"nervousness" poems
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
*Teri Duzdeeda Nigahon Ko Dua Dete Hain
Jitne Chubte Hain Yeh Teer Utna Maza Dete Hain*
**For your peeking gazes, I pray
The more these arrows wound, the more delighted I lay**
*Jab Se Dekha Hai Unhein Apna Mujhe Hosh Nahin
Jane Kya Cheez Woh Nazroon Se Pila Dete Hain*
**Ever since them I saw, senseless I have become
What they pour from their glances, a mystery it has become**
*Takht Kya Cheez Hai Aur Laal-o-Jawahir Kya Hai
Ishq Wale To Khudai Bhi Loota Dete Hain*
**What is a throne and what are lustrous jewels?
Lovers surrender divinity against the rules**
*Aik Din Aisa Bhi Ata Hai Mohabbat Mein Zaroor
Khud Ko Ghabra Ke Naqab Apna Uttah Lete Hain*
**There is one such moment in love, indeed!
With nervousness, they raise their veil**
*Apni Barbadi Pe Khush Hoon Yeh Suna Hai Jabse
Woh Jisse Apna Samajhte Hain Mitta Dete Hain*
**Happy with my own ruin I am, ever since I have learned
Who they consider their own, obliterated have turned**
*Apne Daman Ko Zara Aap Bacha Kar Rakhna
Sakhat Aahon Se Bhi Hum Aag Laga Dete Hain*
**Your own hem a little, you save and claim
With deep sighs, we set the fire aflame**
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
Depression is not sadness
Depression leaves a hole in your chest
Depression ***** everything out of you
Depression is not having a bad day. A bad day, a bad week, even a bad few months.
Depression lingers for years. There are no good moments. Moments of feeling "better" do not ever exist. Depression does not leave.
Depression will become your best friend
Depression will always be there for you
Depression is the tunnel with no light at the end
(Or at least, the point of view is)
Depression is not hope
Depression is not sadness.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Anxiety is the sweat that bubbles to the surface of your palms
Anxiety is the clenching of your jaw
Anxiety is the shaking of your hands
Anxiety is not a few butterflies in your stomach
Anxiety removes your stomach
Anxiety makes you feel like it is not there. Food is out of the question.
Anxiety is dark circles under your eyes for months on end.
Anxiety is being over tired. Exhausted. But not being able to sleep.
Anxiety builds an Olympic racetrack around every part of your mind.
Anxiety then holds the next races there. Day races, night races, races that do not stop.
Anxiety is not one panic attack. Or even two.
Anxiety is not nervousness.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Time apart makes all things
New - a nervousness
An excitement
Needy and naive
The memory of your touch
Fades - but not the intensity
Of my love
Checking like clockwork
The departures and arrivals
Heart thumping
My poor vision
A true handicap
Scanning the masses
For the most familiar face
In the world
Of whom I know
The span between my thumb and index
Is the same as your chin to earlobe
And my finger could trace the shape of your lips
From memory alone.
When my eyes
Settle upon your face
My hard heart beat
Hits slow motion
And stops -
Everything runs through my mind
But I think nothing at all
Reach out.
Kiss.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
surrender hind-legs
targets yellow spines
yellow stems
flowers blend into frogs
tree frogs tree apples
tree fruit heart numinous
nervousness next level
levitation into vibration
watermelon seeds
stars, steam, sand and shadows
i allow
keep talking spinning
weaving the stars
love is a happy motorcycle
bathtubs zoological
sisters straight eyed sailors
cumber-buns saviors
yawning in the wind
at the hint of a spark
gravity embarks on sacred journeys
desert walks soul visions
quest into westerly winds
pools of tough romance tough love
chances are that now and then
we will pretend
that we are more compassionate
then we are
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 11:43 PM UTC
Surreptitious glance,
Half formed words die away; and
Awkward silence wins.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
at three times the speed of sound the SR-71
was so fast it didn’t need to hide, but when
I met you we were slower, metal walls covered
in black reconnaissance paint, sonar silence.
blackbird, shy
sometimes you bit your lower lip, or my
eyes drowned, and we looked down and I cursed
my stubbornly earthbound feet, but blessed
be the stars that crossed for us to meet.
blackbird, cry
under the cozy cover of quietly building-up time
we moved on. when the back of your hand
brushes my face it slowly lifts another brick
of something sturdy into place.
the way your palms get clammy with excitement
when you point out planes coming out and in,
the way your eyes light with joy and nervousness
at my reaction is how I feel when I lean over your shoulder
and point out jupiter in the sky.
blackbird, dry your eyes
the hello was slow, but goodbyes move
faster than sound. we finally found saturn
and then time ran out.
standard procedure for the SR-71
in the event of a missile lock-on
was to continue being
the fastest thing in the sky.
blackbird, fly
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
This transparent veil to cover transparency is suffocating me.
I want to rip off this fabric and know that when I touch your flesh you feel the compassion, not the contact
I want to knock teeth when we kiss and hear thundering laugh and not the muffled titters of nervousness
I want 10 minutes to go by and we're already buried deep in our conversation via messages
Because I don't care. I don't care that there's this new found stigma that caring is out and mysterious is in. Because I don't care if you text me without a reason, because oh hey! I was just thinking about you! Because I like your company, because I'm tired of deciphering ambiguous words. Because life isn't a god **** code. It's thrilling, it's open, it's here. I'm here.
I want you to know I'm here.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Illustrative disregard is creating
Nervousness which controls my limbs
Fragmentary is the heart
Infected by a broken promise
Disrespect stings me
Elevating my pain
Loyalty has been compromised
Intrusion has enraged me
Trust slips into abandonment
Yielding to uncertainty
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
I miss my cargo green canvas backpack
Shredded with the mass of three
science textbooks: biology,
classical history, chemistry.
Not like backpack was meant for
several colossal three hundred page
hardcover books.
When it was empty,
it was light,
barely anything, tugging
on my shoulders;
but I insisted the friend come with me.
But I used backpack
for study,
drudgery,
play.
The linen wore
with every use.
It was my safety blanket,
under loose cloth
that contained
sacarine
orange glucose
tablets that I hoped
to never need
Inside the main large pocket,
there was a secret
zipper, within held
a pack of cigarettes,
an excuse,
to pardon myself into a realm of aloneness-
with little questions asked
There were strings that adjusted
its position on my back that
I would pull down,
using tension to fling myself
terminal to terminal
More than fifteen times, I lost
count, of my partner traversing
across oceans, gently cradling my laptop and phone-
my trusted links
with the outside world
Nervousness alleviated by the tassels
in my mouth, I bite and chew
on the cloth, but it holds steadfast
as I ponder how to approach
what's next,
the bittersweet coffee they fell into
rehydrates with my salivating mouth,
hungry for adventure
but a stomach empty
knots itself
anxious
for what's to come
My backpack weighs
on my shoulders, empty or full,
but it's trained my body
to carry the load thoughts in my
head bring upon me
But it yielded to what was to come,
the seams at the bottom gave out.
Backpack let me know: I needed to
learn to carry on
without reliance.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
every year
grandpa tells
the same story
over and over
like he's saying
it for the first time
he loves walking
in his own puddles
it would be
at the dinner table
during
Christmas and Thanksgiving
there's a candle lit table
waiting for good cheer
not ours
we stood sentry
to grandpa's story
as our faces glowed in horror
grandpa had that effect
he would begin
by looking at grandma
at the other end of the table
a nervousness in hers
and with a gleam in his eye
and a broken record inside
he began
there once was bag of marbles
... ha, ha
he would actually say that
and inside
all the shiny marbles cling and clung together
... ha, ha
your grandma and I
... get this
we were a red and yellow marble
and the exception
as his voice raced faster
his eyes bigger
his face a sweet melody
and he's so kid like, and he's eighty
..." we banged"
..." we banged"
the words coming out juvenile
perhaps from a drunk,
but he doesn't drink
then
on cue
he prompts us to say
you what?
"we banged"
"we banged"
..."your grandma
was in my back pocket"
his face lighting up in a smile
his eyes and ears peeking, waiting
for applause
and we did ... we did
grandma
her face beet red
she would look around the table
her eyes looking at the turkey
back at him, back at the turkey
we could read her mind
every year the same story
that's grandpa
grandma, for her part
would always
bask in grandpa's puddles
LR-4/24/17
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
Sometimes it seems like the only emotion
I ever see 100% of the time
is nervousness.
I have become a master at finding
those little nervous ticks-
chewed fingernails
face scratching
the occasional repetition of one word or another
the occasional downward glance.
sometimes i wonder
if I'm making this girl
(whichever girl)
tick like a clock about ready to explode
and leave it's arms loosing lying upon me
it's innards lying there in front of me
the inner workings, the inner thoughts exposed.
Or if her mind is just wandering to others
and i'm just the one sitting here ,
hoping to find a clock,
never knowing if i have,
my heart beating violently in my chest,
my nails already bitten to nubs,
small holes on my face and neck
where I've scratched the hair off
my hair pushed and pulled
this way and that by nervous hands,
my head **** near exploding with the thought
"opposites attract, but i need a ******* clock
before i myself explode
leaving my arms hanging loose in the air
and my innards raw and exposed
for more than just a lovers eyes"
©Brandon Webb
2012
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
We’re in a young-love recession.
Gen Zers are slow to trust and averse to risk,
we have, it seems, a particular social nervousness
about interpersonal exchanges and the symbiosis of love.
So we resort to situationships (undefined relationships),
a stratagem for closeness, with zero commitment.
You can flirt; you can kiss; you can dance.
You can have a crush so big it blots out the stars
You can have transformative romantic encounters
you can care deeply and get hurt badly
you can, in fact, be absolutely wrecked by love
All without ever being in a relationship.
Thank God we’re only young once.
.
.
Songs for this:
Die With A Smile by Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars
Busy Woman by Sabrina Carpenter
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 9:55 PM UTC
*Familiar eyes staring at him
Instantly she was gone with the crowd
Haunted by her melancholic gaze
Like an animal, followed her scent from miles
He ended up in a small ice cream parlor
Dug dug dug dug dug dug dug
His heart singing a song of nervousness
He’s just 2 feet away from her
----------
Four years ago, a boy met a girl..
“Two vanilla ice cream in the largest cone please”
The boy is in queue after her
Out of nowhere stars will light up the room
Only for the two of them
**“Vanilla ice cream is my favorite”
“Good, I hate it” he answered back**
And the conversation continued
Inside and outside the ice cream parlor
They just clicked for each other
They just..
It became their new favorite place
He started to love vanilla ice cream too
No need to state the obvious
Their eyes spoke of affection and love
----------
He ended up in a small ice cream parlor
Dug dug dug dug dug dug dug
His heart singing a song of nervousness
He’s just 2 feet away from her
----------
It was the place where they first met
Where they first talked
Where they realized they like each
Where they confessed their feelings
Where their love turned as sweet as a vanilla ice cream
Two years ago when he last visited that place
Two years ago when he last tasted vanilla ice cream
Two years ago when he last saw her
Two years ago when they broke up
They ended in the same place where they have started
----------
Sweating despite the cold weather
Tongue seems to be tied
Palpitating heart, butterflies in his stomach
But it wasn’t her, it will never be her
Because she was gone, she was gone
----------
He wakes up from the bittersweet dream
It was just a dream, a dream, a dream
A beautiful yet a sad dream that will haunt him forever
And then he remembers, it is her 2nd death anniversary today
**And instead of flowers,
Vanilla ice cream is what he brings on her graveyard**
*
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
Head
tilted to the side.
She blushes;
She's clay to the touch,
Flesh to the mind.
My fingers,
like passengers aboard the Santa Maria,
explore a new world-
Every inch,
Every crevice,
Every curve;
She's the Venus de Milo-
Timeless.
Classic.
Delicate
like a ribbon
fluttering downward,
pulled from her hair
by lover's passion.
Her ******* are molded-
islands along the ocean I swim-
and an art form is born;
The simple movements:
Up,
Down,
To-and-fro.
Well thought out,
but not choreographed.
Color her
like the Roses on my tongue;
Entangled and Infatuated,
They speak of Youth,
Naivety,
nervousness....
Step back
and She blossoms to life.
A monument lays before me;
the mortal
achieve immortality.
Perfect
from her
Head
to her
Toes.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
I've had many wishes in life.
They said they were to much to ask for.
So these are just simply some simple ones.
The feel of your luscious lips softly hugging mine.
Our hearts completely in sync but still racing to see who can beat faster.
A frozen tongue from over flowing nervousness.
And your soft fingers caringly curved between mine, creating a perfect pattern.
Is that too much to ask for?
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Can we get much higher than this?
When all I can hear over the old dial up phone you use is the sound of nicotine exhales
and big sighs caused by silences I am too scared to fill.
Can we love any more than this?
I can hear you humming the song that's spinning and it makes me love you more.
You laugh at my nervousness, how I twitch when you say my name.
I always ignore you because I'm scared you'd say goodbye.
Can we get more tired than this?
Four am, your favorite albums crooning me to sleep.
Could you be more mistaken?
You thought I was scared of your darkness, of the shadows beckoning to you from every corner of
homes you did not own, and people you did not really know... yet.
I have a permanent dent in my ear from piercings that were too heavy for my fragile skin,
and everytime I run my fingertips over it, it reminds me of you.
You are bent but never broken, never broken.
Can we get more distant than this?
It's been months since I could honestly say that I thought you loved me.
So many miles, so many miles, so many
miles...
You're 874 kilometres away from me.
You are universes away from me.
And now everything tastes like goodbye.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
...
That feeling just before
The nervousness that swells
Inside you just before
The butterflies that tell
You of feelings just before
You call the beautiful girl
Who laughed just before
You walked into the door
Which was closed just before
You walked up to see her
And you smiled just before
Your eyes met in joy and peace
Just before
Just right there before, listen.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Nervousness sets in
As I await the news
And doctors disagree
About their medical muse.
Confusion swarms high
As answers are not clear
And possibilities come to my mind
Cancer and tumors, the greatest fear.
Anxiety bubbles up
As the next appointment comes
And I don’t know what I want;
My thoughts are going numb.
Sometimes I think the possibilities of health are shrinking
And then I realize… that’s just wishful thinking.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Isolated in academics
To finish my final days
Honored with a chance to fly
To an Ancient World
For a journey unlike any other with friend
Of New and Old
We all gather to the skies
From points of two
Dependent on which part of the pan
We originated
Many seeing each other
In the flesh
For the first time
Immediately we become friends
Unified by simply excitement a nervousness
For something entirely new for all of us
We each gather for the skies
To wait six hours short of a day
To begin our journey
In the oldest of lands
Many of us resting
Some simply lying back
We talk among our members about our paths
Leading us to this point and where we hope it goes
We come closer to our destination
Excitement grows among tired minds
Our blood rushes through our veins for what is to come
As or passage in the sky suddenly changes and burns
To be extinguished by the salty cries of Ryūjin
And swallowed whole to gain passage to
a New World
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
mass culture is designed for complacency [ ];
the Great Depression of the 30's ended the Roaring 20's;
as radio brought WWII & TV Vietnam into homes
where easy-chairs & TV dinners reigned in cartoon
silence; Bud sneaks off to the garage to smoke bud,
when the innocent stoner gets a draft card,
turning radical, Bud grows his hair long &
giving the middle finger to some, peace
sign to others [decades go by when hideous was fashionable];
9/11 breaking our post-grunge
neo-70's-80's haze [for what, like a week - - -
then came the hoax of Islamophobia
spreading paranoia & nervousness in case
the terrorists missed anyone; the 90's
were already nostalgia by the time of the invasion
of Iraq; mass culture is designed for sedentary complacency
but when society is in upheaval
the media just has to wait
until it's all over to start promoting expensive baubles again - - -
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
When I was younger, I had asthma.
I remember that suffocating feeling.
The panic, anxiety, nervousness striking my system all at once.
I never wanted to feel that again.
Fast-forward 20 years later, you came along.
The overwhelming feeling of asthma has come back.
I can't breathe.
You are asphyxiating me.
Yet, I find excuses, inhalers, to tolerate you...to keep you near.
Is it worth filling my lungs with chemicals just so that they can expand and contract?
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
Your blue eyes mesmerise
Warmth of your skin sends me in twirls
Please me with your love tonight
And I'll please you with mine ,girl
I know you're afraid
Honestly , I'm a little too
First time nervousness
You don't know what to do
To break in a sweet embrace
And I'll caress your every inch
Let me touch you now
Girl , don't you flinch
Aroma of the scented candle
And the dimness of the lamp
An atmosphere you can't handle
Girl , its getting so Damp
Do you need it now
Or should I tease you a little
want me to get down
You'll like it in the middle
Now your nervousness is gone
Replaced by the lust in your eyes
I know where it's coming from
Girl ,no more can you hide
Maybe you'll find
All that you seek tonight
In my arms ,
Where I'll love you till sunrise
I little pain will give way to passion
And a feeling wilder than you can ever imagine
you'll feel alive for the first time
Tonight, I'll teach you to tame the dragon
Tonight , I'll give you something
you'll never forget
And make sure it's magical ,
something you'll never regret
So hold on to me , trust me
We're going on a ride out far
Hold on tightly , dig in my flesh
And give me some passionate scars
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC