Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
At times I feel socially awkward
hiding away those eyes from contact
mumbling and stuttering
as though I were stumbling,
upon the words as I was discovering.

Please don’t think I don’t want to talk
when I rush out,
Please don’t think I don’t want to talk,
when I don’t open your messages.

I escape out of nervosity
I feel the fuzziness in my head
butterflies in my stomach
nervosity in my nerves
lack of air in my lungs
tremble in my muscles
and the gritting of my teeth on my nails
as it drains every ounce of energy out of me.

I hide behind shadows
so I don’t encounter any social interaction.

No matter how many times I plan
and play a conversation in my head
I shudder and fret in reality,
making myself look like an awkward mess.

I want to be friends
I want to say hi
but the words do not escape
for I feel tongue tied.

I feel conscience and dreadful
for being such an awkward mess
choking on words
unable to let them
escape my tongue.

I am thinking
more than I am speaking
I can have a conversation in my head
but somehow, I find it difficult in reality.

But then you reach out
and make the first move
It makes it easier;
only to find myself
being an embarrassment once again.

But you don’t judge
you play it cool
and remain patient
you still show an eager to talk
and maybe that was what I needed
to be comfortable and me.
Kyle Kulseth Apr 2017
Got 2 fingers for this night
2 bloodshot eyes on the town's small size.
I'll take this walk on shaky toes,
take 1 more bottle for the icy road.

3 years, 3 months and countless ghosts,
some angry friends, a long walk home.
     I stumble down Wyoming Street
   and ball 2 fists inside my coat.

I tripped while running in place,
bit my tongue and cut my nose up--
    ****** my pretty, spiteful face.
                   And I'm just
and slurring while I beg for pardons.
Forgive my weak and sour heart--
                  didn't mean it
when I said "Goodbye and **** this place."

I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
popping joints and twisting knees,
yellow eyes and dagger teeth;
full moon makes my lungs freeze.

When memories claim my mind,
can't see through greyscaled eyes.
Sorry to waste your time
          but I seem to have misplaced mine.

Hundred questions for myself.
Emptied 15, placed them on my shelf.
0 answers inside each 1.
Shapeshifter's sorry that I killed your fun.

3 years, 3 months. 1 long walk home.
I gambled with these dicey ghosts.
I spilled some drinks and said some things.
Grab my coat and hope you can forgive me.

I zipped my leaking lips up.
Bit my tongue -- I'd made no progress
     Hung my petty, spiteful face.
                  And I'm just
but could you forget my infractions?
                 didn't mean it
when I said, "Goodbye and **** this place."

I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
Claws bared and licking teeth.
So, please just don't mind me
as I walk out on unsure feet.

Sorry to waste your time,
but I seem to have misplaced mine.
I have delayed writing about you
Because I know that if I do
I will develop feelings for you.

Its not that feelings are that bad
Just that they can't be taken back,
And that thought drives me mad.

But as I sit here avoiding the write,
My true feelings have come into light
And I have found that what I want is for us to be right.

I feel like such a fool
Laughing this hard, smiling this hard, not keeping my cool,
My mask fades when we speak and so do my tools.

Strawberry blonde...
It makes me giddy how I am fond
Of that description, particularly when you respond.

In your presence, I don't manipulate,
I can only manage to speak straight,
My ego you sedate-
Take what I have to say with weight.
Cathryn, with the softest lips.
Kendra Wilson Nov 2015

Pale eyes,

Big thighs,

and flat hair

Chest that resembles waves

And skin like the dead leaves of the fall


Eyes like honey dew,

Artistic mountain-like figures your voice drew

You seem to be perfect, don't you?

With the way you batter your eyelids

and my lids, they cause hurricane winds

Rough draft copies of tragedies

My life a constant mixture of sin and sanity

You, you're trapped in vanity.

Am I a buffalo, with a targets on my sides?

You're bullet of jokes stings.

I bleed blood from my eyes

I wish I was the carcass now,

But the other half of me continues to go on now.

You seem to hate my posture

Hate the way my mouth cracks under all the pressure.


from when I need you to wipe the tears, my eyes

Is it when I'm alone and vulnerable you seem

to want to comfort me?

I wouldn't blame you to not want to be seen with

The **** of the joke.

I do not like the way your larynx

lashes out to me

Like whips to a *****

Leaving scars, the words

My skin, the page.

But it's ok.

I'll take the pain.

After all it's just a joke

It's only a game

Even though your self esteem won't be the same.

Relax, don't go insane.

That's one of the joys (the pain) of being the **** of the joke
Not my best.. I'm still growing.
Paramount Pawn Jun 2015
I know each one of us has a moment in our lives,
  a moment when we make regrets.
"Why the **** did I do that?"
"What was I thinking?"

And later we abuse ourselves with punishment good enough to repay for what happened.
for every single stupidity ive done in my life as a human
Autumn Whipple Jan 2015
is the expletive i share
i spew
in class
in a presentation
in a final
so that he laughs
so that he smiles
and so maybe the grader
will forget
that i maybe kinda
missed three
slides of my poem
but it doesn't matter because  
he smiled
so i can take
the laughter of the others
the murmurs after
there will be no embarrassment
i just won the gold
in the Olympics of life
or of today
take your pick
i really did say oh **** in the middle of a final today. and yes, everyone laughed. so other than the love lorn-ness of this poem( which is also true but wasn't the main objective of my cursing) wish me luck next time i mess up, because it will be just my luck and ill cuss next time in front of Grandma.
Dolores L Day May 2014
My body is unhappy because
I ate a packet of energy Goo before I took a nap.

My mind is unhappy because
because now I don't know what you think of me.

I'm never eating that **** during a non-sports season ever again...

Why did I say that?
Is this considered poetry? It's been a tough day.

— The End —