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As each day passes I hate myself more
Why does it seem like I’m always in the wrong?
“Know your place”, “you forgot your place” has become an axiom in my head,
I cannot help but think that I’m such a burden, inferior, useless, and shouldn’t live instead

I hate myself so much, everything is my fault no matter what I do
My character is criticised every single time,  the shadows on the wall chiding me for being such a fool
My heart’s so pain, I can’t breathe
With every breath, the more I hate me

The shadows haunt me, criticising every part of me
I need to change my entire self, the more wrong in myself I see
I hate every inch of myself, I don’t deserve to live
Why is it so painful to be criticised continuously, staying positive while taking all these in is a myth

The light casts on the shadows, bringing much happiness into my life,
My heart is full of joy during these times, the sadness and hatred becomes a lie
But when the shadows form and haunt me around at times,
I’m trapped - hatred for myself and depression hides in my cry  

“You’re weak and immature so you cry easily” was what I was told,
Weakness and immaturity adds on to my list - of the lowest lows
I can’t stop crying and wanting to self-harm, am I weak?
Or maybe those words has caused me to fail to accept any part of me

The shadows overwhelm me and engulf my sleep,
“You’re undeserving of anything”, is all the shadows have bestowed upon me
I always feel like I’m at fault even though I’ve tried, why is this so?
My character is questioned - I hate every part of my soul

I can’t help but wonder to myself…

Is the day that my tears dry,
Also the day that I die?
Behind every smile of mine hides a shadow which engulfs me, making me hate me
Jane dale Apr 2014
Not another flipping cooking show,
On the telly, it's all go,
Weird concoctions in their heads,
What's up with good old meat and veg?
Judges frowning, watching on,
The clock is ticking, must get done,
Sweat is dripping in their pies,
So some top Chef can criticise?
I'd love that job, the eating bit,
They never eat up all of it,
Sometimes they are just simply rude,
So if they criticised my food,
I wouldn't put up with that ****,
The buggers would be wearing it :)
Lorraine day Aug 2013
"I painted a picture today"
I'm hoping it inspires people in a similar way that my poetry does
No ! I hope it does more than that
I've scrutinised and criticised it from all angles
Til my energy drained
It's of a sunset
The colours are vivid n just right "or are they"?
My local gallery's displaying it at a fair price or is it?
I'm not sure if it's hanging in the best place?
Does that matter?
It's taken a long time to complete
I'm surprised they thought it was good enough ?
I am my harshest  critic
A perfectionist ......
Not sure if being like this is a blessing or curse   But it's who I am can be tough at times
Is there anyone else annoyed by Thee Artiste, someone myself and others find an egotistical narcissist?
Comment or message me, WickedHope or Kaitlin Molden if you've been criticised or deemed mediocre by this 'master poet'.

Ok so thats the nice version here's what I was originally going to post.
"Hey who on this site actually likes Thee Artiste?
Comment or message me if you've been criticised"
One man Nov 2017
Judge a woman by her lovers
just another one after others
Wouldn't do that to a man
welcome to bed who he can  

Judge a woman by her clothes
her material and fabric throws
Criticised for what she wears
doesnt matter still gets stares

Judge a woman by her hair
try it different if she dare
It shows now, nerve reveals
surely you know how she feels

I Judge a woman by if she cares
deals with life and how she fares
In what she has a sense of pride
and the feelings she has inside

Judge a woman how dare you
exam her and what she do
It does more harm can't you see
to look at her so judgementally

© One man
Like it or lump it
gray rain May 2016
Albums, collections of songs,
A collection of words
brought together
to right, wrongs
or just to hurt
they're there forever.

Somewhere.

Old recordings
on vinyl
or hand written on papers.
New recordings
still on vinyl
but more objected to haters.

To be

easily accessed
and heard by everyone
fans or not,
torn to shreds
when criticised, a song
is unappreciated for what

amount of effort

the artist went through
to create something new
and original
just for you,
for your ears. To view,
to be a signal.

That originality

isn't dead
or dying
or even injured
but instead
living
to be heard

by millions around the world.
Paul Butters Jun 2015
It started when she said Hello
Over forty years ago.
She was the only one to do so I suppose.
My heart was twanged
And I wanted her so bad.
Still it pains me so today,
I couldn’t find the words to say.

All I got was unrequited-love sick blues.
I couldn’t eat a thing
For weeks on end.

At a party she sat alone,
Seemingly aloof,
‘Til someone else stepped in...

Hindsight says she didn’t like me anyway:
She criticised my teenage spots
And the way I danced.

