"introversion" poems
don’t you know that it was you
who like the Pied Piper
drew me here to
this cross road where
my ideas collided with you
in a state of bewildered joy
pleasant surprise
in spite of some inherent shyness;
a tendency towards introversion
would not stop
this flow of words
even as the cloak of anonymity
fell apart
like a bee finds the nectar that it is due
Stranger, i found you.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
12.02.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
An introverted saint
An introverted saint named after a saint
Who died for rebirth of faith
A ******* is very intuitive and alive
Like poem
But that’s not who you really are
You are running away from your past
Your pain you took risk to give rot to a friend’s innocent body without why
The way it glows how the light holds you in silence, taking care of you
Experience the energy of where all life began when you met a friend
And yet you keep it so close to you
So you don’t have to be afraid of who you are... you might lose your mind you refuses to take it factual. A ******* wants to spend the cell with who he is.
A ******* sees an angel for the first time is a friend when he told a friend is an angel without a ******** feeling in unclearly to complete desirable to be aware
Know your purpose feel your birth
Hear at first faintly then distinctly is a friend’s a state of harmony
The sweet strains of our union
Our friendship heats up the cold universe,
And give your tired desperate heart you lost your introversive
Purified by our kisses, are eternally healed.
It’s destiny by the way it’s weird feeling
It is magic?
A ******* is a weak man that he is extremely hazy
the way narcissism made him lack.
Your brilliance
Your heart is very weak because of flattery
You are not afraid in the world you get hidden away from a friend’s sight as light that from your introversion compare with extrovert in experience
But you can’t cook to save your life for who you are, you are so desperately to erase in anything with good thing come in your timeline to move to make sure you are safely where your home is with you
To believe in something that’s all around us
But hidden from our sight
The gift of the faith that destiny is willing to create us to be purpose to meet in happenstance that who we are
Life can be kind and zealous
Because you are beautiful. —They move me.
An introverted saint
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
I am hopelessly attracted to grumpiness
impatience
poignancy
eccentricity
introversion
stubbornness
anxiety
misanthropy
frustration
hedonism
vulgarity
How, then, do I define 'imperfection'?
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
i burnt the roast on christmas day.
my loves sat in silent pain
waiting for my neck to crane.
summers night and winters rain
couldn't cook this ******* roast again
i cant believe i burned the ******* roast.
each of them had different reasons
to feel so **** upset this season
it never felt right to believe in
love that can feel so uneven
ive cooked this ******* roast before i dont know how i ****** it up so bad
these seconds will never pass
table breaks the hourglass
my wife she's a lovely lass
why didnt she cook the ******* roast instead
**** **** **** **** **** ****
a look of sadness on my face
anxious forks hit sides of plates
i look to my loves and say
im not sure there'll be roast today
how could you burn the ******* roast on christmas?
the wine was almost nearly empty
most of it from my aunt wendy
whose husband left when she was twenty
but she brought some new man lenny
who also drank most of the wine
and was also upset that i burned the ******* roast
i didnt drive all the way out here
just to drink a couple beer
i know it may not be premiere
but bring that ******* roast out dear
okay mom.
i went back to the kitchen to get the burnt ******* roast
i found my wife her head ashake
frowning down to my dismay
you burnt the roast on christmas day
we'll find the love in your mistake
she kissed me
i tasted the roast and it wasnt that bad
i mean, it was pretty bad
but it was still there.
all those chairs, a different person
neither in their finest version
let my love be a diversion
**** you from your introversion
i burnt the roast on christmas day
lets find the love in our mistakes
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
Back to counting the hours
until I get to go home.
Back to awkward encounters
with strangers I know.
Back to wearing my earphones
in tense public spaces.
Back to standing alone
in a sea of the faceless.
Back to socially inept,
standing in corners,
intense introversion
and wishing it was over.
Back to hiding my flaws,
my quirks and my oddities--
not talking too much
because I say all the wrong things.
It's back to the grind,
and I'll muddle through
because at least when it's over
I'll be home with you.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
A first exclamation
Is it an approximation?
Of my imagination
Spoken determination
We are all in delusion
Sinking possibilities
Acting on this activation
A brain improvisation
A flowing dedication
Mounted city destination
Lacking in co-operation
Mounted evaluations
Investing the cognition
Is not the only direction?
Embracing the investigation
My convergence recruitment
Not even words uncovers
The layered entrenchment
Sunken lost in introversion
A day dream of absolution
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
But, darling, no one is understanding this.
