"hyperventilate" poems
Anywhere, Anytime;
Anxiety Attack, Panic Attack;
Sometimes I cry;
Sometimes my chest tightens;
Sometimes I feel choked;
Sometimes I hyperventilate;
Sometimes I feel like I'm dying;
It's hard...
But I'm trying to fight....
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 10:58 PM UTC
I swallowed my lunch down the wrong way
and now there’s something in my lungs,
eggs, I think, cracked into little pieces
with the shells all picked out.
I really should have known when I couldn’t breathe
that I was doing this backwards,
but I swallowed anyway, and now when I hyperventilate
it’s like my body is trying to make an omelette.
It sounds so funny. It sounds like everybody
but me is laughing. I mean, it’s a ridiculous idea,
having eggs in your lungs,
but the more I think it’s true, the more I feel them.
I suppose this is divine punishment
for the impossible crime of eating lunch,
for taking those eggs and cracking them straight
into my mouth. There are probably some unborn
chicks thinking, in as much as chicks can think
like we do, that this is divine punishment.
Who gets the last laugh? The abortion does.
And now I’m on the table — medical, not,
you know, the dinner one,
and the doctors are saying that they’re going to cut
something out of me to keep me alive.
If it weren’t for the fact that my mouth
has been sewed up to prevent my own idiocy,
I’d tell them that that’s what I’ve been trying to do all along.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:48 PM UTC
Today I wanted to buy the copyright to the process of hallelujah
******* in joy the same way whales eat krill
You just bottle it up inside your lungs until you have enough
Inside my fridge I have vacuum sealed jars of hallelujah
There’s nothing religious about that
Jars labeled things like
Loss of virginity
Rob lived this time
The homework is complete
Hallelujah
It’s the same way prayer works
Backwards
Pulling bits of god like an inhale
I want to hyperventilate on your hallelujah
Like a gospel choir on speed
It collects
Over time
For instance
It was maybe a month in to sleeping at Delia’s and Toffer’s house
Before I realized
I didn’t have to sleep in my car anymore
You go into the bathroom to **** and realize
Hallelujah
A jar labeled
Found a Home for now
I know science can do this
For the sake of all that is a monument to a single life
So that on your death bed, or at your funeral
Everyone there can hold a jar
Cold and warm at the same time
Vibrating in their palms
In violent joy
Like mozzletoff cocktails
They are thrown
And when they shatter there is a song
That has been collecting for years
The same word in different tonal joys
Your life
Every good moment
Hallelujah
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I can barely move
I can barely talk
I can't breathe when I'm this way
It's gotten worse
And it happens more often
I'm paralyzed in a nightmarish dream and I come out gasping
I smile in the beginnings
because it tries to pull me under and can't
But after a while it wins and pulls me under
I fight
I try to move, but all I get is a bit of shaking
And I try to talk or scream, but all I get is a short puffed out breath
I try to breathe more, but I hyperventilate
I half wake up from it to try to get free, but it pulls me under and smiles at me
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
To me it feels like a worm
Wiggling its way
Through my bloodstream,
Making it icy and cold
And my heart turn
To frigid emotion.
It makes its way into my
Mind,
Slowing the thoughts
In some parts,
But giving the other parts,
The nervous parts,
The parts that hyperventilate
And have panic attacks,
Caffiene.
Breathing gets hard
Because
I'm underwater,
Or underground.
Buried alive,
Or sinking slowly.
I.
Can't.
Breathe.
The worm,
The worst part about the worm?
It feeds on my life.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
dear mother,
my mental health is not a spectator sport.
you do not get to tell me "you need to go to school to learn to be a decent person" when i am too depressed to get out of bed and then brag about my ACT score.
it is not your score. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to tell me that you are sending me to a psychologist to "learn how to treat other people" and then ask me if i am okay. i am not okay.
dear mother,
you do not get to watch me hyperventilate under a bed on a school morning and get angry and then brag to your friends about my GPA. it is not your GPA. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to scream at me for "upsetting your household" and order me to take easier classes and then brag to your friends that your daughter took 5 AP classes. yes, that is hard, but you made it harder.
dear mother,
you do not get to scold me when, yes, i stayed up all night but didn't finish my work but then brag to your friends about my success. it is not your success. it is mine.
dear mother,
you do not get to push me down and then comment on how wonderfully i got back up.
you do not get to cheer me in success and boo me in defeat. i am not a sports team, i am your daughter
dear mother,
you are not my mother. you are my fair-weather fan, and yes i am doing well now but i do not have time for autographs.
dear mother,
goodbye.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
I sit in the steaming hot water naked and vulnerable, both mentally and physically to blemishes accumulated on me.
