colored boy
in 1955 Mississippi
and blows away the dreams of
four innocent little ***** girls
in 1963 Birmingham, Alabama
yeah
bus that to your segregated thoughts
as I interracially walk you
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children
to march along side the National Guard
on their way to a lily white school
as the message of this
un-segregates & untangles
the history of hate
attackin’ ******* in 1957
whose only desire was to be educated
and schooled too
racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide
the white citizen council back
to their good senses
‘cause racism
don’t care ‘bout nobody
being Jewish or Colored
when it needs to
fire-bomb
***** churches with ******* in them
or feels the need to hang someone
from a tree out of existence
racism even devours its own kkklan
as the innocent
pay the ultimate price
racism doesn’t care
if your church is the 16th Street Baptist
and 14 yr. old Addie Mae Collins
is one of the four black Alabama children
killed in attendance
racism ain’t concerned about
you being white either
or your last name being
White
Black
Brown
Till
Schwerner
Evers
Liuzzo
Mandela
Martin or Rodney King
and so many other names
that we’ll never know of
that racism wounded or buried six feet
under hate
racism doesn’t care about
what kinda NAACP dream
you’re having
or concerned about your last name
being "Parks" in 1955
when it attempts to guide you back
to the "Colored" section of the bus
where you know your
civil-rights will be denied
every time you allow
" segregation & discrimination"
to collects its fare
racism & its hateful followers
have no regard at all
for one’s race / religion
or sexual persuasion
especially when racism peers
into its discriminating mirror
century after century
time after time
day after day
and tells itself in 2006
"it’s better than you"
because you’re "cultured" different
from them"
yeah
racism stirs an ugly pot of soup
that no one should ever have to taste.
water flares up
disaster looms now
a city sinks