My abilities are flowers and you're picking off all the petals
before I even have time to grow more.
My brain is a garden that I can only water when I'm alone,
so please understand that I will wilt and dry out when exposed
to too much social interaction for too long of a time.
I need time to recuperate, to grow, to freshen up.
Because a flower is no fun when it's wilted, and all the petals are gone.
(d.d.b)
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
A subtle change of airs,
The fall to Earth.
A sweet chill to linger on fingertips.
Fresh roasting scents
Permeate the silence
To replace each passing conversation.
Finally.
The thousand dollar smiles
& whirl of diamond indifference
Fade to music from worlds
Whose language I cannot speak.
Blessed introversion.
It was never a business to be be forgotten.
As the sunsets draw short
So sheds cynicism
& the sickly copper taste of commodity.
Let me vanish into cashmere
& the beauty of written words,
Be carried away on the flicker of candlesticks.
Relax
Into the elegance of stoicism.
I am that I am.
A season unto myself,
Craving the solstice.
A peak of serenity in crisp autumn colors.
Reclaiming the safety of the night,
Mythology dances across the sky
& as the flames from the hearth
Warm my machine cold soul,
Passion burns through the tired facade.
Let me be drunk on these fallen leaves
& drift, thankfully
Into peace.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
I wrote a poem titled “Autobiography” about
four years ago- I wrote about how I was born
prematurely, about how I worried which aspects
of my parents I’d inherited. I wrote about how
I dressed, my favorite colors, and my irrational fears.
Other parts addressed some insecurities, my
introversion, and my girlfriend (at the time).
All of these things still hold truth to my character,
they will forever be engrained in the fiber of my being.
But I feel like that autobiography needs to be updated.
That worked for me four years ago, but I was much,
much younger then. I was young and hopeful, you
could even say naive. I knew nothing of the pain
that I would one day harbor in my heart, I knew
nothing of the anger I was to be consumed with.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could tell that
younger version of me- maybe prepare him for what
is to come. But even given the opportunity, I’m not sure
that I could truly convey what to be prepared for.
But we’ll chalk up my pain to character development,
and hope that one day, when I revisit my autobiography
again, I’ll look back on this chapter with a smile on
my face and the scabs on my heart scarred over.
I hope I continue to write my story and that I have
people still willing to listen to my words.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
I hate waiting,
but I'm the one who's always late.
I hate talking to people,
yet I often have the most to say.
I hate being ignored,
but want others to go away.
I hate feeling neglected,
though I forget those around me by letting my thoughts lead me astray...
I hate clingy people,
yet I find myself obsessing over you everyday.
I hate it when others try to get close to me, however, I continue to dream of having the chance to be close to you;
wishing that you'd stay...
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
Balzac is beading,
Robespierre is reading,
Introversion I am needing,
Reflections I am heeding,
In old bat cave central,
Like an ancient Sybil, hypothetical,
Wisdom is supposed to come with age,
As Balzac turns his own page,
Why am I more religious than the Pope?
Can any faith give Earthlings hope?
Better than folk smoking dope!
If you have a problems embarrassing,
Bring them here for my listening,
Sage advice I am providing,
Reflections I am heeding,
Yes, boys, beer understands,
How did dinosaurs make it in Pleistocene lands?
Answer: they didn't, for beer, no hands,
Yes, reflections I am heeding,
Humans are minute cosmic specks, spinning,
On a pebble in Outer Space, clinging,
If gravity didn't **** we'd all be floating,
Reflections I am heeding,
As Robespierre shall keep reading,
Then Balzac shall be beading......
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
Fire burning, logs marching
A path daunting, ranting taunts
Chanting seamed Arabic hymns
Chargrilled silky toned offerings
The exquisite yurt tent warm
Enclosed in ethnic kaleidoscope
Bedouin tribal pneuma radiates
Tensed and cordially punted
Feral wild ones sociably awake
Reticent,drained in frail noises
Fainting in lapses, trailed to fail
Tidal noises permeates above all
Waved and enveloped in beats
A drummed goblet, strummed oud
Announcement of the lived life force
The tidal rhythmic music timed
All clapping and mesmerised
Drawn in dangerous curves
A continuum of introversion sorted
The ever censored extroversion summed
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
I love my Solitude-
yet You intrude upon it
like the crashing of waves
on the rocks at Bandstand
I’ve tried to hold my peace
in the palm of my hand
but it turns into dewdrops
and trickles down my fingertips
I try to rid myself of You
and other clichéd metaphors
in my life….
for when I empty myself of You
I shall become Complete
Full of light
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
25/5/06.
