#fidget - Hello Poetry

his fingers fidgeted with the stars comets flying like racing cars when he glanced above, all he hoped to sing a lullaby to the one he loves the most

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Apr 27, 2020

Apr 27, 2020 at 11:59 AM UTC

Erianrose

racing cars

his fingers fidgeted with the stars comets flying like racing cars when he glanced above, all he hoped to sing a lullaby to the one he loves the most

5

My Ocd is flipping switches, My adhd is pulling pupet strings, My brain is on vaction for most of the day, and when he comes home it's night, his favorite time to party..... I get no rest, And tomorrow there's a flippin' test!

0

Nov 29, 2018

Nov 29, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC

Eclipse_Animaze

Fidget

My Ocd is flipping switches, My adhd is pulling pupet strings, My brain is on vaction for most of the day, and when he comes home it's night, his favorite time to party..... I get no rest, And tomorrow there's a flippin' test!

7

"I will beat this," I swear. No one else has, as there is no end, but there must be an end. I'll find it. Watching everyone spin on their axis, touting their progress, there must be a someone or some thing! Watch me spin. Spin and fidget. Watch me spin, spin and fidget. Spin the blades to your right. Now you're loading. Now you're spinning. "I will beat this," rings obsolete. Now, "I will secede," seems pragmatic. Is it romantic to be at one with nothing? Cross legged on the floor, I whisper, to myself, "Oh, you bet."

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Oct 8, 2018

Oct 8, 2018 at 1:42 AM UTC

Simillacrum

Fidget

"I will beat this," I swear. No one else has, as there is no end, but there must be an end. I'll find it. Watching everyone spin on their axis, touting their progress, there must be a someone or some thing! Watch me spin. Spin and fidget. Watch me spin, spin and fidget. Spin the blades to your right. Now you're loading. Now you're spinning. "I will beat this," rings obsolete. Now, "I will secede," seems pragmatic. Is it romantic to be at one with nothing? Cross legged on the floor, I whisper, to myself, "Oh, you bet."

29

The skeleton on my shirt that matches The pain in my head as Letters pop up on my phone I cannot read From here Behind me and The more I fight my medication that Whispers to me "Sleep. Morning will come. The day is done. Smile." But The more I fidget and The more I write and The more I cry has it Screaming to me and I faint knowing I am nothing more than Pills in bottles.

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Sep 13, 2017

Sep 13, 2017 at 9:31 PM UTC

emily-chambers

5/15/17 How Are You Feeling Today?

The skeleton on my shirt that matches The pain in my head as Letters pop up on my phone I cannot read From here Behind me and The more I fight my medication that Whispers to me "Sleep. Morning will come. The day is done. Smile." But The more I fidget and The more I write and The more I cry has it Screaming to me and I faint knowing I am nothing more than Pills in bottles.

15

I could do tricks with those fingers balancing acts of precision breath was controlled for this moment. One false move, and that moment lost, sighs were heard, head shamefully hung. As I would have to start over once again. "OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement as she released her ecstasy on fingers. I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine tuned to do those tricks to make her world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.

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Jun 10, 2017

Jun 10, 2017 at 5:55 AM UTC

poetic-t

Fidget Spinner

I could do tricks with those fingers balancing acts of precision breath was controlled for this moment. One false move, and that moment lost, sighs were heard, head shamefully hung. As I would have to start over once again. "OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement as she released her ecstasy on fingers. I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine tuned to do those tricks to make her world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.

12

My hands fidget. I will tell you when I see you that my fingers could break when I speak, loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes no one sees and my words could snap with them, straight down their spines. My hands fidget and my tongue trips. One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both. The sun is in your eyes and it's setting. I think I could be the moon, we could meet at every eclipse, create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes, the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre, I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still? I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here, alone with the indents of each other's lips. I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song. My hands fidget. Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind, I can't feel a thing. My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself. I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close. I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home. You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor. I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke. I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking and it burns. My hands fidget. You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't, I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes. When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still. When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me ******* react like controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists, hazy. The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you but I know that your hands on my wrists would not, do not, burn like that. I will tell you when I see you I will not wrap you in chicken wire. I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still. I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is quiet.

0

Jun 1, 2016

Jun 1, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC

jodie-whitchurch

My hands fidget like 11 metaphors on lined paper.

My hands fidget. I will tell you when I see you that my fingers could break when I speak, loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes no one sees and my words could snap with them, straight down their spines. My hands fidget and my tongue trips. One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both. The sun is in your eyes and it's setting. I think I could be the moon, we could meet at every eclipse, create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes, the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre, I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still? I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here, alone with the indents of each other's lips. I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song. My hands fidget. Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind, I can't feel a thing. My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself. I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close. I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home. You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor. I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke. I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking and it burns. My hands fidget. You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't, I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes. When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still. When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me ******* react like controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists, hazy. The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you but I know that your hands on my wrists would not, do not, burn like that. I will tell you when I see you I will not wrap you in chicken wire. I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still. I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is quiet.

45