#disassociation - Hello Poetry

fighting the disassociation hands reaching out in fog to grab something real head empty, force thought to forefront, can't stop the feeling that I'm nobody at all

0

May 18

May 18, 2026 at 8:22 PM UTC

Lucida

Nobody

fighting the disassociation hands reaching out in fog to grab something real head empty, force thought to forefront, can't stop the feeling that I'm nobody at all

7

to live without living exist, without existing trying to find excuses for why you're exhausted trying to find reasons for why you're nauseous it feels like walking upsidedown into a room full of strangers you once knew yesterday or like eating fruit over the bathroom sink it's flavor disappearing as it hits your teeth a text message or two from a friend saying words you replied to an hour ago heavy fur purring on your back, empty as you lie with your arms around a pillow the clock reading 9pm, then 3 sitting by an empty pizza box on the table while eating Chinese takeout you never ordered but it doesn't hurt it doesn't even feel disappointing you watch the rain fall the rain dry, and the sun set then a week has passed all in a minute of staring at the windows while the bus rattles forward and you head waves back you know that your healthy you know you're trying your best but the rattling nothingness echos in a room full of noise anyway

0

Apr 10

Apr 10, 2026 at 1:44 AM UTC

maebalatte

you know you shouldn't

to live without living exist, without existing trying to find excuses for why you're exhausted trying to find reasons for why you're nauseous it feels like walking upsidedown into a room full of strangers you once knew yesterday or like eating fruit over the bathroom sink it's flavor disappearing as it hits your teeth a text message or two from a friend saying words you replied to an hour ago heavy fur purring on your back, empty as you lie with your arms around a pillow the clock reading 9pm, then 3 sitting by an empty pizza box on the table while eating Chinese takeout you never ordered but it doesn't hurt it doesn't even feel disappointing you watch the rain fall the rain dry, and the sun set then a week has passed all in a minute of staring at the windows while the bus rattles forward and you head waves back you know that your healthy you know you're trying your best but the rattling nothingness echos in a room full of noise anyway

30

in a world where i am so blessed why do i still feel empty? in a world where i should be so happy why am i so sad? in a world where i am so loved why do i still feel so lonely? what world do i belong to?

0

Mar 6

Mar 6, 2026 at 6:13 AM UTC

wild_sunfl0wer

i dont know who i am anymore

in a world where i am so blessed why do i still feel empty? in a world where i should be so happy why am i so sad? in a world where i am so loved why do i still feel so lonely? what world do i belong to?

7

I never let my mind wander for that is the darkest of places Why would I sit and ponder on my demon's faces Instead I pretend the darkness isn't there to keep myself afloat But of the evil I am aware It has its hands around my throat

0

Feb 5

Feb 5, 2026 at 1:58 AM UTC

LilGhostGirl

Choke

I never let my mind wander for that is the darkest of places Why would I sit and ponder on my demon's faces Instead I pretend the darkness isn't there to keep myself afloat But of the evil I am aware It has its hands around my throat

8

Guatemala I was young, Military Police with clean new boots And a chest full of hope and pride, Still thinking service was about salutes, Not shadows on the other side. They said, “Guatemala—it won’t be bad.” Jungle duty, heat and aid. We packed like boys chasing purpose, Not knowing what price would be paid. The border near El Salvador— Soldiers, hesitant tourists, turned. A mission blurred into ambush light, And suddenly, everything burned. The first shot cracked like thunder, Then chaos danced through every tree. My tripod unfolded before I could think, Like it already knew what I’d need to be. And there he was. Not a ghost. Not some faceless foe. A man, breathing, crouched in the brush— Too real, too human, too close. No flak vest on me. Just sweat and breath. And I saw him—thank God, I saw him— His eyes locked with mine In that final second between life and death. His collar had red-threaded logos, Symbols I’d never seen before. But they’re seared in me now, Just like the way he hit the jungle floor. I don’t remember pulling the trigger— Only the recoil and sound, And how silence came after, Like the jungle held its breath all around. I stared at his body like it might move, Like maybe I’d made some mistake. But war doesn’t offer rewinds Or give back the things it takes. Later, the others spoke in code: Rules of engagement, mission clear. But all I could see were his eyes, Still there in my mind, year after year. They never teach you How a single second can break a man— How you carry a stranger’s final breath Long after your tour ends and the years expand. I went there thinking I’d find meaning, Some noble fire in uniform thread. But in Guatemala, I met a man— And left with part of myself dead. © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