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
In the mornings I stayed in the blue, carpeted room.
My Cello played the best friend, while I played upon its bare back.
The halls sat silent there.
The walls, bear aside from the occasional music note half sticky-tacked to the white cement, only emphasized my isolation.
They hung yellowed from UV light, and their own forgotten presence.
After the day slipped by,
Through Stephen King book pages
And colored comics,
Through love notes scraped into wooden tables,
And the ring of my own repose draped upon me by scrambled, and passing conversation
I would make my way to the baseball field.
5’4” and nearing 200 pounds
My ardor was never withheld even in the face of exclusion.
I tried for the team
But when the roster ruffled in the fading sun behind the bleachers
I made myself a part of where I was not welcome.
I loved the team
Even as snide comments slithered
Through the teeth of passing players,
Even as the coach spat not a centimeter above the toe of my white, worn tennis shoes
I came day in and day out
If not to catch the practice ***** then the occasional smile of young girl—a pitying young girl, but a smile nonetheless.
The life bodes loneliness,
But to me it presents possibility.
Never doubt the adequacy of introversion.
The quiet mouth begets the much more boisterous mind.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
Would that my life
carried the pomp and confidence
of a bombastic poem
an overwrought daytime drama
that bad action movie with the guy
who’s too cool for this world
Would that my rhymed greetings
always trumpet a joyful salute
blasting awake the tired and sad
rendering all introversion moot
Would that an invitation
for a beer a my place
be a more coveted prize
than a free trip to space
Would that every whipped up snack
be a culinary masterpiece
gasping in ecstasy my houseguests
cling to their seats
Would that the very tone of my voice
render women to squirm and swoon
render babies to giggle
and songbirds to croon
Would that any awkward silences
be scrupulously sifted out
cold cut conversations segued from hours
to clipped and cleverly crafted banter
Would that I’d compose the songs
that bring young lovers close
that wrench tears from the eyes
of those more cynical than most
Would that the clip of my canter
be the cadence of the soundtrack
of enlightenment
Would that my goodbyes be
an epic flood of emotion
my friends and colleagues
all so grieved to see me going
Would that in life
I be bigger than death
and in death I be
bigger than life.
...
But what would all that be
would that even be me?
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Introversion
It would seem
Is the obstacle of happiness
Of dreams
And yet,
I confess
I do not value my solitude
Any less
I'm not one
To pursue
Immersed within the undulating throngs
More, subdued
I do not fear
Loneliness
Feeling that residing within myself,
Her caress
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC
I've been told; life is all about growth and maturity
Leaving the nest and learning to take on and embrace your surroundings
Then explain why I feel as though I'm shrinking, constantly fighting these ongoing insecurities?
People always preach about being true to who you are
The unknown galaxy of the delicate mind is somehow bigger than our own body
Exile the unworthy nightmares and follow the dreams that may appear bizzar
But what do you do when you're all alone in a crowded room?
And extraversion and introversion are the two demons playing tug of war?
I wish I were plain and simple like a white rose, just allowing myself to bloom
What do I do when the glorious stars lose their twinkle?
Once so bright and majestic, now blurry and incoherent
How should I uproot these sorrows, when they're so profound and as deep as wrinkles?
If the lies and confusion are steering clear of the shadows of hope
And these tears, sharp as daggers are supposed to seize to a stop
Then why does it seem as though everything is heading in a downward slope?
It reminds me of a beautiful bird trapped in an iron barred cage
Struggling, and flapping it's wings in deprivation of escaping
It could shrill and cry, but no one shows interest in it's excruciating rage
If razors weren't sharp and scissors had no blades
If skin were tougher than rubber
Would these unruly memories and tortured thoughts drift into the distance and fade?
