"I just spasmed
As my life force left me.
At a rate of 2.3 pictometers per femtosecond."

"I hide behind the tears
Of a pretentious moron
Who laments himself at

"Your premise assumes
That writing poetry
Would mitigate my boredom."

"Doing things you do not enjoy
Will serve no purpose
Other than remind you of how bored you are."

"I feel my life force
Being sucked out of me

"Each minute that I endure
The mind-boggling ennui
Is another brain cell
That commits suicide
In order
To save
Its self."

"I may have to resort to poetry soon."
These are his words, not mine.
Lynnie Defelice Dec 2017
A duo, known to hold hidden
opinions. Leveled out, I've become a
shell to their constant bickering.
Sending messages back and forth,
I'm torn between the war.

"Death. It's the only way out.
Do it. You want it. You need it,"

"Live. What are you doing?
What's wrong with you? Why are
you risking life to release pain?"

Please. It won't stop. It can't stop.
I can't live this way.
Someday, down the road, one
will take over my life.
Please. It takes too much
to fight. Paradoxed, I'm split
in two. You tell me to keep going,
but I can't handle this.
Can you?
All feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated!
Peter Simon Nov 2015
I know this isn’t like the movies...
But I miss you, Baby. And this is not the kind of missing that I can get over with after a few days. This is the one kind that will not go away until I see you again.
My feet are aching to get to wherever you are. And my mind’s wanting to drag my body to whatever place you might be. But I know I can’t do that; at least not for now.
That’s why I am resorting to whatever possible things I can do so I can feel close to you. But what remains is reading our past messages, staring at your number in my phone book and wandering through your Facebook account. That, and getting lost while I gaze at my cell phone’s wallpaper that features your face.
I miss you so much, Baby. I wish you’d be mine because you know I will always be yours. I wish I could hug you whenever I want to; wish I could kiss you wherever I want to; wish I could talk to you all day and we wouldn’t run out of topics; wish we’d never hang up when we talk over the phone; wish you think I’ll be perfect for you even though I know in myself that I am not. Are these things even possible? I wish.
Baby, do you know that I miss you so much I won’t be able to explain how much? I wish you’d be mine. I hate it when they stare at you.
That’s why I never tell about you to people—even my own friends—I avoid them seeing my phone’s wallpaper. Because I know I’ll hate it when they start to ask about you. And I don’t want them to. I don’t want it because I know they’ll get a liking of you. What if they meet you, and they start talking to you saying I told you to them. And slowly you’d like them too; even better than me. Yes you might call me selfish, guarding you from them, but that's what I'd probably do.
Everybody likes you. You’re like a star that fell down from the sky, and everybody wants to see how immaculate you are. And it’s not a bad thing, I know, but I hate to think about that. Because I’m afraid that when these people start wanting to be closer to you, to know what stars are made of, I’d be left behind their trails, barred by their bodies between us and I won’t be able to reach you again, no matter how much I extend my arms to do that. All will be left are stardust, the littlest remnants of you I could still hold, glittering on my palms that nobody else wants. I’m afraid to lose what I don’t really have.
I wish I could hug you. And I wish you’d hug me too. So tight, until my spine collapses.
I wish I could kiss you. I know you’re the sweetest thing in the world.
I wish I could talk to you all day. And we'd share stories we never told anyone before.
I wish we’d never hang up on calls. Oh, believe me, I won't if you won't.
I wish you’d say “you’re perfect to me” one day.
I wish you’d be mine. One day. You and me. I wish.
Sorry, I know this is not that kind of poetry. Just something I wanna say. Well, whatever.
Loco Cocoa Apr 29
4/29/18 5:47 pm

I wish you wouldn't blame yourself
For those memories I'll never get
I wish you wouldn't flinch so much
At dinner
when the conversation
meanders to my name
I wish my happiest moments
were shared with some of yours
I wish my accomplishments the same
I wish you could make a guilt-free trip
To see me.
I wish when I smiled
Your soul would adhere and do as such
I wish those times when I was knocked off balance
Your love would have been my crutch
I wish in our text messages there was no distance
I wish phone calls between us existed
I wish my existence didn't make you so uncomfortable.
I wish you would have gotten to know me
I wish you could have helped to paint my canvass
I wish you knew I'm not upset
I wish it wasn't too late
GaryL 5d
i used google translate
she thought i was smart
messages from a website
instead of a heart

she was from an island
somewhere off the coast
she was into the weather
i was into a ghost

she said I was different
than I was from the start
messages from a webpage
instead of a heart
Brider Olen Jan 2017
"What does it feel like to be borderline?"

I have never been able to explain BPD in a way that satisfies me. What I experience becomes trivialized by attempting to put words to it. Words are so direct and they are so obvious, and they aren’t even close to capable of capturing the complexity and the mystery that is BPD. But I can try.

It feels like black and white and nothing in between.
Every thing, every person, every place – they are either good or they are bad. I am either good or I am bad. Constantly changing, never the same. Good girl, bad girl. Good self, bad self. Good friend, bad friend. Good mother, bad mother. I hate you, don’t leave me.

It feels overwhelming.
I don’t feel sadness, but anguish. I don’t feel upset, but hysterical. I don’t feel joy, but ecstasy. I don’t feel anger, but fury. Not love, but infatuation… obsession. It’s exhausting to feel so much. Relationships are endless cycles of love and hate and pain and bad habits that I can’t seem to break no matter how hard I try. Every new face that enters into my life is someone who is capable of abandonment, and it has become so much easier to shut the world out than to invite heartbreak into my home with open arms.

It feels empty.
At the core of my being, I am nothing. I’m an empty shell surrounded by the chaos that is my emotional havoc. Remove my emotions, and I am flat lined. Remove them and I no longer exist. No direction, no sense of self, no core identity. At the peak of an emotional breakdown, I am everything. I am every negative emotion in existence and then some. And I’m so alive with fury, with desolation, with misery, and with so much pain. When it becomes too much for my body and mind to handle, it disappears in such an eerie way that I’m left questioning whether or not what I just experienced was real. I switch back and forth from being too alive that it physically pains me, to being consumed by nothingness. Nothingness is sitting alone on my kitchen floor in the middle of the night wondering whether the chill I feel on my shoulder actually exists or not. Nothingness is staring off into space for an hour wondering when my body will allow me to exist again so that I can move.

It feels confusing.
Like not knowing the answer to a series of questions. Who am I? One question I feel that I should know the answer to, yet… nothing. My favorite color is yellow, because that’s what it was when I was a child. Decisions are impossible – how do you decide anything without a stable sense of identity? I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you what I wanted for dinner tonight, but that’s because I was trying to decide if I’m the type of person who likes Mexican or if I’m the type of person who likes Italian. I wake up each morning with a new definition of who I am, only to be let down by myself each night for not living up to the me that I decided to be that day.

It feels needy.
Endlessly, and hopelessly needy. I need to be appreciated. I need to be validated. I need to be wanted. I need to be loved. But I need these things in a way that is so much more than anyone is capable of giving me. It feels like such a small favor to ask – to be loved by those who are supposed to love me. But no one seems able to meet my expectations. It leaves me pathetically wondering whether or not anyone is capable of caring about me in a way that makes sense to me. And although I already know the answer, I still need to be loved so desperately that I search for it with everything that I have. It’s endless messages and too many phone calls. And it’s the knowledge that my actions are only perpetuating the likelihood of abandonment, but I need love so goddamn badly that I have no choice but to continue.

It feels irrational.
Being capable of thinking rationally only makes the irrational behavior so much more miserable. The knowledge that behaving in reaction to emotion is irrational does not make me any less likely to do so. I’m constantly walking towards a cliff, muttering to myself, “Don’t do it, you’ll regret it.” Only to fall off the edge anyway. And every time I fall feels unimaginably more painful than the time before, but I don’t know how to stop.

It feels bright.
When I love, it is the single brightest thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. It’s so bright that it burns my eyes in a way that makes me see a life that I could have never imagined on my own. Without my darkness, I am on top of the world. Ecstasy is just as intense an emotion as misery, except that for me, it’s coated with anxiety and fear. I never quite know what to do with happiness, and before I have the chance to really enjoy it, it’s gone.

And it feels like being lost.
Lost in loneliness, lost in the vacillation of my emotions, lost in the insanity of knowing absolutely nothing about myself. My emotions are a language that I cannot speak, and they are winning the war that I am struggling to fight.
to be read aloud.
Every day we send another million
Letters to the stars
Meaning them for one another
Always so surprised how far

All our light and sound can travel
Our radio and TV
Every day we throw another million
Bottles in the sea

Will the others read our messages
And learn about our ways?
Will they know us in the night?
Will they seek us in the day?

Do they go about their lives
Without curiosity
Never looking in the bottles they find
Floating in the sea?

Or perhaps they have already found
Our pretty little sphere
Maybe they already know
Maybe they're already here

For sometimes we send out letters
Hoping they will find and read
We have shown them the whole world
In a dandelion seed

Even if they never find us
Even if they cannot read
They will understand one thing about us:

Even if we never find them
Listening among the stars
We'll never stop sending messages
For that is who we are.
Wake up, dreamer!
Welcome to another day.
Waking up to an empty bed.
No girl to work on my morning sweat.
Got about a hundred calls,
can’t even shake my Johnson off.
This morning traffic is the worst.
Messages, clients, meetings with the boss.
Did you see the new assistant?
She looks good! Ok, focus and be efficient.
Gotta finish the web content.
Gotta start planning the next event.
A 24-hour day isn’t sufficient.
Who said another task would be inconvenient?

All you phonies, won’t you suck it up.
Your opinion is irrelevant, so shove it up.
Not your cup of tea? Here’s another cup.
Even at my slowest pace, you can’t keep up.
Gotta write a script, finish this poem,
edit a video a working on,
hit the gym, pump up these guns,
make the girls fall in love.
Do you get my innuendo?
This is my manifesto.
I’m retro, but I’m not mellow.
I work hard to make it perfecto.
Gotta give my best impression.
Can’t forget to show God my appreciation.

Think you’re shooting fire?
Anything I work hard for; that's fire.
You don't see me like a fly on your ass; that's fire.
Being proud of who I am; that’s fire.
You really can’t relate to my lifestyle
and you can’t emulate my own style.
Every time I pass in front of you, you can’t recover for a while.
The stench of your jealousy can be smelled from a mile.
I’m not aiming higher, I’m aiming straighter.
If you can’t deal with it, then see you later!
Hey, Miss Feisty, they see us as a threat, ‘cause everyone is an imitator,
because they know we make of something good, something greater.

I tried to be what you consider a good man.
I tried to be what you consider a good friend.
I lessened myself to be accepted
and by you and your jealousy, I was rejected.
I tried to become everything that in your eyes was “fair”
and if I failed at it, ask me if I care.
Written on June 10, 2014
Composition number: 477
Rachel 4d
The hardest feelings to process in this process nearly over

No longer am i looking to see if you're looking over my shoulder

The sound of your voice has nearly faded from those age old memories

We can't deny that we had good chemistry though, now can we?

The darkest places I was in is when you'd make your grand appearance

When I was thinking of ending it all your presence acted as interference

But a crutch is all you became in spite of my thinking it was something more

You're probably going about your life while I lose my shit on my living room floor

I did this all for you I hope you know that much is true

But you don't owe me anything if anything I'm indebted to you

  I'll leave a forwarding address below in case you should still care

And I'll keep opening my doors and messages even though I know no one is there

— The End —