0

Apr 22, 2025

Apr 22, 2025 at 5:26 PM UTC

MNPikey

Guatemala

Guatemala I was young, Military Police with clean new boots And a chest full of hope and pride, Still thinking service was about salutes, Not shadows on the other side. They said, “Guatemala—it won’t be bad.” Jungle duty, heat and aid. We packed like boys chasing purpose, Not knowing what price would be paid. The border near El Salvador— Soldiers, hesitant tourists, turned. A mission blurred into ambush light, And suddenly, everything burned. The first shot cracked like thunder, Then chaos danced through every tree. My tripod unfolded before I could think, Like it already knew what I’d need to be. And there he was. Not a ghost. Not some faceless foe. A man, breathing, crouched in the brush— Too real, too human, too close. No flak vest on me. Just sweat and breath. And I saw him—thank God, I saw him— His eyes locked with mine In that final second between life and death. His collar had red-threaded logos, Symbols I’d never seen before. But they’re seared in me now, Just like the way he hit the jungle floor. I don’t remember pulling the trigger— Only the recoil and sound, And how silence came after, Like the jungle held its breath all around. I stared at his body like it might move, Like maybe I’d made some mistake. But war doesn’t offer rewinds Or give back the things it takes. Later, the others spoke in code: Rules of engagement, mission clear. But all I could see were his eyes, Still there in my mind, year after year. They never teach you How a single second can break a man— How you carry a stranger’s final breath Long after your tour ends and the years expand. I went there thinking I’d find meaning, Some noble fire in uniform thread. But in Guatemala, I met a man— And left with part of myself dead. © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

51

If I were the ghost - would you choose to be friendly? Maybe one day I'll wake up and be living If I break the parts like the puzzle pieces from the end to the start If I break the parts would you rebuild them? There's times when I lose the image If I severed the ropes like the ones holding boats from over the edge of this ship If I severed the ropes which way would you jump? Sometimes I run from myself instead If I asked a question like the few I've asked before many metaphors for it all If I asked the question would you answer it? And now, the answer could be too much If I were the infestation - would you choose to be friendly?

0

Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 7:39 PM UTC

maebalatte

?

If I were the ghost - would you choose to be friendly? Maybe one day I'll wake up and be living If I break the parts like the puzzle pieces from the end to the start If I break the parts would you rebuild them? There's times when I lose the image If I severed the ropes like the ones holding boats from over the edge of this ship If I severed the ropes which way would you jump? Sometimes I run from myself instead If I asked a question like the few I've asked before many metaphors for it all If I asked the question would you answer it? And now, the answer could be too much If I were the infestation - would you choose to be friendly?

23

In the Eyes of God She brought me here with love so wide, To stand with her, to be my guide. But first—these pews, this sacred place, Where I must reckon, seek some grace. RCIA on Thursday nights, Learning saints and candle lights. I followed faith I didn’t know, Just to be hers, to let love grow. One evening, quiet in his room, I met the priest—no fire, no gloom. Father Lybarger, calm and still, He asked me gently, “What you will?” I said, “There’s something I still bear— A weight too deep for just a prayer. I wore the flag, I did my part… But I’ve killed a man. And it scars my heart.” His silence wasn’t cold or long, But measured, like a sacred song. “You served,” he said. “You carried flame. But war, my son, is not your shame.” “It was duty,” I said. “Orders, battle— But still I see his face, and more. Can I stand before the Lord, And vow a love I once ignored?” He breathed, then nodded, soft and grave, “God knows the burdens soldiers brave. He sees the soul beneath the fight, And walks with you through every night. You didn’t choose to k ill in hate— You served the world, you bore its weight. Confess not guilt, but give your pain, Let mercy wash you clean again.” I left with tears that didn’t fall, But sat behind my every wall. And when she looked at me that night, She saw me whole, and not the fight. She asked me why I stayed behind, What I had needed there to find. I gave a smile, I made it small— Said, “Just a talk, that’s all, that’s all.” She searched my face, but didn’t press, Just held my silence, nothing less. She knew that something lived inside, But let it wait—she let me hide. For love like hers and grace like this, Are forged through pain, not only bliss. And when I say “I do” that day, I’ll know what sacrifice can weigh. I gave a life I can’t reclaim, But God still whispers through my shame: “You are not broken—just made new, And worthy of the love in view.” © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

