"clinginess" poems
Not he/she/they but "the borderline"
The borderline imagines this elaborate fantasy to be necessary
the borderline turns to clinginess
the borderline may exhibit narcissistic symptoms
the borderline the borderline the borderline
the borderline-
a chalk marking on the sidewalk
the borderline-
trees separating territories
the borderline-
a sign stating do not cross
not me
I am human
but since I'm a 'borderline'
you wouldn't know that
would you?
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
they say I'm clingy. tell me something I don't already know.
maybe it's because of all the times I've missed out
because I wasn't there at the right moment.
or maybe because if I'm not around them,
I have nowhere to be.
and I hate that.
people are constantly with their friends, yet
they are never called clingy because they're friends
so then how can I achieve this friend status?
it's said that when you're around people a lot,
they're more likely to unconsciously like you.
but where's the line between that and clinginess?
tell me that. it's something I don't know.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
He fell in love with the way she slightly parted her lips when she was almost asleep
But not quite
He fell in love with the way she wore large glasses for fun
And how she would bite her pinkie to hold in a laugh
The laugh in which he loved
He loved that she had three freckles in a triangle below her left eye
And the way she tilted her head when she was thinking about very important things
He fell in love with her eyes and the way they longed for him
He loved being wanted
He fell in love with the pitter-patter of her feet on their bedroom floor
Because that meant she was thinking too much and he could hold her
And make her fell okay for just a night
He loved being wanted
He loved her for everything she was and everything she was not
He was falling out of love with the drool on her pillow
He thought it was silly she wore large glasses for no reason
And how she always had bite marks on her pinkies
He began to find her laugh very loud too loud and always ringing in his ears
He was falling out of love with the three freckles beneath her left eye
Or was it her right eye?
And he defiantly did not love the way her head was cocked when trying to decide between one ply or two
Or the way she always was looking at him
He hated her clinginess
He fell out of love with the noise she made at night
He never woke up anymore
He hated her desperation
He did not love the little things about her anymore and he was not in love
-(e.h)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
You're kind of like acne.
The first time I thought you, I was happy
I thought this was the first sign of growing up
You were a big milestone, you know.
After about a year I'd had enough of you
with your clinginess and infectious presence
I knew you had to leave.
My heart wanted you gone
and my body seemed to love you
I just wanted out, but I didn't know how.
Then came the extreme measures
I even had to see an expert
I'm sorry it came to this.
Now you're gone but I still see reminents
of what you did to me
I cover you up everyday.
But then I realize everyone knows what it's like
Everyone knows it's not a big deal
To have a little acne every once in a while.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
An ever-growing list of things that I can't fix
a set of scribbles on a blank lined page
a lifetime of regretful (in)decisions
a stack of unstamped postcards that I swear I meant to send
my clinginess, my neediness
a drawer full of unused paper clips
two eyes that work too well to see what lies beneath the skin
a mouth that I may never learn to tame
two ears that someday soon will cease to hear
a cluttered, clumsy, cumbersome soul
two hands with scars and calloused fingertips
a mind that only ever thinks of you
two legs that don't know where the hell to go
and
a heart that's only satisfied when beating next to yours...
And this is all I have to give to you.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
Slipping between
Boredom and obsession
Love and clinginess
But I have a confession--
Without you I'm bored
Right out of my mind
You are my muse
And that's hard to find
Yes, I adore you
Always wanting to hang out
Just to be in your presence
That's what I'm all about
Don't be afraid
For I'm sure you have seen
This, I confess
Is what I'm slipping between
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
When we find ourselves
bewitched
by the once-again
betwixt a barest bare
season (of not-there)
and the rock-hard
reason (for there-is), let’s
Place the lemon-sour wedge,
where it can be tasted
with expectantly peppered
peeks and the snowy soft pines
for a gifted we we’ve been
too white-elephant
wary to unwrap.
There’s a transplant
future. We pretended
it (to-be
forever sutured to our bristly back-
then), and it meets the it
it was beneath a scrub-brush
Christmas tree we’ve stowed
Carelessly in the cramped space
where our sameness
lets crawl the other. Tinseled,
pre-assembled, past-
their-prime-time specialty
brands of static
clinginess have diminished,
But not-enough,
as the persistence of any-man
attraction shows,
would if it could bring
Whitman’s samplers
of sentimentality
to cuddly bear on a leftover
Choice (What’s-next,
warmed over and over). We
will stick to it,
fuzzy ornaments
on the crackly loud, paper-
thin present. We didn’t give
up but we did give away
Boxed-up angels
in exchange for one red-ribbon
day, its frilly bow tying us
so tightly to
the pressed-down rule
of our highest of highly
evolved thumbs.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 5:51 AM UTC
The pools of eyes; like tears of a sea,
the virtue of dreams. Morals in the
pursuit of laurels.
Even with the strength of Hercules,
still weakened as only being human; in part.
In solitude of dark thought—a deathless
night, looms like a menace of juvenile desire.
Lust and confusion, a drudgery of chasing eyes.
Such a defiance of love: Clinginess of flesh wanting
flesh—vexations of our once selves.
_We've all been young._
Nurture maturity, to teach those behind early,
for their grapes to be full in seasonal vines.
Teach 'em as due course,
as 'verly so, you've once been taught.
As a given,
an open hand of the gift of handing
down wisdom.
Jul 19, 2022
Jul 19, 2022 at 3:04 PM UTC
and how does one,
become an orc...
from being labelled
a troll,
when...
not buying
a **** of
butter, a pint of milk,
a dozen's shack
of carrots,
a dozen of eggs...
and three irish ciders
in a supermarket?
oh... right...
fuck's sake!
wake up!
own a pet tarantula
you *******
*****
cats are so
autistic,
and 20th century!
and women friendly!
blaaaaaaaah!
and then...
"funny"...
suddenly died;
me?
oh i was waiting
for that to happen,
hence my clinginess
attitude...
i kept telling them:
i'm about to revise
the blank page
i'm about to revise
the blank page
i'm about to revise
the blank page...
they listen?
nope...
orc bypassed
the troll,
bypassing the goblin...
and...
oh ****
no hey, but hey presto!
i'm not even trying...
i hate trying...
trying is...
trying...
when it arrives
from an authenticity
of, competent
reactionary...
something, or other...
yeah...
i'm really gagging
for the marching orders...
a dog barking in
the night tells me:
crock-shit...
why would
i decide to understand
dog barking...
as, being...
more informative
to... whatever spew
is about to arrive from
the attention seeking
******
the dog is barking again...
i'll put my faith
in that...
i've lost any ability
to trust my fellow man...
sorry...
no...
no: is the new now...
can't do it...
let's revise...
keep up with the graffiti...
there are...
internet trolls...
which are...
the extended...
interaction with
internet goblins...
me? oh... sure sure,
internet identity politics...
moi?
internet orc...
what's that?
dunno...
a casual variant of
the sort of societal
formality,
without any uninhibited
& depersonalized
internet interaction
to mimic societal
standards?
i made a spelling mistake!
**** i know i 'ave!
obviously the meme:
internet orc would
prevail over the already
exhausted
cultural spew /
slur...
designating a troll...
an internet orc...
is a new breed...
die edelbarbar...
far from superior...
i just, "forgot"
to leave any comments.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 8:44 PM UTC
Contract;
In order for this business relationship to be beneficial to both parties, here is what to expect, and what I'll expect in return.
I expect you to give me attention, especially when I plead that I don't need it. I expect sweet messages sent at random that don't hold any relevancy to what we're experiencing. I expect truth, loyalty, and respect. I expect your time.
In return, you can expect being loved until you wish you had never met me in the first place, being attentively looked after but not to the point of clinginess. You'll be privy to poems, songs, and ideas penned about you frequently, and you'll never be alone. Your heart will be mine to guard and to keep not as my own but as ours. And know this; I will never leave.
Terms for this agreement are thus; time will be made for the other party. I will not have to experience a breakup over the phone because you won't make time to see me after six months of what I thought was love. We won't have to make excuses about how we're still hanging in there; if things don't work, they don't work.
And finally, we must agree to be mutually exclusive.
Under these conditions- which are for the most part immobile but are open to suggestion- and these conditions only will this business agreement be not only agreed upon but maintained. Any breach of this contract will result in...well.