I wasted so much time on her,
Spurning others for my senseless crush.
Giving up only when her long distance boyfriend appeared.

Since then I’ve always guarded
Against getting emotionally involved
Before being socially involved.

It has been said that I’m aloof,
Staying on the fringe,
Avoiding commitment.

You have to take that risk
They say,
There is no other way.

I’ve seen the pain that “Love” can bring,
Romantic songs I will not sing.
I’d rather stay here on the shelf,
Peacefully living with myself.

Paul Butters
A rare exploration of my personal feelings.
Sasha Ranganath Sep 2015
Apparently we belong to
The "minority"
Some kind of "riotry".
Because we love someone of the same gender
Or perhaps we're not cisgender.
Suddenly loving is a crime
Harmless expression of what's within- is the biggest blunder there ever could be.
Heart's content is criticised.

They brand us names,
FREAKS! DISGRACE! OUTLAWS!
Make mockery out of innocence
Demean our mere existence.
They want "normal"?
Then maybe it's themselves who are the problem.
They want us to hide and blend in,
Go back into this "closet" we "came out" of?
(Ha, good luck with that)

They think we're alone
But we are not.
There's one love 
In all our hearts,
Beating together
Creating art.
We show the world
Consented love needs no apology
Expression needs no **** apology!

So much cruelty
So much hate.
But, you know what?
We can't back down
And be another statistical figure.

Take pride in loving each other
Take pride in being true to yourself.
Pay no heed to those who say otherwise,
Take a stand, you glorious beast.
All in all, we come in peace.
Alan Maguire Feb 2013
The longest word in the English language
Is also the shortest, stupidest and most solid word.
it was Invented in 1500 and something by a young William Shakespeare
He actually discovered  it on the back of a packet of chewin' tobacco.
Somewhere amidst the indigenous ingredients

So , the ****** actually plagiarized
the world's most funkiest,
fearsome word

Claimed it as his own work
Copyrighted it
And made a **** load of money
Made a truck load too
Yes I know, trucks didn't exist in his Era

But ****** did
Male ones
Ugly, uneducated, unnerving ones
Ones from the back alleys of nowhere
who dressed as ladies then as guys
But their disguise was hideously, horrible
I mean, 'ideously  'orrible
No "H's " for those fine, fortunate, fellows
And I will be criticised for my use of the english language
But, that language is a mongrel
A mangy, malnourished mutt, named Fritz
total nonsense that may be true
judy smith Mar 2017
In one shot, the actress posed in a barely-there Burberry cape, revealing quite a lot of her *******, and it is this picture which has been criticised. Broadcaster Julia Hartley-Brewer condemned Watson for her hypocrisy in campaigning against page three while then bearing all in a ‘posh magazine’, while also suggesting that she wouldn’t be taken seriously for the move.

Watson, however, defended herself, stating that she was ‘stunned’ by the controversy, and didn’t see what her ‘**** have to do with it’. Indeed, many have backed the actress up, arguing ****** and fashion have nothing to do with feminism. And yet, in society at the moment, it does seem that way.

Women across the globe struggle to be taken seriously unless dressed in a certain way. Even our own Prime Minister is fodder for tabloid’s style sections; focusing more on her shoes than her politics. This certainly wasn’t the case for her predecessor David Cameron.

Similarly, professional women are only taken seriously when conforming to the predetermined white male power ideal. Suits, straight and sleek hair, minimal makeup (that is still flattering to a feminine ideal) is encouraged, and leaves very little room for women of colour, gender nonconforming people, and others.

This double standard between genders is evident not only in professional spheres, but in everyday life. Women who choose to wear the hijab, for example, are sometimes demonised and are branded as oppressed, with those expressing such an opinion often having no factual knowledge of the context behind the garment. Surely a woman’s choice of how they present themselves to the world is their business and their business alone. As Watson argued, ‘feminism is…about freedom, it’s about liberation, it’s about equality’.

Fashion and style is an incredibly powerful tool which one can use to express oneself and its value most definitely shouldn’t be discounted within feminism. Denouncing stereotypes of style and outdated ideals of beauty can empower some, and allows people to embrace their uniqueness and difference. Others, however, may be empowered by embracing typically gendered style, or what may be branded as ‘conservative’ fashion.

The importance here, though, is not what they are wearing but that what they are wearing is a consequence of them exercising their choice, and how it allows them to express their personal beliefs and message.

Watson’s choice to wear a revealing top is just as valid as her choice to wear a suit on any other day. A person’s style should not impact their validity or respectability. It is not for other people to say what may empower an individual. That choice is yours, and yours alone. Whether a woman chooses to pose for **** photo shoots, or cover herself from head to toe, it does not make either any less feminist nor any less of a role model.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Sadie K Sep 2013
The conversations on the post-its we share
Aren't
Lame.

They're just constant denials and
Occasional encouragements;
The exchange of unanswered questions because
For some reason,
I'm not comfortable answering
When everyone is staring.

It's almost as if
I'm going to write this
Secret essay full of love and concern and
A script expressing all I feel.
All the bottled up worry about you would be
Matched from thought to term,
Scribbled down onto that
Tiny piece of paper but

Who am I kidding?

I **** with words.
I **** with expression.
All I do all day long is
Sit behind this stupid screen at 3am in the morning
Typing down this hell of a poem (is it even one?)
And regretting everything I hadn't done
When I was still
Face to face
With you.

I should have sat down and
Thought a little longer and
Maybe my brain would come up with some
Wonderful solution or word of encouragement
Like the powerful ones you always give me.

I should have, at least,
Gone over if I needed your help instead of
You always coming over to my side
And then ending up getting criticised.

I should have given you a
Huge hug and asked
You
How you were feeling but
I'm just a fudging coward
And a fudging selfish creep so I

Sit there every morning and
Wallow in my own sadness,
Fighting a seemingly non-existent battle
And I neglect you again — ******!

I promised.
I promised I wouldn't do it again but
All I ever do is make you
Worry and worry and worry and
I don't seem to be there, ever.
When it's time for me to help you

I DO FUDGING NOTHING.

.

.

.


The conversations on the post-its
Aren't
Lame.

They're just little bits of hope that
Maybe one day, the replies would both be honest ones,
And even if it says "No, I'm not fine" and
The other one says "You want to talk about it?"
It's a glimpse of hope.
And it'd be true hope for once,
Not just a mirage for disappointment.

It'd be the beginning of understanding,
It'd be the beginning of another beginning,
It'd be the beginning of starting over, you and me,
Closing up that gap

But most importantly,
It'd be the beginning of
A New kind of Happiness
Jayantee Khare Dec 2018
what keeps one from taking the first move?
not one's ego,
it's the fear of getting disappointed afterwards...

what keeps one from certain people?
not the fear of being judged,
it's the fear of being criticised afterwards........

what keeps one from togetherness?
not the fear of being used,
it's the fear of being misused and thrown afterwards...

what keeps one from love?
not the fear of getting the love faded,
it's the fear of being unloved afterwards...

actually the biggest fear is not "the present",
it is the fear of "the afterwards"....
can we live in the moments? and fear afterwards?
Pondering upon the fear or reluctance in few people
nja Jan 2019
He tasted dry,
When licked with sour spit.
His scent was foul.
Broad hands rejected
Curling feet.
Met by scowling eyes,
He criticised me with love.
Julian Delia Sep 2018
Frozen in place I stood,
A deer caught in a hunter’s crosshair.
I never thought you would,
But you did; you killed me, right there.

I am angry at myself, most of all;
For staying when I should have left,
For not dodging the bullet and taking the fall.
Twice now, I found myself broken;
Carelessly adrift in life,
Like a raft on the ocean.
Too much pain this chest,
These monsters in my head
Feel like an obstacle I cannot best.

I don’t just want to be loved;
I want us all to love and understand one another.
‘It’s not possible, we’re too different,’
Those who wish to rebuttal will answer.
No, that is the distant path you chose,
I choose to keep my humanity close.

And yet, I cannot stop the terrifying flashbacks.
You made me feel like a train veering off its tracks.
Like a bridge that leads to a precipice,
Nothing but a cold, dark abyss.
Meet the millennials -
The most criticised generation,
Suffering from emotional stagnation,
Raised on a steady diet of instant gratification.

‘What do you want, then?’
I want us to feel the soil with our bare feet.
To associate freely with others we meet,
Not bow down to the pretension of the elite.
To embrace our soul,
Not shun it and drive it into a locked room;
To retrace our role,
Not simply run our life’s course to its doom.

We are being led astray,
Our hopes and dreams hidden away.
We have no room for thought, little to say,
For few want to go out of their way.
No criticism, no originality -
No witticism, no vitality.
We are criticised for criticising,
And we are ostracised when we act defying.

We are the paralysed;
Our fears leave us immobilised,
Anxiety and depression,
Killing variety of expression.
We languish in prisons
That we build for ourselves in our own head;
We have nightmarish visions,
Like a guild of the living dead.
A re-write of another failed poetryfoundation submission, because **** those guys.

— The End —