The mental thoughts race back and forth between my eyes playing and rewinding back through mistakes I have made.
Remembering the wrong paths that dramatically changed my history.
As the water rises I feel the anxiety inside my chest making me hyperventilate profusely.
I close my eyes plunging my face into the water, feeling my hair floating over me.
Staying under as I feel the anguish of the misconceptions of my life fall off of me.
coming up as if awakening from the dead, while ceaselessly stepping out of the ***** water leaving it behind.
I peer into the mirror inhaling the air surrounding.
Slowly wrapping my arms tightly around my body, letting the women in the mirror know I except her.
Telling her I will always love and fight for her.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
Our immediate discomfort always feels so wrong
Aren’t we all meant to get along?
It starts as simply as the set of their jaw
Before long it’s their toneless guffaw
Then their mere presence becomes an intense irritant
And you fight to suppress your instinct to be militant
Forget the initial dislike that began to percolate
Now you fight for control as you hyperventilate
Digging deep for composure you seek compromise
But then you recognise the mutuality of warrior steel in their eyes
You know they know
What to do; step away or let it be so?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
i guess it came out wrong.
i guess i didn't mean to say,
"I only live for my grades."
i mean, i live for the stars,
planets, consellations, and
the black holes.
i live for the universe surrounding me.
but, i guess i was also telling the truth.
the only things i care about are my grades.
i hyperventilate when i don't have the perfect grades.
i literally cry when things don't go my way.
i need the highest gpa possible.
it's my only chance to a future,
its my only hope.
its everything i dream about,
think about,
and live for.
so, i guess i was telling the truth when i
said i had nothing else to live for
except for my grades.
i guess i should've let you
take me to the couselor.
i think i need one.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
Every generation
has the leaders and the followers.
The popular kids and the geeks,
the kids who get high on the streets
and the kids who get high on cloud nine.
The artists and the poets,
the skaters, the stoners,
the musicians and the actors,
and we all have the kids
who are all of the above.
We all have the kids
who are none of the above.
Times change, yes
and trends come and go
but don’t tell me that I’m exceptional
not because of what I know
but because of the children
that surround me.
Don’t tell me to speak my dreams
and release my strife in the form of rhyme
because “few others you know do it”.
Passion is limitless,
passion is ageless
and while I’m being raised
in a generation of technology
and dramatic social media,
yolo and swag, pregnant teens
and 55-hour marriages-
I’m growing up
in a generation of artists,
a generation of dreamers,
a generation of doers,
and a generation
of freethinkers.
Freethinkers whose words
drip from their tongues like honey
and stain their pages in the world
like wine.
Students who get bored
with teachers wanting them to think
in 1’s and 0’s,
fit into standards,
speak in slanders
and begin to hyperventilate
because they can’t translate
what they think.
Kids who haven’t forgotten
that breathing in binary isn’t healthy.
Apparently, those that find
enough creative destruction in life to cheat the system
are going against the greater public’s
better judgement,
feeling free to sit and glare
at those who swear that they’re normal,
but I’m not growing up with those kids.
People who sit back and cry crocodile tears
for those who don’t know
what to think of themselves,
sitting back and laughing
at those who shudder and shake
at the thought of being caught in between
different sides of their minds
that they don’t know it’s okay to have…
but I’m not growing up with those people.
I’m growing up in a
group of rebels,
a group that will one day
run the nation-
a nation of tenacious activists,
wearing their minds
more professionally than
politicians wear their suits-
and with better ideas.
Because we have voices,
we have pens,
but most important
we have ideas,
ideas that can change the world,
change the world more
than poker-faced suits
and hate commercials
and picket signs
ever could.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
I am strong.
That's what others say of me.
But its not true.
I'm only strong for those I love.
I don't let them see me broken.
I hold my composure
Act as if everything will be okay
But when I'm alone at night,
That's when I become weak.
I am as fragile as life.
I shed countless tears,
My body trembles in agony,
Air escapes my lungs as I hyperventilate,
Until I finally pass out.
As I sleep,
Nightmares torment me,
They eat me alive
Until I wake up
with a tear stained pillowcase.
I am not strong.
The people I love,
They make me strong.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
I scream,
Wishing you would scream back.
I talk,
Wishing you would talk back.
I hear my phone ring,
Wishing you were the person calling.
I answer my door,
Wishing you were the person who appears.
I eat,
Wishing you were eating with me.
I drink,
Wishing you were drinking with me.
I dance,
Wishing you were dancing with me.
I breathe,
Wishing you were breathing with me.
I listen,
Wishing I could hear your voice.
I walk,
Wishing you were walking behind me.
I laugh,
Wishing you were laughing with me.
I cry,
Wishing you would dry my tears.
I hyperventilate,
Wishing you would calm me down.
I bleed,
Wishing you would save me from myself.
I sleep;
& I know your here.
I dont ever want to open my eyes;
Because the only way I'll see you,
Is in my dreams.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
Much like being trapped in an elevator,
Awaiting your rescue,
Wondering if you should be the one to save yourself,
But you start panicking once the doors wont open,
You feel yourself shrinking,
Drowning in your thoughts,
Internally collapsing from the stress,
You begin to hyperventilate,
But not audibly, no, it's completely silent,
The utter silence itself is deafening,
You question the stability and structure
Of the suspended room that your life is being held in,
Back to the silence, was that a creaking sound
Or are you just starting to become paranoid now,
Is someone on the outside trying to pry the doors open
To help rescue you, and get you out,
Or is someone simply mindlessly hitting the elevator button
Waiting for it to come, though it never will,
Surely they'll become annoyed and just take the stairs,
But how are you supposed to get out of this situation,
This state of complete panic, you start to sob,
And that's when you realize that this is what anxiety feels like.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Intuition not mind boggling
Steak not goulash
Friend not lover
Know not question
Breathe not hyperventilate
(Add more please)
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
It starts with a pin pick of blood
Stomach tightens and
You don't feel so good
The body begins to ache
Lungs start to hyperventilate
Though you try to manually regulate
The heart pounds and races
You clench your hands
Finding cuts in different places
Overwhelming pain sets in
Setting fire to the nerves
To repent for your sins
The limbs are lame and heavy
Broken pulls and levels
Effort makes you hot and sweaty
While life slips away
The mind will mistake
The remaining minutes for days.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Heart clenched
Breath gone
Hyperventilate
You forgot your phone
It's the end of the world
My body refuses to cooperate
20 minutes
That's all this can last
Yet 20 minutes can feel like a year
As long as you give it the space
Wanting to stay and fight
Or fly away
But you can barely stand in one place
Your touch feels like iron
Trapping me inside this cage
Just let me out
Don't ******* touch me there
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
I still can't talk about you in therapy
I hyperventilate, and it scares me.
I don't understand how us affects me
I always saw you as a safe place for me
I tried to be safe for you too,
But have realized how bad I am at
Comforting others, especially you.
I tried my hardest, but never felt correct
I'd cry and get frustrated
over the urge to protect.
