Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ellie danes Oct 2014
I've been so numb,
and nothing ever seems real.
My sister said it's the alcohol,
but I drink to feel.
I've been so numb,
and I'm ******* sick of it.
My sister said it's the drugs,
but I don't want to quit.
little rhymey thing ahahahah bye
Little Ghost Dec 2013
sometimes i feel like
sometimes i feel like i'm in a dream
but only sometimes
and it's foggy
it's hard to tell
maybe i'm awake and it's more clear than my usual dreams
but then
what if i'm dreaming
what if i'm not real
what if
is going on
and my brain goes in a million different directions
my handwriting is messy
so is my head, i guess
that's all
i guess
i don't know
my hands are just making words
this room is filled with a cloud
hey guys
my name is ally and i think
i may be dreaming
how about you
how are you
wrote this during a class today. i wrote a lot of poems today. also, i don't even know if this is considered poetry. whatever.
Tori Morrison Aug 2014
I live in many places:
Sometimes, in the weight between the top of my neck and the bottom edge of my skull,
or about 3 feet trailing behind my left ear;
a few times I've found myself in your right eye;
But, most of the time, I am hanging, suspended a breathe away from the skin that clothes the body that lives for me.
W Winchester Apr 2015
related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'

maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store

"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals

Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."

Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared

and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day

the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country

without so much as waving goodbye

Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers

it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"

and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make

it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had
i ugghhhh *******
Mikayla  Jun 2016
Mikayla Jun 2016
Waiting for your night stories,
instead, empty glasses dancing. 
Kahlo paints for me, surreal dreams.
Depleting frustration
A painful sensation
Without moderation
Eternal damnation
Emotional mutilation
Fear escalation
Self extermination
This kind of sums up my feelings during a panic attack.
Sjr1000 Apr 2015


Ideas of reference
Thought blocking
Internal stimuli
Thought broadcasting
every way
every day.

Mental disorders
poets extraordinary

The Paiute anthropologist
locked up on the
inpatient unit
with visions of the ancestors
dancing in his eyes
"See these folks
you have locked up,
In ancient days
from the desert hills
they came our way
delivered truths
in their special way.

"Once they had their say
On desert winds
they blew back
up to their hills
straight away. "
"Can you please
give me the keys.
I've said what
I had to say. "
Laura Matthew Nov 2011
Gravity is not my friend.
It forgets from time to time
To do its job and keep my two feet
Planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t seem to get around
Invisible stumbling blocks,
Tripping over my own two feet,
Knocking into things just by
Walking in a straight line.

Gravity is lazy,
Wanting only to do the bare minimum.
It makes my chest feel heavy when
I lay down but if I close my eyes
I feel my own untethered soul
Float up into the ceiling
And hide amongst the water pipes.

Sometimes, I think gravity gets scared
When I wish myself into something
Scattered brain and disconnected
Disassociation, depersonalization,
Derealization—these side effects on the bottle
They’re all taunting gravity
And gravity runs to hide,
Knocking me off balance and
Up the stairs and skinning my knees
And sometimes I don’t even know I’m bleeding

But sometimes gravity fights back
And my feet are stuck to the ground
My limbs can’t seem to move, my
Head feels like a hundred pounds
My body aches until I lay down
And sink into the carpet.

Sometimes I wonder if you feel it too
If gravity and you are on the odds as well
With all your liquid confidence
And substances to keep you happy
And your tales of falling down stairs—
You fall down, I fall up.
We bob together in a sea of regret
And change and past and
Present and future and lust
And hate but most of all love
Nursing our wounds through
Self medication until a very fed up gravity
Pushes us down, down down down.

Sometimes I think if gravity
Were a little more benevolent
We’d never have hit
These bumps in the road.
I could stay grounded,
Feet planted firmly.
You could stay buoyant
Far above the surface.

But no,
Gravity is a very fickle beast.
And as you’re leading me
Back to my room
For one last goodnight kiss
I trip

And float away.
vera  Jan 2018
vera Jan 2018
i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there.

my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful.

theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it  almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it.

i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.
- a talk with my therapist
I'm getting derealization twenty-four/seven;
Unreality has made alterations
unto my perception.

Donnie Darko awoke in bewildered displacement,
I too arose to this disconcerting amazement.
Found myself lying on green grass
at a golf course twisted by Alice In Wonderland.
Checkered tiles black-and-white
and pine trees swaying in the half-light
Familiar faces put me at ease, an acid blotter
got emptied.
Got dosed in my dreams. Got on my knees.
Was tripping in my sleep.
What would it mean for when I woke up?

This dream didn't stop.
I woke up but my mind did not.
Reality wasn't enough.
Disassociation followed me home.

I woke up
but kept dreaming. The walls felt soft
and the colors were peeling.
I have felt this before,
Felt the days double over;
My mind lucid,
Fatigued no more
Inception of an entheogen.
The world warps
And goes fuzzy around the edges
Like I am not real,
A place holder or chest piece.
My limbs do not move like they are mine,
As if they are foreign bodies attached to my trunk.
The floor is the only solace.
I melt into the stiff boards and rough carpet
Until the world tilts back and becomes
Whole again.
Alexa Coble Mar 2019
The world is my movie screen,
I’m constantly being reminded,
That I am only a spectator,
In this ****** up life.
My hands are not my hands,
Yet they’re right in front of me.
The thing is, I can never press pause.
I am always on the go.
It’s as if my mind is a separate deity,
Than my body.
I look in the mirror,
And see someone who I know
Is supposed to be me.
However, this fog that constantly
Fills my brain makes me feel as if I am
Walking on clouds, unaware of my steps.
I wish I could see the world in 1st person.
Instead of this bright, oversized world,
That pounds with every step I take.
I feel nothing which means I feel everything.
It’s just all in the inside, constantly building up,
Without notice.
It’s as if I am driving a rental car.
I know how to drive but the car is foreign to me.
The gears work, but they aren’t mine.

— The End —