Term to end: hopefully, never.
Just sign the dotted line, here.
______________________________________X
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
I remember the most beautiful moment of my life.
I couldn't have been 4.
Everybody was gathered in the park,
a gathering to watch the sunset
and there was music playing.
This was a single moment lost in the 90s fever:
The singer had just died,
and I think we were celebrating his poetry
or his clinginess to life.
But at the same time, nobody was talking about it.
There was just silence and the sunset -
a meaningless collection of sensations
to all but a childish mind.
I've since tried to talk to some of the people I reckon were there,
but none of them recall any of it happening.
They would have me believe
the best moment of my life
was a dream.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Currently there isn't a price on all the things That I love.
Depending on the situation I still check my pockets.
The places I go I am not use to exiting without pulling out my wallet.
Though it's not much, the minimum amount of your time provides the same thrill.
It's hard to disagree with a good heart.
Our opinions may be different but it's decent.
Our life evolving into deep quotations.
The revolution against cash registers everywhere has begun.
The clinginess of change and dollar bills.
Slices of our time stuffed and slid into the opening of each others mouth.
The trouble with that is we choose to label everything with price.
Ignoring common sense for cents.
I ignore my pockets whenever you are around as nothing of value can be found there.
I tread softly as more of your time creates more currency.
And I can't jeopardize losing that.
There isn't a career that can fill my wallet like you fill my heart.
No time clock anywhere that could justify.
Come tax time you are my greatest asset.
Come payday you are the currency I seek
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
At first,
I am every story you’ve ever loved:
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,
softened and sharpened just right,
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.
I love it, too.
I love playing her.
I love the way I can become
everything I thought I couldn't be—
light, brave, impossible.
I fall in love with the girl they see,
the one who spins in the rain,
who kisses like it’s a dare,
who never stays still long enough
for anyone to notice the cracks.
For a while,
I even forget the weight of myself.
For a while,
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,
someone almost worth keeping.
But the days grow teeth.
The seams split.
My clinginess stops being "cute,"
my mess stops being "quirky,"
my fear starts leaking through the paint.
Then I remember:
I'm not magic.
I'm work.
I'm a maze with no ending.
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.
And they start seeing it too.
The way I flinch when they look too long.
The way my laugh gets hollow.
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."
I know how this ends.
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.
So I run.
I tear the script from my hands,
I rip the costume at the seams.
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,
before they have to face the weight of who I am
beneath the glitter and noise.
I find a new stage,
a new pair of arms,
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 12:10 AM UTC
Forgive me my love, for I always want you
All I expect is for you to want me that much too
Be afraid when I’m about to leave, clinginess and everything else
At times, I might be stubborn, but not to forget till my hair is no auburn,
I will love you, ‘till my dying day
By your side I will always lay
If your happiness would need me without
I love you so much, I would gladly walk out
For that will give mein liebing joy,
I have no say, just for you to enjoy,
Mostly, I could be stupid, yes I know
But I feel bad when I give you sorrow
Answer my questions, I’ll keep on asking ‘till there’s no tomorrow
Be patient with me, don’t be cold as snow,
Please stop being snappy,
That doesn’t make me happy,
All I want every time is to see you smile,
Even if that would send me off a mile.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
I strive to suffer in silence
Determined to hide pain
This charade is exhausting
Driving me insane
I do not want you to know how much I care
I long to hold you close
I keep a safe proximity
Acting as if you were a ghost
You swear you want to see me
You only want to come home
If that were true you would be here
Was your choice to roam
I bite back words I wish I could say
You are the reason why I breathe
If I was honest about my feelings
Weakness would be clear to see
It was clinginess that initially drove you away
Now that your interest has returned
Must be cautious not to seem too eager
Or else heart again will be burned
I do not know why your lies taste sweet
None of them are real
Guess I'm too in love to control my desire
Or change attraction I feel
Over and over you destroy emotions
As if relationship is a game
Hate myself for tolerating damage
Unconditional love staying the same
I have to draw line somewhere
How much manipulation do you expect me to take?
If you loved me like promising you do
Instead of harm you would try to heal my ache
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 3:55 AM UTC
Hey.
I hope you, I mean I, don't have to read this.
Ever.
But here we go.
*Dear self,
Why would you want him again?
I know he is the most perfect person you have ever met
but know this,
he isn't.
He has long nose hairs that always poke out of his nose
He laughs in a weird way, like a choking person
He eats A LOT ((you wouldn't want a fat husband don't you))
His mom isn't really fond of you
His brother is a huge ********
He also doesn't stand being patient when you are angry
He told you that you annoyed him with your clinginess
He doesn't miss you like you do everyday
He never really want to go out with you and be happy with it
He doesn't have the effort to reach out to you
He doesn't care what you're feeling and why
He doesn't look at you like the best thing he has ever seen anymore
I should stop. You would cry if I write more. I know you, me.
I know you miss him like crazy
But bear with it, okay?
You will get over it.
Always stay strong for yourself, please.*
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
or what should have been titled: product endorsement by vloggers with the following introduction, lost in terms of original content, that will have to be necessarily rewritten in a lessened heaving of the breast as proclaiming original ease of composition... but since this is not the first instance of such a blunder, it is actually a joy to see: to see the lack of clinginess to one particular instance, over all others - not here, not here the one-hit wonder of pop culture that's rampant... you might find this siding with the mediocre but it's due to the fact that it wasn't said many times and cannot be desirably uprooted from such a perception, and entombed in sacred marble of "forever cherished"; thus said, few writers realise that their works are like fresh fruit and vegetables... they too have their b.b.d. (best before date) and their u.b.d. (use by date) - i believe that no one alive can claim a b.b.d. for their work and still be alive... period. the u.b.d. simply states: before you, the reader, actually dies... but then again, that's a bit overly pressure laden with the writer's presumptions: nonetheless it's there... poems and books like fruits and vegetables, the writer ought to be a refrigerator, the reader the oven... i guess it just means: keep your cool, while others turn to populist hysterics if something looks counter to their norms... that's how it is, any poem's or book's b.b.d. (best before date)? when the author is dead.
that famous saying:
an apple a day keeps
the doctor away...
i suppose there's another
one of kindred invocation:
a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist
at bay - alter?
writing poetry is a bit like
watching a psychiatrist
try to wriggle his way
out of a straitjacket -
they're not called
the thought-police for no reason...
and my my: i thought
that was only in the Soviet Union?
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
In a room where the lights are turned off...a city away and I'm still reminded of the place the right I did the wrong I commit the love I shared the hate that I abolished tormenting fragments of sadness is here but somehow lol low gladness laying here as baggage across the threaded african American.
Holding my pillow like it was you with a "sorry for my clinginess note"..but seeing you do with another is like a show that I use to be apart of. I'm done with the hype
I'm donw with the hurt
I'm done wig when I see you we act like we're not hurtin...
The times I wanted to make it right
But if I reach out it's like I'm the one that's walking backwards
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
I hate being clingy but can't help it.
I miss you, I've been thinking about you, about us.
I miss the days we talked everyday, all night.
And I don't mind the red flags you possess,
because I only think about positive about you and obsess.
Even though we never dated, I still am clingy and annoying over you.
I'm sorry.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 6:21 PM UTC
Sent. Delivered. Seen.
My intentions are Clean
Your cold Replies
I just hope no Lies
Every time we talk
I feel this knock
Beats in my heart
You're my sweetheart
I know I am Annoying
Sometimes Clinging
For you, Busy or Not
I'd Reply Fast, I ought
Bored?, Just Fine
Bitter as Wine
Please open up
Your sadness you can't cover up
Bored with me
Leaving? feel free..
I never expected
for this day to to be created
The day you leave
Is the day I grieve
Good bye
Just.. Why
Seen, Typing, Received.
Oh why'd i Believed
Your simple Sweetness
Made Bitter Endless
I've been feeling something for you
Hell This feeling I can't get used to
But you're fading..
You're leaving..
'How am i?'
I am Fine
But I cry
As you drew the Line
Goodbye it is
No more Reply
'Convo Ended' it says
Bang Bulls Eye
Thank you for hanging
with My Silliness
My Annoyingness
My Clinginess
Just know this
You were my Happiest Hello
And my Saddest Goodbye
At least now i know, You'd leave
with that warm smile
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 8:15 AM UTC