"coping" poems
It arrives,
Unnoticed, unannounced.
Quiet,
At first.
Slow,
Seeping, dripping.
I put it down to a few stressful weeks.
I carry on.
It unpacks,
Worries, anxieties.
Gently,
For now,
Tiptoes,
Whispers, creaks.
‘It will leave soon’ I think ‘It always does.’
I keep going.
It settles in,
Getting comfortable.
Getting louder,
And louder.
Banging thoughts,
Insomnia.
‘Please don’t be happening again’.
I shuffle along my daily routine.
Claws in,
Insidious.
Screaming,
24/7.
Shame, worthlessness,
Hurt.
‘Please go away’.
I’m barely coping.
Growing roots,
Into my brain and heart.
Blossoming pain,
With every beat.
Emptiness, loneliness,
Abandonment.
Silence, Stillness,
‘I can’t move, I can’t cope.’
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
the mist from my dope
coping mechanism
tickles my nose and my lips
the corners of my mouth
pulled upward as my eyes
turn to slits
i sink into the couch
cuddle my dog
ahhh, i ******* love this
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
Naked branches
now scratch
cold wind
Leaves fell
and with them
his coping
mechanism
Within
with him
thoughts stay
no longer swaying
away
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
I am in a constant battle for control.
I am hard to deal with
because my therapist says
OCD will not rest
OCD does not care what time it is
OCD does not care where you are
OCD does not care who is watching.
Usually when I obsess over things
I see my life falling to shambles
I see people not loving me anymore
I see germs sneaking into my skin.
When my uncle, my aunt, and my friend all died
in a matter of three months,
i performed rituals every hour on the hour
sometimes even more.
My therapist says this will not go away.
My therapist says to come see her so we can try to cope with this.
My therapist does not understand that WE are not coping.
I am coping
not her
not anyone else
me.
My therapist is a sick person
she is still recovering from alcoholism
so how can she help me
if all she sees is a bottle of bourbon when she looks at me.
I am not a bottle of bourbon
I am a bottle of OCD and depression and anxiety
I am a bottle of drugs and alcohol and death
I am a bottle being smashed over your head
I am not coping
I am drowning
And people have stopped loving me
And my life is falling into shambles
And I think I may be getting sick
so what the **** are these rituals even doing for me
anyway.
I have stopped taking medication because
wanting to die has become habitual
and I fear that will become a ritual too.
If I die
all people will talk about is how much they loved me
even if they didn't.
If I die,
there will be no room to have my life fall to pieces
because I will be in peace.
If I die,
I cannot get sick because the soil
will be taking care of my body but
who will perform my rituals
once I'm gone?
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so viveamus per camenam nostram.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
She reads
And she sleeps
Way too much
It's her coping defence
When nothing else will suffice
She needs to get away
Without actually leaving
Because she's too scared
And too tired
To leave her bed
So she cracks open a book
To escape somewhere far away
And she'll sob for the characters
Whose brokenness resembles hers
And then she'll sleep
And have sweet dreams
Of realities that are not her own
Because pretending is so much easier
Than facing reality
So she'll sleep and dream
And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
Depression...
angry vultures pecking at my mind
Depression...
crying glass out of my eyes
Depression...
a pretty portrait with only black lines
Depression...
defeating the purpose to fall in love
Depression...
street roses red of mistrust
Depression...
scars hidden under an innocent cut
Depression...
suicidal thoughts as an only option
Depression...
OCD with a lot of precautions
Depression...
misbehaving to fill a little noticed
Depression...
irritating as a bleeding nose
Depression...
an excuse non excused of sickness
Depression...
told to get over yourself and weakness
Depression...
coping with life by stress eating
Depression...
looking for another high in an addiction
Depression...
sounds so wrong when you're Christian
Depression, depression, depression, **** this depression
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 3:39 PM UTC
Muster up the words, "I beg you."
Form some kind of apology, please
This isn't you and you know it
Your heart is too warm to treat someone so cold
The breezy winds flow through your hair just as well as they do your emotions and you're making her feel like a helpless feather with no other choice but to get blown away
Even a simple goodbye would be better than this
Trust me, I know closure isn't really your thing, but she deserves at least something
Anything would do this situation justice, just please talk to her
This isn't you, please snap out of it
I know you've been hurt too many times to count and you're looking everywhere for something or someone to fill your voids but do not use innocent hearts as vices, they don't work like that
Don't rob someone of their feelings just because you have a hard time coping with yours
I know sometimes certain situations and feelings can be interpreted differently, but don't kid yourself, you know exactly what you're doing and quite frankly it's making me sick
You aren't perfect and neither is she, but the least you could do is offer her a bandaid when she needs one instead of drinking her blood and leaving a mess for her to cleanup afterwards without even calling her back
All of this is running like a train through my head when I look into my mirror and see myself start to tear up
The bags under my eyes hold all of the emotions that I try my best not to let out
It should be easier than this
Maybe it really is easy, and I'm just not used to change
I'm not sure about a lot of the things that are happening in my life
However, I am sure that I need to stop becoming a bad memory to others
It keeps me awake at night to think about all of the wrong I've done
That there are people whose only memory of me is how I was the worst for them and I don't want that
To my past friends and lovers, I can't say sorry enough
To my present friends and lovers, please don't give up on me; you are the reason I'm still trying
To my future friends and lovers, I hope by the time we meet, I am nothing less than perfect to you
I'm not used to change, but I could get used to being a good memory
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
Smoke the **** so my problems go away
Or at least get hidden underneath the haze
When it comes to coping methods is this okay?
Is it okay? Is it okay?
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
The word “identity” has two different meanings:
1. The fact of being who or what a person or thing is.
2. A close similarity or affinity.
I would like to focus on the first meaning.
My identity is based on who I am as a person.
It’s based on the things I do and don’t like.
My identity is based on the clothes I wear.
My identity is based on the way I choose to talk.
My identity is based on my thoughts and opinions.
My identity isn’t based on my Autism or Anxiety.
Some people say they’re identity is their Autism.
And if they’re happy with that, that’s great.
But I was just recently diagnosed with Autism.
And while I have had it my entire life.
I didn’t know anything about it.
I did, however, know that I had anxiety issues.
I’ve had anxiety for a long time, and it’s bad.
I can recognize when an attack is gonna happen.
This isn’t always the case, but a lot of the time, it is.
I know what helps me when I have an anxiety attack.
I have an understanding of what I can and can't handle.
My Autism, on the other hand, is still a mystery to me.
I know that it affects the way I think and learn.
I know it’s the reason for why I am sensitive to temperature.
I know it’s why so had such a hard time in school.
But I refuse to say that my Autism and anxiety identify me as a person.
I have known my personality way long never than both my Autism and anxiety combined.
This isn’t true for everyone, but it is for me.
This is the way I choose to approach my Autism and anxiety.
I’m Autistic, and I’m not ashamed of it.
I have anxiety, and I’m working hard on it.
But I’m not Autism, and I’m not Anxiety.
I’m me.
And I will always stand by this train of thought.
I know that there are times when my interests become my coping skills.
But when I’m not anxious, then they are just my interests.
When I’m having an anxiety attack, then they are the skills I need in order to function.
Right now, this isn’t a coping skill.
My writing this, isn’t a form of therapy.
This is an interest of mine.
I love to write, and was thinking about this, so I decided to speak my mind.
I’m happy to say I’m happy right now.
I don’t feel a bit of stress, and if I do, then one of my interests will be used to help me through it.
Until then, I’m just doing what makes me happy.
And I’m happy that I know myself well to recognize this.
You don’t have to agree with me on anything I just said.
I just ask that you respect that these are my opinions.
I’m an individual who just happens to have Autism and anxiety.
Alright, that’s all I got, I’ve just been in a writing mood over the last few days.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
As a uniform, he always wore
the grey ironmonger's coat
immaculately pressed and bore
clipped hair neat as well as a
close shave.
Mr. Cornthwaite (all of us
minions called him only Mr.)
was no "Do It 'Cos I Say So" boss
but with patience would teach
and preach retail folklore:
Cooks' staples stored well inside
our mini-market shop advanced
for its 50s' existence; shelf-stacking
to re-arrange for early use-by at the
front; fast-moving lines checked
hourly if not sooner; trusted staff
becoming the Tasting Squad for
new fresh produce being considered
for supply - The Cornflake (never
uttered in his hearing) circulating
to ensure not only that his ever-clear
commands were reflected in full shelves
but also that staff were coping not
rushed or overwhelmed.
The best Warrant Officer cares
just as much commands as
my de-mobbed Warrant Officer
father used to tell me when I asked.
(c) C J Heyworth
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
They shaved my head
and cut me open
took my skull
and my way of coping
My life had changed
in just a moment
I can't decide
but I might wish I hadn't done it.
I can't play
or practice
I have to be careful.
If I'm not cautious
with my head
I could instantly wind up dead.
My headaches aren't gone
and I'm still dizzy
all you really took
was half my aspirations.
I hadn't much warning
just a surprise.
And when I could easily die
every day is a compromise.
More just had to be taken away
because the last 13 surgeries
hadn't changed my day to day.
It's a brand new world I'm living in
where all my dreams are limited
and they're starting to run thin.
so here you have me
and I'm crying mercy.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
At the defense proposal
I was convinced
I would make it through
The proposal in my hand,
Months of preparation,
mentally, physically, loaded brain...
Well prepared I was for this judgement day
A little over confident, perhaps....
In the life of a Phd candidate
This is the true battle of Academia
Whether you'd be at the top
or you would be shot dead
The honorable Panels will decide...
The moment you utter a sentence or two..
Continuous attacks from the left and right
endlessly..... till you have your head
buried in the ground
Again you wake up and strike again
This is your war....
Defense is war.. the war of life
the moment of truth
the battle of a doctorate student everywhere
Research Objectives, Research Questions,
The Signification of research
and the Implication, the contribution of this study
SO WHAT?
One by one was being detailed, scrutinized and questioned
Dear panels,please be kind
Was patiently coping with your brutal attacks
Head held low, head held high...
Nearly had a stroke,
But I refused to die...
Thank you dear panels,
my courteous smile for you...
I'd be back,
You'd see me again,
When I counter attack....
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Warming up to it,
up and down strokes from the neck.
Pulling away the essence of you,
in the moment I don't hate these cigarettes.
Just a little stressed out today.
Line a few shots,
bullets of your strongest brandy.
Giving all I got,
truthfully I don't love the drink that gladly.
Just a little stressed out today.
Let me have a taste of a body,
acting if I can solve my problems with ***
Sure in the moment I'm giving my best,
straight afterwards I ask myself what's next?
Just a little stressed out today.
Lock my eyes on the many screens,
that I even forget to blink.
Wishing I could live their lives,
not too long, just for a week.
Just a little stressed out today.
Why must I run to coping mechanisms,
doing in my head at times?
Not trying to live up to the hype,
but out here believing the lies.
I know I'm stressed out sometimes,
but those sort of things aren't my life.
But I'm still just a little stressed out today.
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 1:36 PM UTC
as an astronaut, I spun on a rotary around the core of your existence like
you were the gravity that held me to the ground but kept me on my toes
if home is where the heart is, i'm coping with this unbearable homesickness
and I know my heart has an anarchy government, living a steel toed rebellion
but these relentless thoughts about you have gotten bad again, i don't sleep
my reckless behavior let loose, like a dog off his chain and collar and i
revisited the places you always talked about, how i dreamed to be there
with you recovering those lost feelings, and rebellion was assisting me
in the mind of my teenage angst, no autobiographies could be more
authentic than the hatred for this unrequited swelling i held in my heart
without a doubt, you're featured in my dreams more than nightmares
you couldn't be more real than the books that I hold in my hands
i'm sleeping in water filled with sharks calling me a tedious terrorist
entering their territory, leaving me with absolutely nothing
just build a bridge, get over it, if you have to, revisit my mind
maybe you'll see everyone is the enemy, not everyone is perfect
-kra
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
Recovery is not
Simple
It's not being better
It's bumps in the road
Recovery is relapse
Going back to old habits
Because it's easier than
Coping
Recovery is hiding the
Pain because everyone else
Believes it's gone
For me
Recovery just
Isnt a reality
I'll likely die before
"It gets better"
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
Coping with fear?
Anxiety. Kitten Therapy.
Coping with anger?
Anger management.
Coping with happiness?
Sharing. Fangirling.
Coping with sadness?
Crying.
Coping with being me?
A mess. I can't cope. I'm almost at the breaking point.
How much longer God?
It's been my whole life, I've never been truly happy.
Please help me.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
I wish I could talk the way I write...
I wish I knew how to tell you what's on my mind...
I wish I could...
Because I would tell you that I'm scared shitless to lose you, that I can't help but to selfishly want you for myself at times.
I would tell you that my heart wants to jump out of its chest every time you say you love me, and that I feel butterflies all over my body when we kiss... I would tell you that I wanna hold on to every single moment spent with you and save it like a treasure in an old wooden chest. I would tell you that fighting with you makes my heart ache deeply and that your pains, I feel them too. I would tell you that my heart is in your hands and that I'm scared like hell that you might let it fall and break in pieces... that I don't even want to think of that happening with you...
I would tell you that this distance we're about to experience frightens me... and that my eyes fill with tears when I know it's soon coming. I would tell you that I try to be strong in front of you, but that my soul screams inside as my heart cries in silence... I would tell you that you have all of me, even if you didn't want it; that I love to sleep on your chest because that sound of your beating heart soothes my constant anxiety... I would tell you that I love to wake up before you in the morning and give you one thousand kisses as you awake when breakfast is ready... I would tell you that knowing you won't be around every night makes my heart cry... that my loneliness scares me.... I would tell you that I don't mean to push away ... this is just me coping with it... the distance scares me... I don't want to hurt... I don't want you to hurt... I just wanna tell you that I love you... I'm deeply, uncontrollably, passionately in love with you.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
sometimes it's hard
just to pick up a fork.
i find myself too weak, arms too limp.
excuses
upon
excuses
piled like a house of cards,
one breeze and i’ll blow away with it.
you won’t be able to catch me,
to stop me,
i can’t even do that myself.
my heart is heavy,
stomach empty,
i still struggle to eat daily but i’m trying.
i do it just to spite those voices in my head
when i should be doing it for me, but
it’s hard to block them out
when they sound a lot like my mother.
sometimes it’s hard
just being alive,
hard to get out of bed when
the weight of the world is pressing down on you.
hard not wanting to die
when the sweet release of these demons is all you find yourself
thinking about,
dreaming about anymore.
dreams of floating through the sky
like the clouds passing;
i’m jealous of the way they hang there, gracefully.
i want to be just like them but
i can’t trust myself not to
fall
back
down
to earth.
i’ve done it too many times before.
i’ve got to remind myself that
recovery takes time.
i’ll never unlearn the calories in a raspberry
but at least now i can drink a glass of orange juice
without shedding a single tear.
sure it’s laced with *****
but don’t worry. it’s not a problem
it’s a coping method,
one you might not approve of but one that works, see
over time the scars on my arms have faded.
heart less heavy,
stomach still empty.
well, not completely empty.
but that’s progress right?
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
what's the point of buying a portrait if you are blind?
nothing i would see is worth my precious time—
just more metal, bad skin, and tired, jealous eyes
senseless sensibility is a cold kettle boiling,
nonsense steam fogs up the jaded glass.
draw a picture with your finger,
smile as it fades to apathy,
all that lovely water turned to gas.
i lick my palms to play pretend with illness,
stay in bed with the quilt kicked off-kilter,
crawling with the brood of the six-legged past;
they are eating the nests of the threatened, bitter future
change the cable channels in my brain,
but only stations two and five are clear,
and eight if a wire coat-hanger antenna
is bent at an angle from my dominant ear
so i can sit, content, and watch the weather
sneaking in exhaust from every orifice
gets me passed out stupid every time;
a coping mechanism,
coated **** between the gears,
and only this pollution left behind.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
writing with a broken pencil
how pointless
when the only connection I had on Valentine's
was wi-fi
and don't the vultures in this airport know
only one carrion allowed?
and no fresh fruit - so no pairs.
it's terrible, I know
but puns are my coping device
and you [every bloke in my youth] should never have tried to juggle
when you had no *****
but you left
so I'm all right now
and I amused myself
with silly strings of homophony
until I found someone
whose puns are even worse
than me
because you can't take a joke
that doesn't belong to you
it's all mind.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
After all this compression, perhaps I am becoming something after all. Crawling away from my potential worth I feel myself writhing my way from between the rocks, taking quick, shallow breaths —learning to breathe again after all this time. Each inhale still feels heavy and constricted, and every exhale still brings a sense of dread for the rise and fall of my chest but I am moving forward. Even relieved, my ribcage is adjusting painfully to the freedom, coping with more lung space; a gift I received from you.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
*Is way of expressing the pain that
I seem not to be able to talk about.
It is how I cope with feeling numb.
It is how I cope when I have so many emotions
I can't even begin to name them.
I self injure to hide the pain I feel.
I self injure and nobody knows but me.
I am me I can not change that
Right now self injury is a coping skill.
I am trying to find new coping skills to learn how to deal with things.
I can sometimes make those other skills work for me,
but on a day like today it seems to be the one reliable thing
that I know will help me get through the rest of the day.*
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Self Injury
Is way of expressing the pain
That I seem not to be able to talk about.
It is how I cope with feeling numb.
It is how I cope when I have so many emotions I can't even begin to name them.
I self injure to hide the pain I feel.
I self injure and nobody knows but me.
I am me
I can not change that and right now self injury is a coping skill.
On a day like today when the memories flood in
It seems to be the one reliable thing
That I know will help me get through the rest of the day.
Self Injury
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
The dried petals of a once green love
snake through the beige carpet--
along with potato chips,
along with icy *****
along with grey ash of cheapshit incense,
my empire soles trample in after work.
Susan smiles and tries to reheat the leftovers.
Our bulging bellies match from a marriage of coping strategies,
stretch mark'd and daydreaming of
other seasons; sweat on foreign sheets,
other napes; Mediterranean baby's breath,
other scents; a choice between gardenia and gasoline,
Susan's a liar.
Of deceit--I've grown tired.
Newspaper, newspaper bring me a bullet.
Doorbell, doorbell bring me a blushing nomad in need of bruising.
Ringtone, ringtone bring me DHS and an actual Friday.
Susan tucks me in to the Lullaby of the Infomercial,
her fingernail seeps into my lower lip.
I roll onto my side.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC