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Faeryn Nov 2020
Bolts go with screwdrivers
Wrenches install nails
and life keeps going.

Sadness goes with anger
Empty thoughts will never fill
and life keeps going.
my brain is only a disorganized toolbox trying to organize itself
Sophie Kim Nov 2018
breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as my stomach would growl in my nutritions class
and i learned to inhale sharply to somehow combat the noise
the noise of my stomach screaming to the world in that backstabbing way
that i am not eating breakfast
nor did i eat much of dinner
nor will i want to be able to stomach anything for lunch

“i’m completely normal”
my eating habits aren’t rapidly fluctuating
i’m not sleeping during completely random times of the day
trying to sleep off my body’s hunger
like i can sleep off frustration
(nutrients are a constant need
they don’t just stop being things you need
because you just don’t want anything
in your body anymore)

you used to want so much

what’s so baffling is that sometimes
hunger can feel like the muffled conversation
riddled with worry
hunger is the knocking on the door
telling you that it wants to come in
and you don’t want it to
but for a reason you know makes no sense
but it makes perfect sense in the moment

when your brain shakes hands with itself
and tells you that eating is for when the work is done
when the reward is deserved
that a need is a want
and needs are intangible things that keep you socially alive
rather than actually
and then you ask yourself
if you, wanting to feel alive
is the problem

when i don’t eat
i am empty
i don’t make ****** functions
because my body cannot function
and when i function,
my body is empty
and to keep my body empty
i do not eat

there is no beauty in feeling hollow

breakfast is the most important meal of the day
which is something i would laugh off
as i could barely stand up in a hot shower
as i could barely utter a conscious word
without overworking my brain
my brain that shakes hands with itself
to communicate with itself
that i do not deserve to eat food
i do not deserve to feel alive

i want eating
to feel normal
i want to put
priority on food
but i cannot bear
to feel present
but i cannot bear
to be present
when i do not
feel present
because i am
not present
i am not
sarah Mar 2018
random compulsions i cannot control,
my mind spinning out of control
trying to chase these thoughts away.

worry, worry, worry,
filling my brain,
hammering away,
consuming all my

stereotypes do not apply to me,
messy head, messy room;
my disorganized thoughts
match my disorganized clothes

small things matter too much,
like floor tiles and off centered screens,
pushing their way into my
worrisome brain
and not going away 'till
they're fixed.
nichole r Jun 2014
half scribbled thoughts
written with darkness
cover sheets and sheets of paper
and litter the floor
of my already disorganized mind.
nichole r Jun 2014
my mind is a mess
of spilled ink and fluttering pages
of nameless faces and faceless names
of pink sunsets and choking waves
of dying grips with icy flesh
if spreading smiles with no conviction
of e v e r y t h i n g .
and it is too much to handle.
Roberta Day May 2014
I used to think there was something
I dunno, attractive
about disorganization—
a scattered mind, having too many thoughts
to say at once, unable to focus on just
one thing because their attention is caught
by so many things they consider interesting
or insightful—I found it quirky, intriguing; a mystery
to be explored, a mind in need of dissecting
But it’s really more of a burden than
anything endearing, because it’s frustrating
to never feel like your words are correct
or your own, like you ripped them from a book
or only spit them for this poem
it’s disheartening to never be taken seriously
because of how frantically you lose track
of your subject and yourself
It’s shameful to be invaded because of this quirk,
but only for a short time
because the baggage is too heavy
and everybody’s hands are too full
Lucy Marie May 2014
Missing you is the emotional equivalent of an anxiety attack

I wake up         expecting to see   your face,
                or hear your                            breathing.
I get out of        my bed  h o p i n g     to   find you in my k i t c h e n
or    on my                  couch.
I         steep my         morning     tea
for   five         minutes
because                the tea was intended for  y o u .
Who      else would   drink the       microwaved-till-boiling          tea with           such   joy?

I get   dressed for      my day
wearing   matching socks        because that’s    how you like it -
they     never stay   that   way     though -
paying          special attention         to the     bruises you’ve left on my   c h e s t
          You tell me t ha t they say      “I ’ m   y o u r s”
I think       they say  “ Y o u ’ r e   a l l    I   w a n t,
Y o u ' re   a l l    I  w i l l    ever  n e e d."

I often     sit on          my bed,
       staring  o f f    into s  p  a  c  e,
thinking of your      breath   on my          neck
and        the   u n steady      t h u m p        of your   h ea rtb ea t   in       my    ear

Your        s  m  i  l  e     is the      north star      in the     dark skies of my             brain
and      it is             all of the     guidance I    n e e d.

Longing              for your     a t t e n t i o n      and your   com pa ny seems to have      become a daily      activity.
This was written a few days ago.
I've always struggled with anxiety and depression, maong other things, and I've been able to manage it for the most part. But these last couple of weeks, it's been seemingly impossible. I wrote this while I was in the midst of all of that and I was trying my hardest to force my brain into some kind of structured focus. My brain nearly refused but I was able to stay in one frame of mind long enough to complete this; hence the entirely unorganized structure (or lack of?) in this poem.
I'm happy enough with it to give it to my girlfriend for our anniversary coming up in a couple of days.
It's not my best, but I am pretty proud of it.

— The End —