#introvertlife
You see, I’m naturally an introvert — quiet corners, deep
thoughts, the type to overthink a handshake. But life? Life
keeps putting me on stages, in conversations that feel like
marathons for my soul. So yeah, stepping out as an extrovert?
That’s not performance, that’s survival. A daily challenge
with no dress rehearsal.
I’m a softie — but not the breakable kind. No, this softness?
It’s pressure-cooked from hard times. It knows the weight of
silence, and how to turn pain into patience. I’m not here to
pretend to be hard — I’m here to show that being real is rarer.
Now, let’s talk love. I’m a full-blown lover boy — heart open,
arms wide, playlist ready. But don’t get it twisted — I’m not in
the business of having my love used as someone else’s stepping
stone. I’ve retired from being the emotional charity.
And my smile? Oh, it’s got layers. A whole palette of moods.
Bright for the world, but the darker shades? Those are reserved.
A private gallery. Only for the ones I cherish, the ones who earn
the right to see me unfiltered.
So if you meet me — don’t just notice the calm, or the kindness,
or the charm. Know there’s a storm I’ve already walked through
to be standing this still.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
I have known you as far as my memory goes.
I have observed you, watched you grow—
As I did too.
But I wonder why we never talked,
’Cause we never talked before,
Was all I could think back then.
And even now,
I think it’s still the same—
’Cause we never talked before,
And maybe… we never will.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 4:12 AM UTC
The universe makes random jokes
Like, to know me is a curse
My personalities make it worse.
The introvert in me is ugly painted with gloomy clouds, stalking demons in the alley loves to mourn as a firstborn sick With numb eyes flick,
tears don't exist anymore.
The extrovert in me is silly painted with colours people never been seen, his smile is flawless and always wander around clueless about why he smiles.
The **** in me is a song or people like to call it wrong, a yearlong gong he writes 'lol' in people's wall with a fluffy cloud inside his brain,
it reads tetrahydrocannabinol,
notorious for his vocabulary,
can **** with an epistolary.
The Dib is a broken rib, spoon-feed bib
He writes out of syllabus with sketchy nib,
runs in a solo trip his life says 'rofl'.
©sarcasticbong
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 2:08 PM UTC
When time slows down its pace,
When sleep comes to all in daze,
When night brings the quietest phase,
I will be breathing after the long chase
Maybe it was a day of losses,
That only drained my soul to the core,
Maybe it was a day of praises,
That I want to relive more and more
No Matter if it's to regret or relive,
This night too will crawl to next dawn,
No matter if I'm thrilled or threatened,
This night too will ease all woes
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC