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Himani Dhaka Apr 4
Eager emotions depart from their destination
For they have travelled all resisting
From heart to the eyes with caution
Then, tuple! Comes the first sound faintly

Tear shreds all around my eyes
And make me more alive
For, a teddy smiles with no lives
Tuple! Comes the sound from tear-hive

Tears come down kissing my red cheeks
Making me realize I care
Worries for me and mine leak
When tuple! Come the sound from eye glare

Tears cling to the cliffs of my face
Thought clings,” I feel more intensively
And express more intensively in every case
For tuple! Comes the sound intensively.

Last tear finally falls on the ground
Teaching emotions to have fluidity
If you stop—you drown
Then, tuple! Comes the last sound with serenity.
calypso Nov 2021
i am exhausted.

sometimes i say things that people never laugh at,
things that people never understand,
things that people never acknowledge.

i am not the person that people
are happy to hear from,
want to see often,
enjoy being with.

after awhile it gets old.
that feeling after i say something
that adds to the conversation,
and no one even acknowledges my presence.

the feeling of a large hand
gripping tightly on your throat.
the feeling from embarrassment,
that heats your body to a thousand degrees.
the feeling of your heart shattering
because no one even noticed you were there.

my eyes start to water,
my hands start to shake,
and then, i freeze.

not freeze, as in temperature,
but as in every fiber in my being
turning to nothing,
and my heart feels broken.

it gets hard to breathe in moments like that.
moments where i pretend to look like i am okay,
and pretend like i am not overly sensitive.
moments where i feel so unwanted,
that i pretend i am not myself.

i hate myself,
and i am exhausted of being me.
im okay. needed to brain dump.
Carl D'Souza Oct 2021
In an ideal
would every person
care for
their own feelings
and the feelings
of every person
in their society?
M R White Sep 2021
She knows of the sensitivity that riddles me.
Even the quickest of her words I catch, and they leave my hands red.
Why mother?
Why do you spit venom at me, and weigh me down with cruelty?
You know how I nourish my sensitivity.
You know I will eat up and gnaw angrily on your words.
I try to pick out what I do not want to hear,
But I hear them anyway. You know my ears are always open.
You know I take everything to heart, why do you take advantage of that?
Why father?
Why pick a woman so bitter and cruel?
Do you not want me to be loved?
I have a wound in my chest.
And I try to fill it with her love, but she offers me none.
Where can I lay down all this guilt my mothers give me?
My Dear Poet Aug 2021
She slept upon my AirPods
she felt every song
Raven Mar 2021
My eyes are forever ruined. I see too much, and what I see melts every gold and silver I have embedded in me.
I seem to know too much, but never too much to expand beyond limitations.
Limitations of what the mind can see.
I suffer, a heart of pure diamond, moulded into what others have made me.

I see intentions, crowds of people, lies, pain, truth...
But this gift means nothing to me anymore.
The healing I carry with myself.
I am not heard and listened to.
I feel misunderstood.

What can you do when you have it all?
But something is missing...
I’m smart, intelligent and driven.
Back at school as an adult to complete something important to push myself for further opportunities.
I push myself too hard and suffer defeat when I face failure.

Failure is my only fear.
It’s scary... knowing that without self discipline, where am I to be?

Please stop loving me, I am too sensitive.
Evil, personified.
I am torn, disappointed, disgusted...

Love serves me no purpose anymore.
Buried so deep inside of me is longing and confusion.
Wanting what I can no longer have.
I push away those who do

Too picky?
Too cold, detached from it all.

I want you, only you.
I still think about you.

But I may be wrong, for I have wronged myself into thinking that I will ever see you again.


Broken imagery....
I was so wrong
Darling clairvoyant, please stop ruining me
Cae Feb 2021
are something that I have learned to hide.
Seen as a weakness to my parents, seen as too sensitive.
Grow up, you aren't a baby anymore.
Stop crying, you have everything.

Bottled up inside me I learned to control them.
I learned to ignore them
every time they threatened to burst.
Tears are a luxury we all take for granted.

I've grown to accept this part of me,
grown to accept that tears aren't the enemy.
A part of me will always whisper to myself,
grow up, stop being a baby.

But in the end, we all shed some tears.
Kennedy Dec 2020
you stopped caring,
its almost like my crying
is your favorite sound.
and i know, i know,
i took it the wrong way,
you didn't mean it like that.
i'm not the best person,
i cry, a lot.
i'm sensitive, but i also
have a major attitude, always.
i look at myself in the mirror,
for way too long.
i like to pick apart every flaw,
and stare at anything remotely beautiful
until i begin to see it as disgusting.
i don't like back massages.
i think they're awful,
because i can feel your disgust.
and you don't need to voice it, either.
i can feel it.
i am completely aware that when i lie,
my body flattens
and the skin doesn't have space to spread.
you see, my skin, is too large.
sometimes i can pretend that it's not.
back massages are not one of those times.
she's so much thinner, it makes sense.
choose her.
Nilia Loh Dec 2020
Raised voices like an echo through a horn,
makes my ears get pierced with thorns.
little humans that shriek all the time,
gives me shivers down my spine.
All the cars that sound their horns,
chased away my peace until is gone.
All the sounds that i could hear,
makes me feel like death is near.
My heart seems to race endlessly,
chased by fear relentlessly.
a poem regarding something that i have been experiencing for a long time now
J Dec 2020
I can just simply tell you how tired I am
but it's something that's been done before
over and over
so I will describe it.
arms are loose, hanging down in defeat at my sides, knuckles dragging against the ground, hair unwashed for yet another day because I just can't get myself to stand and walk into the bathroom, much less turn on the shower, much less let myself stand under the droplets.
I'm screaming, eager to be normal, to stop feeling like this, but nothing changes, ever. muscles in my face pull, then I'm smiling, and they smile back, and it falls.
the pain in my chest grows sharp, both in pain and in realization; I'm dying.
I reach for a star, and it stings in return. I drag my hand away, muttering apologies, and cradle the wound against my ribs, swallowing back my words.
walking is hard, sleeping is hard, moving is hard, breathing is hard.
I'm not going to get any better.
I long for that shower, but I'll stay in the mud. I'll roll in it, until the dirt sticks under my nails, painting them mocha. I'll have grass for hair, beetles for eyes, and a worm for a thin smile. I can't wash this away anymore.
I'm but a drumset playing in an empty room, falling out of tune, angrily bashing myself in until I'm nothing at all but unrecognizable pieces, floating away with a whisper.
I take a drag of the world, it corrodes my lungs, and yet I dare not cry out in pain, there's no room for that right now, I have to exhale.
but with the breath comes my guts, pooling out and piling onto the ground, wetly smacking against one another like slabs of meat, wriggling like snakes, hissing as if it were a spark doused in water.
I'm being emptied out, to make room for something else, perhaps the hit will create a new little ecosystem, maybe they'll create serotonin enough to fill me.
I'll rot, and the maggots will dance across my flesh, digging until they find something worthy to feast upon, spreading the flesh with their want, I'll be a part of something that lets creatures live, and then I'll one day become something worth loving, saving, caring for.
but for now, I'm nothing but a sensitive overdramatic piece of complete ****, sitting alone in their room with music no one gives a **** about on repeat, praying to the Gods and Goddesses their girlfriend calls them so they don't **** up their arm again. but there's no ringing, just the drum alone in the white room.
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