I despise how the facts are too hard to handle and never good enough
No matter how much you strive for change, god's never on your side
And frankly, I'm exhausted from putting up walls and having to always be so tough
No matter how hard I try, I am still lost and weak
Searching for the true meaning in blank canvased skies
At a loss of how to correct a lack of color in this never ending streak
I know who Faith is, and hopefully she'll grace her presence upon me soon
Maybe she'll teach me how to expand my wings and soar into the horizon
Allowing sublimity to perfuse like a butterfly, rather than falling into the darkness of a constricted cocoon
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
i haven’t said a word in fifty-three years
no, i told not a soul what i felt
i crumbled dreams like paper notes and
when i spoke i felt my own heart melt.
while you so declared your own ravaging fancies,
shouted like a song
a voice of purity, clear as glass
somehow, you were always wrong.
no, i am not bold, externally;
though my thoughts roared so loudly in my head
and when i put my words on paper
i could say what i wanted to be said.
my thoughts were so much louder than my words that
my head was almost deafened by their sound
perhaps i’d rather dwell in my imagined tales
than the sweet syllables i had almost found.
i dreamed, like you, to speak so clearly,
so greatly, and with such confidence;
but i mumbled, and so sillily
slurred vowels into consonants.
i dwelled in mere introversion so much that
when i opened my mouth to speak
i was held in great aversion, complete and utter disconcertion
and i could not tell you why.
indeed, i may be full of anxieties
but truly it did not matter to me, because
alone is not lonely
alone is not lonely
and i am not alone.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
I used to be such a beautiful delicate Rose, now all I am is dead Rose that has been Wilting in the winds of disappointment/stress and solace.
I used to look at myself in the mirror 🪞 and be happy with what I see, a beautiful girl with long spiral curly hair along with a nice slim figure and beautiful beautiful big brown coffee eyes. All I see now is a used to be beautiful girl that went from an 8 to a 4, her big brown eyes became smaller, her nice slim figure is thicker, and her long textured hair became nothing... Relationships, the 🌎, and people can damage you. Most importantly.. YOU can damage you. Putting others before your happiness will destroy you. Since I was a little girl I was putting people before me at all times; I wish someone would of taught me to love myself the way you're supposed.
I used to be such a kind soul. Still am but my eyes and my glow are not as bright anymore. It has dimmed down to depression, anxiety, and introversion what makes me seem like a monster... The people I gave/give my heart to and my all to are the same people (including myself) that made me into the dead Rose I see today. I just want to see my glowing light shine nice and bright...
🥀
Like it used to.
Aug 11, 2023
Aug 11, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
I could so easily
become a Hermit.
Push the World away,
shed obligation,
Never Truly touch
another Human.
But I am burdened
with Duty.
I am Cursed
to Care.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Conversation inhibited,
Yet also free of constraint,
Small talk a challenge,
In depth conversation my forte
And interrogation my ally
Bombarding others with quick fire questions,
‘You’re too deep’ it has been said more than once
As I reveal too much once again.
Misunderstanding social cues,
Eye contact a no no,
****** expressions a blur,
Tone of voice a trigger,
Hence emotions a minefield.
Literal listening,
Literal speaking,
Leading to sense of humour bypass,
Don’t waste your innuendos, irony and sarcasm on me,
Direct speaking is what wins the day.
Overwhelming sensory overload,
Confusion,
Misunderstanding,
Mishearing,
Tendency towards negativity,
Introversion,
A war of words
Inside my head
Pouring out my mouth,
Tearing me apart
And those whom I love.
Now working hard to change the script,
To be aware of the impact of deficiencies, defensiveness and quirkiness,
To remain level headed and mindful
As I alternate between tiptoeing and running roughshod
Through the labyrinth of life.
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
50’s beach party
complete with twitchy go-go dancers
leather jackets
and old Plymouths
sand kicked in the faces of squares
as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot
picket fences shift from white to orange and pink
as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day –
free lovers swing signs
written in crayon
attempting to challenge the establishment
create world peace
through **** abuse and music in the park
subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform
aged hipsters look at faded photographs
imagining a time they changed the all –
blown out coke head
bent on disco ***** and easy living
watches as Miami explodes
CIA operatives feeding high grade dope
to low rent projects
in an effort to funnel money and guns
into the Middle East –
gas wars and brokers as billionaires
death to glam rock and hairspray
the rise of bling and swag
selfies take center stage
unabashed introversion
as the skies are geometric grids
and the crops **** pollinators –
looking over a lifetime
of altering perception
and changing habits
the habitual nature of humanity
shines as a solid base from which all else stems
forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank
I stand as an observer and documenter
cleverly bending the woes
of the world
into words
for the lost –
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen
Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character
Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”
With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken
Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue
In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser
Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling
Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling
Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows
Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter
Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC