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Tell me not to speak
But I never seem to listen,
I make the same mistakes and the same mistakes, I guess hoping I am forgiven.

I should have been quiet,
I should have obeyed what I always remember,
That I should keep it to myself and pretend everything’s hidden.

Imagine myself losing my mind,
I think half the feelings are real,
But not to breaking point:
(Even if I want to) I’m not screaming at the walls,
I’m not crying all day,
I’m not trying to get through to them whilst acting insane.

Multiple times I’ve told myself,
To pretend I never think of this,
Maybe they’ll forget, think you’ve slipped out of it.
I was never someone who didn’t express,
But now it’s always failing;
Few things I need and am not getting.
Fear of them, I fear them,
No not men, just the idea of them,
Actually no, the idea I quite like;
It’s the non-real reality that scares me,
Terrorises me just a little if I stop to think.
No it’s not men, it’s just people.
Maybe it’s all just my social anxiety,
Talking to me again in a slightly different way,
I mean, I know anxiety can change but it doesn’t, not for me:
I know me,
I just don’t know what I’m scared of really.

I can’t believe I dare to write this,
Go away Chloe, just shut yourself up inside again,
Then you won’t have to think about anyone.
Well that’s a lie, I think about people all of the time;
The people I could have, the people I won’t, people I wish existed but I sadly know never will
(I convince myself they will anyway),
And when they’re not real, I’m not afraid -
Because I’m not afraid,
I started this all up as a game.
Did someone ever tell you, you should never read lists of phobias you know you don’t have?
Well I’m telling you, don’t. You might get some.

But do you ever daydream of your perfect soul mate?
Because then I think of guys, like: real guys that actually do exist
And then I’m just like no, no I’ll stay away,
Not today, not tomorrow, I’m not ready.
Then I realise I’ll never be ready.
I’ve noted the slow progression of “could you really be scared of that Chloe? Sounds pretty stupid.”
So I’m like no, no I can’t be,
And then I get these little feelings sometimes,
Which makes me kind of go, “really are you?”
But I’m not because:
That wouldn’t make sense
People who know nothing on the internet say that’s sexist without knowing what they mean.
If someone actually had a phobia of the opposite *** or gender it wouldn’t be their fault, because it’s a ****** phobia.

I don’t have phobias though, not one.
Maybe social anxiety, maybe another one, maybe I’m getting one more,
But really I must just be exaggerating.
I know it’s not a phobia - that’s not what I’m claiming,
But when I imagine having a reality where...
Well it just kind of scares me.
Please can no one take this the wrong way? XD This actually explains less in depth than I thought it would but I think I’m okay with that.
crybaby Dec 2019
Too tired to get out of bed
The bathroom is too far
Let me lay
Let me day dream
Let me sleep
Concentration at lowest bar
Untouched pile of work
Looser fit in my jeans
Thoughts consume my head
Get me out of this scene
evelin avely Nov 2019
I call my name, I plead
in quiet desperation, I try to stay afloat,
I let my mind strike an arrow in a danger zone of imagination:
the waves as cover to my fear,
and then I squeeze my pain like a nettle in my palm
and breathe for just a fleeting moment.

I see it clearly: my first ride without side wheels,
the spring has yet to settle its’ warmer palms into April’s edges.
My parents’ cheerful encouragement is bright, and my bruised knees don’t hurt as bleeding
is not the only pain I’ve learnt to feel by now.

I see my heart be gently broken and I break someone else’s heart —
I hate myself for that,
I hate myself,
I’m back,
I’m back to drowning.
The rapid flow of sorrow is fitting between my ribs like a habit I hoped I buried before.

I call my name again.
My entire body is shivering in a steamed bathroom, I hold onto the cold of sink
and I’m sinking again,
the ringing in my ears gets quieter —
I feel it.
Feel the tickling dark to move from the back of my head towards my temples,
it puts its palm on my weakest shoulder —
the one I keep for all my loved ones to lean on.

I never let myself to weep,
although my face is hot and wet from streams of anguish I cannot keep inside.

I picture my younger self in the greatest pain on a hallway floor while nurse
hesitates and joins in lulling —
she calls my name, she pleads.

I’m picturing myself with my head and bloodstream full of meds be let outside to only snap again
and act as my worst enemy once more:
my wrists and arms are witnesses to that.

My wild violence towards myself
is what will feed the fear and self-destructive thoughts I act upon.
I’m bored and that’s my sadness’ strongest drug.
being in recovery i rarely get such intense depressive episodes, however experiencing them is still not easy
I am sick of all this fantasy,
The interrupting memories
And the pain that screams inside the walls of me
In a prison kept there for risk of my insanity.
And where can I scream it all out
Without it coming back to me,
Lurking around to smother me inside it’s mocking misery?
You can tell I couldn’t think of a title.
Anastasia Jun 2019
i think
im kinda sad.
they called it
i think
its kinda complicated.
the simplicity.
it's just sadness.
but it's not.
Where are you?
You’re not coming are you?

It’s okay,
I always knew you wouldn’t.
It’s just, there’s this stupid,
Part of me that likes to fantasise.
She knows you’re no good for her really,
But she imagines it’s all make-believe,
She captures her wildest, strangest dreams
And forges them into some kind of reality.

It’s sick though,
Because that little girl;
You can do anything to her
(Anything at all),
And guess what?
She’ll always forgive you.
She has it stuck in her head,
That she always needs to try again:
It’s as if she owes them all,
Even though she’s the one who took the fall.

I don’t know why she’s still here though,
She doesn’t want you anyway.
She could find herself someone much better to love,
Someone who’s worthy and won’t leave her
Before they had the chance to stay.
Then again,
That’s also just another twisted hopeful dream.
Grace Conde Jan 2019
Tenebrous days in which it feels as though you will never be happy again; nothing is wrong, but nothing is right. You spend all day switching between uncontrollable crying and complete and utter emotional numbness, feeling stuck in time, as though everything is moving in slow motion. For you are trapped underwater, and all of your energy is put into just keeping your head afloat above the murky water.

Black ink running though your veins, coughing for air, you fear the darkness inside you is contagious. Slowly sinking, ears ringing, muscles aching, bloodshot eyes, your head throbbing every time you blink.

You watch the light dance across the room as the days fade into dusk, closing your eyes, and letting the shadows cover you like a blanket. And you beg, you plead, you pray, that the next breath you take will be your last.
y'ay'a Oct 2018
i don't even want to die
but my mind
will tell me otherwise
my mind will say
"ask to use the bathroom
then jump from the stairs"
"make yourself a sandwich
and use the knife to cut yourself open"
"use hangers for your clothing
and the belt for yourself"
and it's not like i never tried
to fix this mind of mine
but my oh my
how the days have passed me by
and i am tired
so the stairs look nice
and so does the knife
and i haven't quite felt
the warm embrace of a belt
around my neck
is it my time yet?
seasonal depression is in full swing this year lads
"I can't read you my poetry,"
I say completely astonished:
"That's what confident people do,"
I hear myself say to an empty room.

("Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, the second one is looking for it")

Should I start to feel ashamed?
Because when people tell me I'm not confident now,
I want to scream that they're to blame,
And not for my so called "lack of self-confidence", only for their lies:
Because, I can be very confident sometimes,
I just probably won't tell you about it,
I don't want you to know,
If you thought I was so sure of myself, then that would make me low.

(I'm not speaking to myself though,
I'm simply conversing with people that you don't know are there,
And that's okay because,
I only do it noticeably when I'm alone.
They may not be real, but they exist to me,
Even more so than you and I.)

And yes, I know, that I have my moments;
I know what that feels like;
To question yourself and be convinced that
You're doing everything wrong,
I've had way too many times to recount to you,
But I also know, many occasions where I've secretly taken control back,
Where deep down, I know that I am kind of okay,
And I don't appreciate you questioning that,
Unless that's what I'm purposely trying to make you do.
-And maybe I'm slowly starting to ascertain, or wonder
That it's actually a bit manipulative,
And the fact I do it to make myself feel better
Is kind of messed up,
But honestly? It didn't seem like that when I did it,
I thought it was natural to be self-protective.
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