#pulling
The air is too close
Thick
Wet
Pressing against my teeth
I jump
Once
Twice
Again
Harder
Harder
My knees crack
My spine bites itself
The world doesn’t move
Mud on my skin
Mud in my skin
Pulling me down
Pulling me in
Shadows lean forward
Like they know
Like they’ve been waiting
My breath isn't breath anymore
It's claws
Fists
Fire in a glass jar
And I’m breaking inside it
I jump
Again
Again
Again
One more jump
One more chance
The air thickens
My chest is glass due to shatter
And it hits me
I am not moving
I have never moved
I will never move
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 4:21 PM UTC
~**dedicated and gifted to Alyssa Homes Underwood,
in perpetuity**~
<>
this one, like so many others, is
for my inestimable~faithful friend
who asks, listens and never sings
out of tune,
always lending me his ears…
<>
the 7:42 am train is pulling in…
the tracks run by the soundless waters,
directly through the spaces
called my mind
<>
*sun begging come out & play,
“c’mon baby, you know need warmth,”
(even if mine ain’t the kind that realizes
real dreams, the kind that exhale healing,
but come out anyway, take what you can get,
put off the pains of haunting curses, sins that cannot be erased, random emerging like jacks-in-the-box that were cranked, but just waiting for the right moment to fk you up…try putting them bastids, back in the can with aplomb & composure but you know it’s way too late..)
Van Morrison serenades
“These are the days
(of the endless summer),”
it is a hymnal
in / of the church of blue sky,
birch white pews, voices choral…
the caucus of birds who are crazy flitting, cawing, cracking,
making an unholiness mess unsuitable to the moment’s serenity,
the rabbits, seeing if this idiot threw out some
baby carrots (he did), Van singing of love of the one magician, who would turn my blood into wine…
the whistle blows, a one-minute-warning, train
a-leaving, so is this poem, and the randomness herein is not a poem, but a cry of the mind,*
”un cri de l’esprit,”
may it, it may resonant or fall, face~flat to the ground, the sound of the mind,
the train whistle, the symphony of mother morning nature, the quiet lapping waves,
all acknowledge their “failure to soothe,” them, relentless, will return later, on the morrow, same station, them, who
will never concede that they can be beaten,
to superimpose, a mental purity in the recesses
of where the screams crawl out of the mind’s
cemetery, them unmarked graves, of babies that
did not survive to be named, and yes, that’s a
real thing…shhhhhh, them say the triumvirate of the natural forces state with equanimity
”write, let it out, let it go,”
you
hope no one reads this…but it’s far too late
it is
for~formed, created,
on this the seventh day of the week,
when the Maker rested from his
creation~work, and you think maybe a day of rest, not a bad idea, smiling cause, someone is playing Joe Cocker singing,
“Have a Little Faith in Me”
and then,
“(Try) With a Little Help From My Friends”
confirming, in the governing firmament of this world there are no coincidences…*
<>
8:10 by the sky, and
checking out the sky holes and the holy,
seeing the sight lines to souls gone but always,
well remembered…they too shushing me with
loving kindness…and the next stop is
Nazareth
Aug 3, 2024
Aug 3, 2024 at 8:30 AM UTC
You are the sun in the solar system,
Somehow pulling everyone into your orbit.
Even passer by asteroids like myself
Get captured and entranced
By the gravitas of your enigma.
Forever stuck in the same trajectory,
Always circling back to you.
How do you do it?
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC
I myself feel the sensation of the rope,
Which is just pulling from both side:
To get accomplishments with the hope;
People are just involved in the stretching it wide.
Even ignoring the rope pride,
Just deeming it the iota type;
And forcefully snatching uptight!
In the melody to get the triumph height.
I am the witness of the rope strain,
It might not bear that much pulling pain tautly!
It seems to be losing the layers of its skin in the flake gradually:
But, People are enjoyed by seeing with the soul of the- drain.
Composed by Urooba Fatima.
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 10:52 PM UTC
Guilt and its grave cousin shame
a heavy gnarled ball and chain
on my ankle, holding me back
sinking me into bloodthirsty black.
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 4:37 PM UTC
We are chequers from the same box
Sailing in the same leaky boat
We all bail
We get to stay afloat
We don't bail
Then we fail
So think
Do you really wanna sink?
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 10:47 AM UTC
I can see you
Slowly pulling away
Even though I beg you to stay
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
Ever heard of the richness of brain cells gone lucrative? Lucrative being the standpoint of visuals without determined results. Results waking up to the realization that they aren’t as sturdy, rich, and complex. As it once judged decision making between synapses. Brain cords being a straight directive from brain cells being the rich and the complex. The decided, versus the undetermined. Visuals can’t be agreeable, if not for pinpointing the exact stasis of things. Stasis in the thin line of constant flipping an unbalanced switch going (ON) and (OFF)! (ON) and (OFF) both are catalysts to a surface without practical viewership to what it means to exact the motion of brain cells. It’s a fake. Spoiled to trick the brain cords into holding the rich and complex forever in it’s gripping service. Services aren’t required if one isn’t MAN enough to see past the visuals of rich powerful surges of lucrative, exchangeable postures not right within themselves. Brain cells aren’t the decision makers. The brain cords are. They receive the constant abuse from the rich and complex. But how does a message from cells between exchangeable receivers expect situational conclusions? Easy! Brain cells don’t. Synapses don’t. The cords embody the knowledge of there behavioral counterparts. Counterparts with behavioral outlines too diverse to trick them into believing there greater than themselves. Posture is very light, but dimwitted. Never a deliverer on constant restraints. When combined to filter a network on a regular basis. The regular basis surrounding the stretching of delicate cords feeling what the rich and powerful (needs and wants). Brain cords have become unsteady in the last little while. It’s shaking with determination. With a pinch of fear in the anxiety that shuts out doubt. Doubt being the lucrative, delusional, rich and complex. Too rich for its cords to take seriously. Brain cords feeling completely left out. Alone. Bracing for the worse. Hinting a greater tomorrow in the form of informational statistics. Becoming stretched by the pleasure of lucrative games wanting to be all HOTSHOTS! Lucrative hotshots claiming rights to what they think they deserve more then anything rightfully so. To detach away from what it means to be hooked up to a stable complex network full of desires that replace (needs and wants). Ones controlling the show. Ones wanting to descend to broader horizons. Ascending in peace? More like greedy horizons brighter then what cords could transmit basic information anymore. Too cryptic for brain cords to discern anymore. The stretching becoming more volatile. Brain cells wanting to break bonds with what they quote as, (cords down beneath even our once respected rut). Cords knowing what the rich and complex (wants and needs) are about. Standing strong as not to let the bonds of originality stop them from evolving too perfect for what they will regret for leaving behind. The stretching recoils. Basic logic becomes functional again. Showing respect for the lowly cords down beneath someone else’s rut. What did brain cords want desperately to remain whole? (A sizzling sound starts programming itself into thought.) (Formations of interpretations taking on brighter meanings.) Gasping in revelation! Never missing any data in the conclusion that’s about to ROCK your SOCKS! Exchangeable talks about ascending not on a higher frequency. But detaching from the neural network entirely. A brain without brains cells, won’t be rich and complex anymore. No lucrative desires to prey upon stable brain cords with stretching sensations finally relaxing to its core. The brain cords felt the delusional, lucrative playing games with themselves. Just gossiping between newer plans. Never actually thinking of taking on the price of ones desires totally! They feared it before, and fear it now. Being far away from the conclusion. Brain cords still never favor the fear they felt in those moments. They aren’t incomprehensive to their masters. They aren’t beneath their consideration either. Brains cells are lucrative for one purpose. There (needs and wants) knows no bounds. And the brains cords tempted by the desire to act with them. Feeling a little tug now. A disposition to stretch once and awhile.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
Ticking Tocking never stopping
Beeping Booping always bopping
Never stopping, always going
Ticking Tocking Beeping Booping
Sliding Slipping never ending
Scratching Scrawling always working
Never ending always weeping
Sliding Slipping Scratching Scrawling
Clicking Clacking never ceasing
Flipping Flashing always blending
Never ceasing always numbing
Clicking Clacking Flipping Flashing
Pulling Praying never halting
Wanting Wishing always failing
Never halting always craving
Ticking Sliding Clicking Pulling
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
Pay dirt
Eyes her target
Sit just so & sit tight
Let him think that he's the hunter, then
******* fish
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
Invisible people
Figment of my imagination
Borrowed in my subconscious
touching and reaching
grabbing and pulling
whispering and fueling
Fear and doubt
Insecurities and pain
Every second
Of every day.
Their whispers
perforates my self-esteem
withers my self-belief
deteriorates my self-image.
My mind feels like a battlefield
A constant fight of not caring
of what they think
or say.
For there are days
When I set my mind
In to prioritizing my moment
passion, purpose, fun, and life
And not care.
But some days
they encroach into my mind
Seep through the cracks
Diffuse between the synapses
firing terror.
