Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I'm too shy
to say my thoughts.
I'm too shy
to speak up.

I'm too isolated
to make many friends.
I'm too isolated
to defend.

When you find me some paper,
or a gentle screen,
I'll speak up,
and I will say what I please.

I will rant,
I will rage.
I will create a war,
though it doesn't seem me.

The thoughts in my head,
kept quiet until now.
I have found some paper
to make my crown.

Don't put me in public,
don't put me on stage.
I will only blush
and stammer away.

I am an introvert,
so quiet, you see.
But I am the loudest
of the three.
Extroverts are loud.
Introverts are silent.
Ambeverts are both
where the three are seen.
Aaron Bee Sep 2014
Mocking me, I
Stare with complete
Rage.
Quiet still.
Faces diamond like
Frozen and sentient
Biting fingertips
And kissing ***
Cigarettes are your
Sighs
Teeth exposed for
Attitude.
Eyes frail, eyelashes
Extended to heaven.
Ecstasy is natural.
Reflection becomes the
Days puddles form on
Rainy days
Irritation
Paul Butters Sep 2014
Never be afraid to be quiet,
For you don’t have to be the loud Extrovert:
Putting on a life and soul of the party act,
While secretly sad inside.

Just be yourself.
Be cool and calm, and of course, collected
As they say.
Be happy with yourself,
At peace with all the world.

Esteem yourself and others will esteem you too.
Be cool,
For that is cool.

Just feel that tranquil lake,
Within your mind:
Rippling gently in the moonlight,
Stirred only by a sighing breeze.

Then bask in golden sunshine,
Reclining on the shimmering sand.
A thousand summers all in one.

Engage with people
And listen
To all they have to say.
Then when the time is right
Make known your point of view.

Until that time,
Stay quiet…

Paul Butters
Inspired by a piece I wrote as a teenager.
R Daniel Jun 2014
The lights are off. The dark shades me from the world. No one can see me. The light, does it exist? Do I exist? I wish to be invisible, but is it worth it? I want to be loved, to be liked, and most importantly to be missed. I cower under these covers and they are my fort. What I cannot see will not hurt me, but sadly, we do not need eyes to feel pain. We do not need a heart to feel pain. It is natural: a chaos that festers from birth and then kills us.
A chapter from my journal
Amour de Monet May 2014
Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?
Max Watt Jan 2014
Trapped in the anxiety
created by society.
It forged a mist and it won't let us go.

Feel the churning hollow pain
at the centre of your brain.
There's nothing really there,
and if there is, why care?

They'll ask you what the point is,
a question that still taunts us,
but the question makes no difference,
and the judgment has no existence.

Should we, or could we flee?
Will we ever be free?
We run, but it's always near.

The unshifting terror, strapping you down.
So am I crazy? I don't know. I don't know.

— The End —