0

Apr 24, 2025

Apr 24, 2025 at 1:46 PM UTC

MNPikey

In The Eyes Of God

In the Eyes of God She brought me here with love so wide, To stand with her, to be my guide. But first—these pews, this sacred place, Where I must reckon, seek some grace. RCIA on Thursday nights, Learning saints and candle lights. I followed faith I didn’t know, Just to be hers, to let love grow. One evening, quiet in his room, I met the priest—no fire, no gloom. Father Lybarger, calm and still, He asked me gently, “What you will?” I said, “There’s something I still bear— A weight too deep for just a prayer. I wore the flag, I did my part… But I’ve killed a man. And it scars my heart.” His silence wasn’t cold or long, But measured, like a sacred song. “You served,” he said. “You carried flame. But war, my son, is not your shame.” “It was duty,” I said. “Orders, battle— But still I see his face, and more. Can I stand before the Lord, And vow a love I once ignored?” He breathed, then nodded, soft and grave, “God knows the burdens soldiers brave. He sees the soul beneath the fight, And walks with you through every night. You didn’t choose to k ill in hate— You served the world, you bore its weight. Confess not guilt, but give your pain, Let mercy wash you clean again.” I left with tears that didn’t fall, But sat behind my every wall. And when she looked at me that night, She saw me whole, and not the fight. She asked me why I stayed behind, What I had needed there to find. I gave a smile, I made it small— Said, “Just a talk, that’s all, that’s all.” She searched my face, but didn’t press, Just held my silence, nothing less. She knew that something lived inside, But let it wait—she let me hide. For love like hers and grace like this, Are forged through pain, not only bliss. And when I say “I do” that day, I’ll know what sacrifice can weigh. I gave a life I can’t reclaim, But God still whispers through my shame: “You are not broken—just made new, And worthy of the love in view.” © 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

54

**** my senses through my vices Ill never taste that silver lining Staring out the window unable to hear you anymore

0

Dec 14, 2025

Dec 14, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC

Kalliopie

Muted

**** my senses through my vices Ill never taste that silver lining Staring out the window unable to hear you anymore

3

All of the demons inside that no one will ever meet Claw at my mind, begging to be freed But behind my smile, they will remain under lock and key Their cries a gentle plea In the prison of my mind Where they are ****** to die

0

Dec 5, 2025

Dec 5, 2025 at 3:52 AM UTC

LilGhostGirl

Warden

All of the demons inside that no one will ever meet Claw at my mind, begging to be freed But behind my smile, they will remain under lock and key Their cries a gentle plea In the prison of my mind Where they are ****** to die

6

I don’t feel as though I’m real Instead drifting across the floor like a shadow of myself Only mirroring what I think I should feel And when the lights are off I can disappear Become the ghost of a girl who’s not really here

0

Dec 2, 2025

Dec 2, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC

LilGhostGirl

Ghost

I don’t feel as though I’m real Instead drifting across the floor like a shadow of myself Only mirroring what I think I should feel And when the lights are off I can disappear Become the ghost of a girl who’s not really here

5

Once again I find myself laying in bed and staring with empty eyes at my room. In my mind this is not my room, and I am not here. I view my surroundings as if they are a photo I hold in my hands. This isn't my life, but a glimpse into someone else's; I judge them for their mess and chaos. I admire them for their creativity . I judge the way they let their partner treat them in this space. I admire the compassion I see shining through despite that treatment. I am able to identify both my best-self and my worst-self While looking down at this snapshot of a strangers room with my bed

0

May 21, 2025

May 21, 2025 at 12:21 AM UTC

andrea

My Bed in a Strangers Room

Once again I find myself laying in bed and staring with empty eyes at my room. In my mind this is not my room, and I am not here. I view my surroundings as if they are a photo I hold in my hands. This isn't my life, but a glimpse into someone else's; I judge them for their mess and chaos. I admire them for their creativity . I judge the way they let their partner treat them in this space. I admire the compassion I see shining through despite that treatment. I am able to identify both my best-self and my worst-self While looking down at this snapshot of a strangers room with my bed

10

they changed you can see it in there eyes. you can feel it in there touch theyre not the same theyre never coming back because i remember everthing that you forgot

0

May 2, 2025

May 2, 2025 at 8:36 AM UTC

Caycay

change

they changed you can see it in there eyes. you can feel it in there touch theyre not the same theyre never coming back because i remember everthing that you forgot

8

Like, nothing thats happening to you is actually happening to you. Like you're just watching other people's lives play out in a book or a movie. Like you're the side character. Like nothing actually matters and you're just doing it for the sake of the plot. _Like nothing is real._ Like you're playing from the third person, just above the character. _Like you're not real._ Like every day is just a repeat of the last. Like you're the only real one Like everyone else are just actors and someday someones going to come from behind the curtain and say __HA PRANKED.__ Like the sunsets are too beautiful to be real. Like the squirrels crossing the street stare for too long for this to be real. Like all that is meaningless is too important for this to be real. Like all the sounds are too artificial to be real. _Like nothing is real._ _Like nothing is real._ Like how when you wave your hand in front of your eyes and _Its not real._ Like when you pinch your skin hard hard hard until you bleed and maybe it hurts it doesn't matter and it doesn't really because this body is not yours, just a vessel you were forced into because _You're not real._ Like how you're not even sure who you are anymore, because you're nothing but fragments of broken things, nothing things, nothing, _You're not real._ You're not here, You're not in here, You were never meant to be here, You're nothing. _You're not real._

0

Apr 7, 2025

Apr 7, 2025 at 8:25 PM UTC

Lumin_e

Do you ever feel like a spectator of life?

Like, nothing thats happening to you is actually happening to you. Like you're just watching other people's lives play out in a book or a movie. Like you're the side character. Like nothing actually matters and you're just doing it for the sake of the plot. _Like nothing is real._ Like you're playing from the third person, just above the character. _Like you're not real._ Like every day is just a repeat of the last. Like you're the only real one Like everyone else are just actors and someday someones going to come from behind the curtain and say __HA PRANKED.__ Like the sunsets are too beautiful to be real. Like the squirrels crossing the street stare for too long for this to be real. Like all that is meaningless is too important for this to be real. Like all the sounds are too artificial to be real. _Like nothing is real._ _Like nothing is real._ Like how when you wave your hand in front of your eyes and _Its not real._ Like when you pinch your skin hard hard hard until you bleed and maybe it hurts it doesn't matter and it doesn't really because this body is not yours, just a vessel you were forced into because _You're not real._ Like how you're not even sure who you are anymore, because you're nothing but fragments of broken things, nothing things, nothing, _You're not real._ You're not here, You're not in here, You were never meant to be here, You're nothing. _You're not real._

28

Sometimes nothing feels real Like I’m floating in some fever dream And unable to heal I gaze at the stars and think What if it’s all faux What if it is all a dream? But it feels like I’ve stooped too low To wait around and see Play around and see Maybe it was never real from the start Maybe the only thing fake was a part Of Me.

0

Mar 14, 2025

Mar 14, 2025 at 11:30 PM UTC

Arii_Does_ARTZZZ

Really?

Sometimes nothing feels real Like I’m floating in some fever dream And unable to heal I gaze at the stars and think What if it’s all faux What if it is all a dream? But it feels like I’ve stooped too low To wait around and see Play around and see Maybe it was never real from the start Maybe the only thing fake was a part Of Me.

15

Sometimes I just stare out the window No idea where my head even goes I’m disassociating again The demons are coming in I just want to let them Take over, control me It’s so much easier to just give them the reigns I’m much more fun that way People seem to like me better anyway Now I’m the boring girl I’m getting my head straight All this positivity is making people irate What am I to do? I’ve never lived for myself Never existed Never been able to see a future They’re petting my head Telling me it’s okay Just let go Cut, loose I’m staring out the window again Disassociation should be a sin I can’t let these demons win

0

Mar 3, 2025

Mar 3, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC

CourtneyJurena

The Window

Sometimes I just stare out the window No idea where my head even goes I’m disassociating again The demons are coming in I just want to let them Take over, control me It’s so much easier to just give them the reigns I’m much more fun that way People seem to like me better anyway Now I’m the boring girl I’m getting my head straight All this positivity is making people irate What am I to do? I’ve never lived for myself Never existed Never been able to see a future They’re petting my head Telling me it’s okay Just let go Cut, loose I’m staring out the window again Disassociation should be a sin I can’t let these demons win

23

It started out as just myself I floated around in the dark empty spaces you call your mind. So many places to go, but no one to share them with. Suddenly something shook you, It shook me too, but I felt something, someone new We floated around just they and I, Worlds and Ideas sprouted from their fingertips The empty spaces became full of wondrous places and peoples I had never seen before. It was perfect, but something always felt wrong You never spoke You opened your mouth to respond but, BAM You were gone. All but a memory in the void. Sometimes I still hear you. I still see your face There have been others, of course. New people, new places, new things. How I wish I could still explore them with you.

0

Sep 26, 2024

Sep 26, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC

-TS-

Me, You, Us, We

It started out as just myself I floated around in the dark empty spaces you call your mind. So many places to go, but no one to share them with. Suddenly something shook you, It shook me too, but I felt something, someone new We floated around just they and I, Worlds and Ideas sprouted from their fingertips The empty spaces became full of wondrous places and peoples I had never seen before. It was perfect, but something always felt wrong You never spoke You opened your mouth to respond but, BAM You were gone. All but a memory in the void. Sometimes I still hear you. I still see your face There have been others, of course. New people, new places, new things. How I wish I could still explore them with you.

23

because teenagers are the meanest people on the planet because i wanna be like richard silken was richard silken a loser in highschool? surely he was no poet escapes ridicule and most of us deserve what we get because i’m angry and no one except my parents beleive me because man up man up man up because i want to throw my guts up onto the pavement because everything is so beautiful but none of it is real because i wanna be like richard silken and take this anger and make it meaningful

0

Sep 2, 2024

Sep 2, 2024 at 2:34 AM UTC

look_mike_sandwiches

get on your knees like richard silken

because teenagers are the meanest people on the planet because i wanna be like richard silken was richard silken a loser in highschool? surely he was no poet escapes ridicule and most of us deserve what we get because i’m angry and no one except my parents beleive me because man up man up man up because i want to throw my guts up onto the pavement because everything is so beautiful but none of it is real because i wanna be like richard silken and take this anger and make it meaningful

11

a whisper a roar i create i destroy a ripple in a river a rushing tsunami i laugh i cry a flickering candle a forest fire blaze i am dead i am alive i am real?

0

Aug 13, 2024

Aug 13, 2024 at 9:50 PM UTC

littlepoetgirl

what am i?

a whisper a roar i create i destroy a ripple in a river a rushing tsunami i laugh i cry a flickering candle a forest fire blaze i am dead i am alive i am real?

15

he has viewed me as a feathered dune in the quiet desert. as if my body were to constantly pile and brush away in a romantic dance. this wild, yet golden, landscape seems to be a panorama of the summer deity. I fear, though, he will push his whisper upon me, and I will erupt in grains of misfortune...

0

Aug 4, 2021

Aug 4, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC

twospiritsun

black sand

he has viewed me as a feathered dune in the quiet desert. as if my body were to constantly pile and brush away in a romantic dance. this wild, yet golden, landscape seems to be a panorama of the summer deity. I fear, though, he will push his whisper upon me, and I will erupt in grains of misfortune...

17

Life becomes too heavy. I feel myself floating a few steps behind my own body. My mind drifts somewhere distant, a place I cannot map. I watch myself move through the day like a character in someone else’s story. A stranger to my own memoir.

0

May 12, 2023

May 12, 2023 at 12:45 PM UTC

She_Writes

Disassociating

Life becomes too heavy. I feel myself floating a few steps behind my own body. My mind drifts somewhere distant, a place I cannot map. I watch myself move through the day like a character in someone else’s story. A stranger to my own memoir.

11

Each day I sit: numb hands, numb feet Waiting for the autopilot to take my space So I can fall asleep in the passenger seat And wake up in a different place Or even drift right past tomorrow If I'm his hostage, he's my plague Because the bumpy road he tolerates Always rocks away my aches My body is held by strings And my eyes no longer blink So I stay in the passenger seat And keep choosing not to think

0

Jan 30, 2023

Jan 30, 2023 at 5:00 PM UTC

Alicimo

Living on autopilot

Each day I sit: numb hands, numb feet Waiting for the autopilot to take my space So I can fall asleep in the passenger seat And wake up in a different place Or even drift right past tomorrow If I'm his hostage, he's my plague Because the bumpy road he tolerates Always rocks away my aches My body is held by strings And my eyes no longer blink So I stay in the passenger seat And keep choosing not to think

12

brainless shuffle c r a w l i n g nerveless fog lifts. tingling fingers gut drop (you have one of those now) look up, knife to chest the seasons passed without you. and just like that you can mourn the end of love.

0

Jan 30, 2022

Jan 30, 2022 at 11:51 AM UTC

Espressopatronums

on the brain starved

brainless shuffle c r a w l i n g nerveless fog lifts. tingling fingers gut drop (you have one of those now) look up, knife to chest the seasons passed without you. and just like that you can mourn the end of love.

10

i'm feeling it the drift a wedge i'm draining no one hears it, an empty void pure desolate silence i don't want to stay “nobody cares” so why should i? the idiosyncratic facade fazing everyone compressing everything within yet i feel so hollow

0

Mar 17, 2021

Mar 17, 2021 at 1:07 AM UTC

saleendralee

morose

i'm feeling it the drift a wedge i'm draining no one hears it, an empty void pure desolate silence i don't want to stay “nobody cares” so why should i? the idiosyncratic facade fazing everyone compressing everything within yet i feel so hollow

14

I've become so convincing in the role of myself, I'm starting to believe it's actually me.

0

Mar 1, 2021

Mar 1, 2021 at 4:12 AM UTC

alexia-noel

Award Winning

I've become so convincing in the role of myself, I'm starting to believe it's actually me.

2