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tread Jan 2013
ever had those moments
of artistic remorse
where you want to burn
your imagination?

I want to burn this poem
I want to burn my poems.

I'm no poet,
I'm a ******* narcissist,
I'm a ******* farce.

*******.
Anna2000 Oct 2013
First month, first seat change. we were on opposite sides, no interaction. I relish this, i am not a
BOLD or EXTROVERTED person
some might say I am shy or introverted
now that the time has come, I am not ready to change seats,
to take the chance of sitting closer, forced interaction,
I am nervous,
but am calmed with the thought that chances are, we'll be seated even farther apart,
I was wrong.
our elbows will brush, our knees will touch, our gazes will meet.
I hear the words coming out of the teachers mouth,
but  am stunned into silence ,
my whole being shaken,
our names are called,
our seats given.
To some, this may seem silly, immature, an overreaction.
For them, this may be true, in this situation calm, collected, thinking: this is no big deal.
But with dread curdling in your stomach as you snap to,
stumbling to your seat,
this is an earthquake shaking the earth, a volcano spitting ashes,
a panic attack waiting to happen.
and it pounces.
seated, trying not to squirm, to shake, to ****;
wondering what he's thinking, trying not to stare.
he thinks you don't see,
the glances he shoots the short foot between you,
thinks your engrossed in the teacher, the clock, the pencil
any thing but him.
But your any thing but engrossed, you see every shake, gaze,
fell every brush of the hand.
Finally, this long hour is over, the mixture of excitement and torture has come to an end.
As is to be expected, on your way still in has gaze, you trip, you stumble, your face cherry red;
embarrassed, but thankful,
that he doesn't have a class with an even more abundant chance of embarrassment.
over the day,
you forget the way he gazes,
his shy way
different from the others,
the way he's taller,
in a way that makes you feel safe, flushed, happy, even if their is no chance of him being yours.
But then lunch comes,
you sit down,
ready to devour food that can only fill your stomach, not your soul as much as you wish it would, or
could;
but looking across,
you spot him, watching you,
his gaze surpassing the walls of people, as much as a shy person wouldn't like,
is it coincidence that he found the one gap with a view of me?
is he staring at me?
what to do?
with all this questing running your mind,
your appetite flee's,
and so do I,
to my safe haven within the books.
tomorrow, the nervousness has subsided, its over, your over, its done.
but then, on the way to first period,
our paths cross,
glances exchanged,
blushes made.
You know that this is not over, not done,
the time has come for class to begin.
I've tried to forget, to overcome this nervousness, but I've been defeated,
ground to a fine powder of nerves by a crush.
our knees bounce in anticipation,
our pencils tap,
our feet twitch.
time to share the book,
the dreaded closeness.
Finally it happens,
the brush of the elbows.
we both feel it,
the sparks that glow blue,
the cheeks that grow red.
we have been given a gift, a chance,
to overcome shyness,
to create something wonderful.
but to take that chance, to accept this gift means time, courage.
and every day until then,
this tension will be relieved
and i will be a nervous wreck.
We started on opposite sides,
but fate pulled us together, forced a chance.
now we sit close, still tense, still wired,
but strangely happy,
exhilarated,
alive.
to this day, he still sits in the gap :)
Lily  Apr 2018
Overreaction
Lily Apr 2018
My mind keeps spinning,
My heart is breaking,
My thoughts are circling,
And I can’t seem to find any relief.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way,
That all the things that are happening to me
Are not that bad, and I shouldn’t worry.
Yet I do, and I can’t stop, and
I know that’s unhealthy,
But I have an overreacting tendency
That’s so natural.
My mind naturally runs in circles,
Like a computer program that is set
To only one function that cannot be
Overrun.
This overreaction is slowly killing me,
From the inside out.
I’m cold, I’m hot,
I’m hungry, I can’t stand to look at food,
I’m okay, and then I’m not.
I’m not okay.
Okay maybe I overreacted
I get that way when I feel isolated
Being out in the world all alone
Like before everyone had a phone
I didn't really mean what I said
I just get that way when I feel emotionally dead
I was feeling like no one understood me
It was breaking my heart internally
So naturally I lashed out at them with frustration
But now I know that was an overreaction.
So Josh(DaddyKiller), Holly and I made up and we're back to being friends. I was just having a whirlwind of mood swings in one setting.
Shyanna Ashcraft Feb 2017
Heartbreak
Is not an overreaction
Is not a figment of imagination
of the ones who feel too much

Heartbreak
Is not simply a word
for the ones who have loss.
Is not simple at all.

Heartbreak
Is ripping
Is the tearing
of one's heart into miniscule pieces.

Heartbreak
Is the breath
that both catches in your throat
and completely leaves your body.

Heartbreak
Is the physical reaction
in which your heart stops beating
and your lungs stop working.

Heartbreak
Is when your smile stops working
but you use it to cover up the tears anyway.
*Is when you picture your life without them in your day.
02-13-14
Jordan Rowan May 2016
I barely know a lie when I say it out loud
Like a simple "I'm feeling fine" as I'm freaking out
Have you seen the faces climbing up the walls?
I'm so tired
I'm ******* wired
Control me a little because I've got none at all

I fell in love but I was too anxious for my own good
Sometimes it's rough always being misunderstood
Like the feeling I get when I look to the west
And all I see
Is them leaving me
But everyone tells me that it's for the best

I boarded up the windows expecting a storm
But I heard the wind blows only when it's warm
I'm feeling a little crazy, maybe a little overreaction
Insecurity
Will be the death of me
Just please don't look at me while laughing

Some say that you're always stronger than you think
But I don't feel too strong as I take another drink
Then it hits me that I'm the only one who knows
Who I am
And that I can,
Create a world with my hands
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
You're a walking overreaction
When something doesn't go your way
You think it's everlasting
And when the heart inside your cold chest
Doesn't get a response
You blame it on unhappiness

I think it's over, all of those complaints
But when they start again
I wonder if you ever learned restraint
Sometimes it's easy
But most of the time
I can barely stand you speaking

You're still a child
Somewhere, out there
There must someone who likes your style
I'll bet they're crazy
It doesn't matter how hard you try
It ain't me

Can you believe it?
Somebody near you
Doesn't like it when you talk ****
Maybe you should try this
When a thought comes in your head
Don't just say it, maybe filter it
Anjana Rao Nov 2014
How do you begin
to talk about trust,
when every thought
that swirls around in your brain
has additional questions
attached to it:
                         is it real?
                         is it made up?
                         is it rational?
                         is it an overreaction?
                         is it temporary?
                         is it permanent?
Tangled root systems
of the same questions,
for every thought.

And I haven’t even
started on
Feelings,
[that’s a different poem
altogether].
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when, for starters,
you can’t trust yourself.

Grow up,
with silence
and
shrugged shoulders
and
the helpless statements of:
I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know,
in response
to all your scientific parents’ questions –
questions peppered with
“logical”
and
“rational”
and
“you understand where we’re coming from
…right?”

and
eventually,
every time you think or feel anything at all
and have no explanation,
you’re left with one question:
                                                        how can you not know?
                                                        how can you not know?
                                                        how can you not know?
-
Say a word enough times
and it starts to lose its meaning:

trust
trust
trust
trust

Is it even a word,
or just a lucky combination of letters?
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when you’ve been let down
not once, not twice, not three times…

well, what’s the point of trying to recall,
when you’ve lost count of the times.

It would be one thing,
if you knew
why you’ve been abandoned,
or why people hurt you,
or why everything gets to you so often,
                                                                       [is it you or is it them,
                                                                        is it you or is it them,
                                                                        is it you or is it them?]
but it’s the not knowing
that makes you realize
that people as a whole
are:

Unpredictable,
Unreliable,
Untrustworthy.

You’re not usually too angry about it,
this is just Reality.
-
This is just Reality, but
it’s the not knowing
that kills you,
closes up your heart
in a certain kind of way
after a while.

Oh,
you’ll talk to people,
if you must,
say whatever seem to be the right things,
be the listening ear they need,
if that’s what’s required of you,
be good, understanding, kind, empathetic,
to the best of your ability,
but you won’t Rely on them,
won’t accept statements of
I can help.
That’s a different story.
-
If you can’t trust
People.
[Forget about your family, the ones who supposedly love you,
with their helpful advice of “get a job, be useful, it’ll make you feel better.”
Forget about the docs and therapists, the ones who supposedly make it better,
with pills or overpriced talking sessions.
Forget friends, the ones who supposedly are your support system,
with “I’m here for you” and “I can help” that lead nowhere.]
then what you are left with
is trusting yourself
out of necessity.

And you’re back to where you started.
Today my therapist asked me to write about trust and I hate writing prompts but I can write poetry and I can write about my trust issues for pages upon pages so this is what I came up with, and I figured I might as well post it here since this is basically my sad poetry site.
Mistakes have names we hope to never speak:
Anger, lust, jealousy, selfishness, rage.
Mistakes are words we bestow on the weak,
Or the young, as we get better with age.

Mistakes are pseudonyms for impatience:
Insecurity, coldness, raised voices.
Mistakes describe us when we don’t make sense,
Or too immature, to grasp our choices.

Mistakes are identities we mistrust:
Ego, narcissism, self-loathing, shame.
Mistakes we avoid and avoid them we must,
Or we thought, we must forgive all the same.

Mistakes may come from dissatisfaction,
Or frequently just, overreaction.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Megan Grace  Aug 2012
More
Megan Grace Aug 2012
Love may be a four letter word but
today it sounds more like
your breath when we're close.
Today it looks more like
your hands endlessly moving
and fiddling with things.
Today it feels more like
your arms around me in the middle of June.
Today love is an overreaction
but I like it.
Today love is said more like
"You should stay here with me."
or "Do you want the rest of my drink?"
Today love smells more like
wet grass and guitar reverb
and air conditioned cars.
Today my head is more like
"I don't even know you."
but my heart is more like
"Who the hell cares?"
Today love is more like
you.

— The End —