Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mori 2d
I was born with a voice
and still,
I can´t make a noise.

It is my fault
that I am still
rubbing salt
into the wound,
getting quieter
and quieter
with every day
that passes.

Which is why,
I am now lying
in my bed
at 12:23 AM
feeling the light of my laptop
burning through my eyes.

Being quiet;
leaves me
with so much
on my mind,
with things
left unspoken,
left unexpressed,
left unuttered
.

I am not mute
but I am
and that is
why
I write.

To confess
that I am
indeed
imperfect.

@hikikomorichan
Why am I so quiet?
You're a flower in the night
Where darkness persists
You're waiting there
For your chance to bloom

And god, it'll be so beautiful
If you're reading this, I love you. The views and reactions I get to my poetry on here help me so much more than any of you could know. We're strangers on the other side of our screens, but in poetry, we're friends and family.
Yonnick August Dec 2018
never did fancy crowds
nor did I understood
those people who
did it all
for attention.
more of the
introverted type
would be fitting
to describe my soul.
never what I seem...
people often think
he's to a fault
"inhospitable..."
it's just a reaction
I guess...
to my problem
with crowds.
In a room with
1
  2
3
or more,
watch as I
shiver,
feel the eyes,
create stories
become
a bottle
that has lost
it's cap
at the end of
a table
with an
unavoidable
touch
beginning to
t i p
       o
          v
             e
               r
as all anxieties
present themselves
on the

f   l   o   o   r

fascinating
I find
how some can be
surrounded by people
yet still
feel
so
unbothered.
Claudia Jimenez Nov 2018
An introverted saint

An introverted saint named after a saint
Who died for rebirth of faith
A ******* is very intuitive and alive
Like poem
But that’s not who you really are
You are running away from your past
Your pain you took risk to give rot to a friend’s innocent body without why

The way it glows how the light holds you in silence, taking care of you
Experience the energy of where all life began when you met a friend

And yet you keep it so close to you
So you don’t have to be afraid of who you are... you might lose your mind you refuses to take it factual. A ******* wants to spend the cell with who he is.

A ******* sees an angel for the first time is a friend when he told a friend is an angel without a *******’s feeling in unclearly to complete desirable to be aware
Know your purpose feel your birth
Hear at first faintly then distinctly is a friend’s a state of harmony
The sweet strains of our union
Our friendship heats up the cold universe,
And give your tired desperate heart you lost your introversive
Purified by our kisses, are eternally healed.
It’s destiny by the way it’s weird feeling
It is magic?

A ******* is a weak man that he is extremely hazy
the way narcissism made him lack.

Your brilliance
Your heart is very weak because of flattery
You are not afraid in the world you get hidden away from a friend’s sight as light that from your introversion compare with extrovert in experience
But you can’t cook to save your life for who you are, you are so desperately to erase in anything with good thing come in your timeline to move to make sure you are safely where your home is with you
To believe in something that’s all around us
But hidden from our sight
The gift of the faith that destiny is willing to create us to be purpose to meet in happenstance that who we are
Life can be kind and zealous

Because you are beautiful. —They move me.

An introverted saint
I wanted to let it go our past drunken mistake we did thing to us we didn’t realize we lost our souls and friendships and my trauma
Anya Oct 2018
My policy
is typically
*******
in a pony tail
easy
efficient
out of my eyes
But sometimes...
it gets monotonous
and tied
to my more
introverted me
academic me

I've tried braids
brings me back to elementary
school
Several people called me
cute
Certainly,
I embody a twelve year old

I tried a headband
not bad
yet,
the fluffy strands
continue
to get in the water fountain
when I'm drinking

Hair out?
The first one I tried
free
but messy
Everywhere
in my eyes
The me,
that will roll down a grassy hill
just cause

So, which one is it
or something...more?
Is it
just hair?
Is it
linked to my identity?
I dunno
But maybe I'll
find
out
...
What is it to you?
Anya Sep 2018
Today my friend told me
I was acting strange
I gave her the
excuse
of a sugar high
But really,
...
I was just being
myself
Seanathon Sep 2018
Reach into the nothingness
Like a warm breath slipping into the cold night
Hands outward, eyes open, upwards towards the sky

Embrace the silent subtle voice
Which hides behind the daily routines
But is no less mindfully alive

Cast images onto the fog itself
Until you've seen the many dreams which you've procured for yourself
In this cloudy life

Breathe with the forgetfulness of evey waking step  
As you amble through these miles set
With jawline firm and eyeline slight

Smile at the passing sight of another universe in tow
Which ambles by and out of view
As your inward story comes alive

And live not in line with every Crow on any high wire
But fly as if there were no tomorrow in your quiet sigh
Upwards and towards the sky
Expression, Intuition, Dreams, Escape, Imagination, Individualism.

That's what these are all about. Coming together to make this.

Towards the sky
He slid between the shadows,
of the walls in every room.
He hoped the sun wouldn't crawl his way,
as he cried for the moon.
He's learned to hide amongst the paint,
slipping in its depth.
Watching from the inside,
deceiving his own breath.
It was cold where he walked,
the night with wind so strong.
How could he know this smart escape,
when his heart was just so young?
Well you see, he never fit in,
this weird world of light.
So he fell away from the day,
and slipped from people's sight.
He saw into every person,
that thought they were alone.
They never knew he truly cared,
and from their heads he'd go.
Yet they felt this kinder relief,
when his shadow appeared towards theirs.
He would stand so brave and tall,
as he gave them all his air.
And one day he won't have enough,
He surely won't survive.
But he helped many others,
to make them feel alive-
This poem is about all the people that help others, but the others never realize. This poem is for all the introverts, including myself, who never really talk in public.
CA Smith May 2018
Ring the bell
A teller steps up to the counter
"How may I help you today?"
Well
You could calm my doubts
You could ease my worries
You could tell me why
I feel always in a hurry
You could explain,
Why I hate my own name
You could give me a mirror,
That shows me who I really am
Or......

If you could, please, just direct me to the isle with the discounted ham.
Another expirement in not hitting backspace while writing.
Next page