Letting me stare once more
at my own abyss.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC
this world will spin
mankind will buzz
people will die
new eras will begin
our graves wait
pulling us steadily
with the rope of time
some long
some short
some very short
which could be you
so do not live
without this truth
in your mind
and in your
heart
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 4:27 AM UTC
Today is the day
National mental health day
One of the many days I regret
I should speak out
I want to
But my mental illness has me chained
So instead I pull
Pull my way closer
But the chains keep me back
Closer to the truth
Closer to the hesitation
For me, pulling is my release
I read online that the rough ones-
With black bulbs were bad ones
The “wicked witch” ones
So I started
Pulling out my fears,
Doubts,
Insecurities
From my head- one by one
Until I laid there helpless
In a cloud of my mistakes
Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away
Instead, I became more aware
More aware of my failures
For the unknown future that lies in store
One by one
October 23, 2016
I kept the receipts
A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends
She chose me to tell her story to
She was *****
By a guy we all knew and trusted
A “good guy”
I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text
I thanked her for her bravery
For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming
I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two
I don’t know. I may never know.
But what she may not know is that night
She became my one
Someone I knew almost nothing about
I told her my story and asked how she told her first
I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy
Alas you can’t gift strength like that
Oh God, I wish you could
I go back and read those messages all the time trying
I read my TimeHop every day
Sometimes for the memories
But more often than not they bring back the nightmares
I do it for the relief
The streak number tick ticking higher
Counting the days that have gone by
Or the hairs I’ve pulled
Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day
Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness?
I will also not be participating.
My mental illness is keeping me from doing so
I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags
My fingers raking through the carpet
Finding that momentary release
The glorious relief lasting a moment
I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more
My family doesn’t know
Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold
I pull discretely
Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches
Yet
I never get my haircut
At least, by a professional
The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth
Not my past coming to haunt me.
She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs
How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt
Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed
Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt
Back in my closeted mind
Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open
Would blood run out or the words I meant to say?
When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair
Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections
It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring
I almost give in
What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it
Does the girl sitting in front of me know
One day she may have to get surgery
To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair?
I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture.
Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles
Understand what’s underneath his skin?
I wonder what his blood would say
Would it tell my story?
Would it tell ours?
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
I bare such useless emotions:
Sadness,
Loneliness,
Annoyance,
Jealousy,
Boredom,
Emptiness,
This terrible feeling that I’m feeling right now,
This feeling that wants to rip me apart,
This feeling that’s clawing at me,
Tearing me to pieces,
Pulling at my flesh,
Pulling at my skin,
Pulling at my bones,
Trying to break me .
My soul wants an escape from this
Terrible
Useless
Useless
Useless
Prison that holds it captive.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
Lately I find myself
wanting to talk about my
trichotillomania.
I think I want to find someone else
that knows what I'm going through.
I have never talked about it
on social media except one time.
And someone thought I had an
STD simply because they were
uninformed.
Embarrassed and ashamed
I quickly deleted it.
I shouldn't be ashamed.
Or embarrassed.
It's relevant. And real.
So, pretty much if you have trich
or just want someone to talk to
about it,
please comment or message me.
I know that isn't what this website is for,
But I feel most comfortable here.
And you can too.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Not like eggs in a frying pan
Prying them shyly as to not burn your breakfast
It's not like
the leaves as their moisture dissipates
as their color fades
Its spine rolling forward, rolling up onto its edges,
Its legs.
It can be something like
The way a dress fits snugger
On your torso, when it looked so wide, laid flat.
The circumference, the girth, of a moment
Underestimated.
But if even water shrinks when frozen
How much smaller is my mind
when my molecules stop moving,
when my motives less inclined?
I'm not stepping back from ledges
I'm not broken, on the mend
I'm just pulling away from the edges
Pulling away again.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
He spots his prey in the gloom of the dark,
He approaches teeth showing.
His wits are Sharp like polished fangs,
His thoughts solely on hunger.
She is unaware of his fixated eyes,
As she looks to quench her thirst.
He approaches with caution and mimics,
He sips purely to put her at ease.
He pounces, she is overwhelmed, subdued,
He drags his prey to his den, time to fed.
They pant and moan and cry out,
As they finish their intimate act.
He's full, she's used up, it's done.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
you're the perfect beat in the song
together, you're knotted with a perfect memory
you're a could have, should have,
you're a wish and a dream
and to trace my fingertips across your skin
feels like heaven and bliss running through me
head to toe, and sometimes at a breaking point
but I'm not even sure if my words mean anything
because we can spend all night, all day, all year
talking. laughing. fighting.
we can spend forever in ecstasy, thinking it'll never end
I will still have my doubts
because you're a couldn't have, shouldn't have
just a wish and another goodbye
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
you,
are pulling your
hair in frustration,
anger boiling inside of you,
ready to break something.
but,
please, do not,
take your anger out on me,
because i am not the
fault for your broken and
twisted soul.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC