When does your spaghetti and meatballs become much?
The single thing I hold most dear,
The art I mastered, crystal clear,
The greatest lesson learned in life:
To carve my soul with daily strife,
To watch the bitter waters rise,
And hate myself behind these eyes—
Each morning waking, deep and true,
To hate myself a little more than you.
It started small, a nervous plea:
Don’t embarrass me. Don’t shame me.
Keep your voice down, hide your face,
Take up less and less of space.
Then in the crowd, among the rest,
Where heavy judgments intertest,
You served the words like bitter bread:
Too much spaghetti—and I bled.
Too much of everything I am,
Trapped inside your silent dam.
You spoke the phrases, carved the mold,
While I stood listening in the cold,
And forged the chains, and locked the gate,
And fed you every ounce of hate.
Not just for what you chose to say,
Or how you tore my worth away—
The deepest shame I bear, you see,
Is that I let you do it to me.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: September 26th, 2026 15:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
hello, Friendship,
This is a very fine poem in structure, content, flow and poetic devices. This form of bulling where the victim feels guilty to the point of hiding herself from the world, is cruel, damnable and much too common. You have expressed this aweful subject with insight and honesty. The last two lines gives a sense of realisation and perhaps escape, hope even. Excellent.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Thank you
A sad write of self deprecation from another's harm. Well written in rhyme and good flow.
Friendship, as a vegetarian you almost lost me at the meatballs. 😂 But damn...this went somewhere much darker than the title had me expecting. A painfully sad poem I really relate to, meatballs aside. Excellent job, my dear friend. Sending you hugs 🤗 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you
Very interesting dear Friendship!
Thank you
Welcome
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