I'm extremely empathetic,
I'll throw myself under the bus, it's pathetic
I feel everything you say,
I take on your emotions
and this seems to cause pain
But I don't know what to say
It just happens,
You share with me
And I feel everything
I try to convey my empathy
To help you feel okay,
All I wanted was to be there
Like you were always, for me
I think the best thing I can do is set you free.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 9:33 AM UTC
Im struggling to talk
Its making me silent
Im struggling to breathe
Its making me hyperventilate
Im struggling to swallow
Its making me choke
Im struggling to see
Its making me blind
Im struggling to listen
Its making me deaf
Im struggling to run
Its making me walk
Im struggling to jump
Its making me stop
Im struggling to move
Its making me freeze
Im struggling to remember
Its erasing my memories
Im struggling to think
Its making me un smart
Im struggling to be happy
Its making me depressed
Im struggling to laugh
Its making me cry
Im struggling to be calm
Its making me angry
I wanna move
I wanna talk
I wanna see
I wanna breathe
I cannot move
I cannot talk
I cannot see
I cannot breathe
Im pushing,
But its pulling
Im pulling,
But its pushing
Im fighting,
And its fighting back
Im struggling,
And its winning
I wanna be free
I wanna go forward
My freedom is punished
And to go forward is forbidden
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
I feel damaged, I feel broken
see depression had me trapped
At a young age
well before I had even spoken
When I was 8, I saw someone get sick
I spiraled infront of everyone
they saw me as a burden so
I was sent home real quick
When I was 10, I laid in bed
for two months...
I watched the same movie
and refused to eat because the demons in my head
When I was 12, I was scared to leave ..
my house and even my bedroom
I would hyperventilate
then cry so hard I'd heave
When I was 18
I screamed till my voice was no more
my cries echoed off the walls
but no one cared to notice
what happened behind my bedroom door
When I was 19, I was too nice
I put others first
but little did I know
a piece of my heart was the price
I am broken, I am damaged
everyday I wake up
surviving the day is always a challenge
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
the reason why i'm writing
this poem, is to lessen
the feels i'm having right now.
because,
you make me hyperventilate.
every time i close my eyes,
i see you.
your eyes are
illuminating my life.
every time i remember
how your lips curled into smile,
i cant help but smile
like an idiot.
every time i think of you,
oh my...
i can't even describe how
just the thought of you affects
my mood so much.
maybe,
i like you that much.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
Sitting there,
Attempting not to hyperventilate
She finds it hard to pace her breathing.
She’s drowning in the rinse cycle of her life
Trying hard to wash the fabric of her existence,
Cleanse the stains left behind from previous use,
She's doing as she needs to.
But she finds the whole thing disorienting
The walls close in
She struggles against the very process.
Yet she is fighting..
With every fiber of her being
To not give into habit
Natural brain chemistry…
Because she knows
If she falls apart now: it will all be for nothing
All the progress, effort wasted
And she wouldn’t have deserved it anyways.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
I wish I were the one
you wait for online.
The one who makes you
bite your thumb,
hyperventilate,
enter a state of bliss and fear
as soon as you see my name.
Instead, it's the other way around.
I feel butterflies in my stomach,
in my chest,
in my lungs,
threatening to make their way
out of my mouth,
to spill out and run out in the open.
My fingers are too frozen
to type out two letters,
let alone an entire sentence.
They are too preoccupied
covering my mouth
to stop me from screaming
when you send me a message.
"hey. :)"
And before I could stop it,
the first butterfly
flutters out of me.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Shallow breaths,
fists knuckled,
beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
The tension was very palpable,
and so was the nervousness.
I remind myself, take deep breaths,
but as the time draws near,
all I can do is watch,
and to hyperventilate.
Shallow breaths,
fists knuckled,
beads of sweat forming on my forhead,
The tension was very palpable.
And I was nervous.
I didn't know if it was because,
of my impending performance,
or if it was because,
of the events that would happen when this is all
over.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
I didn't understand beauty until I fell in love,
and then that's all I could ever see.
I saw it in chaos, and in destruction;
In scars and open wounds.
In heavily loaded one-word text messages
hey
and texts like love letters taking minutes that feel like hours to send.
I can feel love like a lemon being squeezed on a fresh cut,
and in the excruciating numbness of the dark silence.
I can feel it in those moments where I run out of breath,
and the ones where I breathe too much and hyperventilate and things
start
to
fade to
Black.
I didn't understand beauty until I fell in love,
and suddenly my pain was pleasure
and my anger was a soothing balm--
and everything was heartbreak
even singing our song.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC