"obsessively" poems
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.
In a pit of a rock
The sea ***** obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
21.3k
i’ve never had feelings for anyone who could be good for me. i’ve never been interested in someone where a good, healthy relationship could’ve resulted, and maybe that’s why i’m so jaded, because everyone i’ve ever liked has just been a distraction or a house on fire— someone i know i shouldn’t be involved with, but i’ll give myself just a few more days to run around frantically with my hands over my eyes, peaking through the cracks between my fingers, searching for things i know i don’t really need, and then i’ll dash out and run down the driveway and the smog will linger for a little while, and the neighbors will complain, and i’ll sit on the curb with my forehead on my knees, holding nothing but intangible regret. next, i’ll either get over it, or obsessively think about him and the ashes smudged on the inside of my eyelids for longer than my sanity. i’ve never really liked someone and been able to daydream about the real possibility of us turning into something greater; of tire swings and painted mailboxes and overgrown, green lawns. it’s always been pretending and fake hope and melodramatic doom. i think it’s messed up my perception of having feelings for someone, because i can never take it seriously— either i know he’s not right for me, or i know the circumstances prohibit the possibility of us. it makes me never want to give anyone a chance (i can’t even see anyone worth chance-giving) because i know how it ends. i don’t like having this closed off heart so early on; i’m too young to be this bitter.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
When did you become a stormy sea of obsession?
Confining in all of your ways
Renouncing all moves in any direction
When one does not yield to the calls, you play
Attempts to govern unclipped wings can be exhausting
The very thought is so gravely insane
Yet you still despondently try to cage in free spirits
With those borders you set and maintain
You reveal uncertainty in your own validation
In the faith you hold in your own
When you desperately try to close off the sky
From free spirits thirsting to roam
Did you know that your borders are guarded by insecurity?
They are useless and protected in vain
Take a look inside the cages you obsessively provide
Not a single free spirit remains
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
You're like spiderwebs,
Like thick wind entangling,
Every single **** one of you I ever met
Is wrapping around my memory as I struggle.
I obsessively map out
Every time I made you smile
With a twitch of my leg,
I needlessly outline
The dances we did with
Every tug of my wrists against the silk.
As I twist deeper into your clutches
I remember when we were happy
And spinning in soulkissed sinews.
Without you I'd be free
But you're worth the OCD.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
When you get nostalgia
For previous episodes, books, volumes, or songs
When you understand the world better
By comparing it to a million fictional ones
When you obsessively hit the reset button on YouTube
Waiting for the next episode or song to come out
When you have tons of fictional or celebrity crushes
But don't like anyone in your school
When you understand the characters
Better than the people around you
That's when you know you're a fangirl
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Speaking of the kids in my hometown
we used to walk the traintracks obsessively
like they’d lead us somewhere
like they’d show us something
like the end of the summer was just a bookend parallel line with the river by the library card that promised if i only read enough books i could get out of there and over the moon.
just parallel lines, but they made as much sense as any other way out.
And the gazebo where the high school band played
and I swung on my first date
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
I love her.
No not ******** worldly,
But softly, purely , celestially.
Obsessively?
Not necessarily, just completely,
selfishly and I'm sorry.
I love her unconditionally, some say unconventionally.
But they don't understand me.
Yes...I love her.
Most spiritually, asexually, platonically and wholly.
I love her, truly, honestly, musically and poetically...
She doesn't have to love me.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:07 AM UTC
I new something was wrong
Everything seemed so real
So unconditional
Almost too good to be true
I was obsessively inlove
You new it, you took advantage of my summer hot love
Your Hypnotizing winter froze my summer time breeze.
My heart in a center, your icicle stabbed right through it several times freezing my summer bleeding heart almost falling apart but still kept together frozen with open wounds
You were so cold my heart felt it even in the deepest vain that was once alive . I felt it throb in pain and you felt no sympathetic emotion.
I was still frozen after a couple of years you won't let me unfreeze . I started to find comfort in the pain and realized that you didn't want to let me go. I loved you . Gave in the last bit of my soul for you.
You didn't care...
You loved plenty...
Broke hearts...
I was just another..
Another heart you won't let mend
But then I realized your the only thing holding me together
Until you fall for someone else I'll be your submissive
And after I'll live in the snow flakes of your winter storm waiting for the next new flake to finish the last bit of my heart.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
So familiar these roads I travel
But where does reason lead
Now concrete which once was gravel
That's all that remains of my beliefs...
The mysterious remains as is
A ghost of a chance I may be right
There's more to ponder obsessively
Upon my bed late at night...
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
I cradle hurricanes in my ribcage
while words swirl around my head.
I try to catch the good ones-
but mostly, I wish I was dead.
I do everything too much-
the joy, the sorrow, the dread.
Yet somehow, I’m never enough-
what a curious truth to be force fed.
If I laugh, it’s always too loud;
my mouth too sharp to make anyone proud.
Crying is a dangerous game,
I could sob away a city, drown in the blame.
My rage leaves no survivors,
as if I line people up on personal pyres.
When I vent, they hear preaching-
a sermon no one wants, a fear of my leeching.
I don’t love, I dissect-
obsessively search for the trap I expect.
I can’t just leave; I burn it all down-
the bubbly, funny girl wears a permanent frown.
I do too much and my inner child feels seen,
She's acting out, we aren't this mean
I just get scared when the vibe is off, and ruining the mood makes the blow more soft.
Despite the chaos I still crave love, an equal partner, wearing fireproof gloves.
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
You don't listen to Floyd
So you wouldn't understand that
Wish you was here being our song
Is not really a good thing
But it describes us perfectly
I know, I've listened to it obsessively
Because it reminds me of you
And me, and what we could be
Would be, if we take that leap
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
I wish I wrote the way I thought
Obsessively
Incessantly
With maddening hunger
I’d write to the point of suffocation
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should
-benedict smith
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
~
*i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play. there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary. of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.
but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning...
instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem. how can i not embrace this?*
~
BY KOBE BRYANT
LOS ANGELES LAKERS
Dear Basketball,
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
I knew one thing was real:
I fell in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.
As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.
I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.
You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream
And I’ll always love you for it.
But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.
And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
:05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
Love you always,
Kobe
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear
We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars
We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us
We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"
I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness
Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
oh, **** i'm so full of love it's spilling out of me
like bullet wounds, like i've been court martialed,
like i'm the pinpoint of a broken sheet of glass,
the part from which everything else shatters;
of course i'm the centre of the universe,
who else would be? who else could love this way,
fierce and terrible and hating? who else other than me
could break the universe for another chance at hello
or at two thousand and nineteen?
which isn't to say i'm manic. which isn't to say
that i don't cry in the shower and scream in the car.
i do. but when i do, i'm the main event;
nobody booked tickets to see anybody but me here.
don't kid yourself, world. don't make me laugh.
don't act like everything is okay when i'm breaking the baby-bird bones
of my fingers every time someone else talks.
me, the human stress ball.
me, twenty stories tall and universe-filled with love,
nothing else can even come close. i'm ******* godzilla,
i'm interplanetary, i'm that giant ******* marshmallow man
from ghostbusters getting shot at by the heroes.
maybe there's just too much of me to love the way i need
to be loved; completely, obsessively, like an illness.
oh, god, i want to be loved like i'm sick.
not just another hospital bed but the whole **** ward
all for me. all eyes on me. nobody looking anywhere but me
and *oh, please, i'm fine, really,
i don't need all this attention.*
like i'm daring the world to divert it away.
a birthday list of gifts:
- a fifth of whiskey
- a gun with one bullet
- the attention that people get from the crowd below before they jump off a building
i don't think i'm asking for too much here.
i feel like i'm one of those unlucky ******** born on christmas day
who get half the presents for twice the occasion.
how cruel must god be to birth me anywhere but eden,
into a world where other people exist,
where we have jobs and say hello to store cashiers and divide up our attention like slices of mandarin.
so where's this revolution i ordered?
where are the people making me important?
i need a cause to lead and a muzzle for my heart,
and i'll burn on and out,
not like a star, but like the end of the ******* universe itself.
and here i am, acting like i matter
when i really only want to matter to you.
i don't care how you want me to revolve
as long as i'm a lone moon. as long as the tides
are all mine; see, it's a lot more complex
than me playing easy villain or anti hero. it's not
been about me this entire time.
but i can't write poems about any other subject.
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.
It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.
Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?
That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.
There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?
I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.
"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
What do you tell a demon that is obsessively pursuing the soul of a mere mortal?
The longing for her fragile human body captivates the insanity of his aged existence.
Who would have known this creature of the dark would lust over a lower being that's as pure as fresh snow.
He would travel to the depths of hell to see her smile one last time.
Fight off his army of blood thirsty demons to taste her droplets of blood.
In the tainted eyes of this foolish demon he will forever be trapped in the labyrinth that holds her deluded heart.
Not knowing the truth hidden within her darkness.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
She always taps the railings when she walks along the street
No matter the weather, her mood, if she’s early or late
It goes tap, tap step tap, step tap tap, and repeat.
It’s a simple and quiet lived life to the beat
Of her fears, her obsessively organized fate
She always taps the railings when she walks down the street.
It helps her feel calm; to tap makes the walk neat,
Step twice near the fountain and jump over the grate
It goes tap, tap step tap, step tap tap and repeat.
Do her neighbors peek, do they point, do they bleat
About the girl who’s got rhythm tied into her fate?
She always taps the railings when she walks down the street.
And her parents, do they not fear for her feet
And her tapping obsession, psychiatrist’s bait
It goes tap, tap step tap, step tap tap and repeat.
But it’s hers, her own comforting lullaby sweet
It protects her from bombs, famine and food past it’s due-date
So she always taps the railings when she walks down the street.
She goes tap. Tap step tap. Step tap tap. And repeat.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
just because you're dead
doesn't mean we aren't dating anymore
does it?
i am haunted
hearing you read a poem in my head,
dead
so we must have chemistry
or am i interminably obsessed
like a ghostly house
while your poems
have there way with me
rumbling down my phantom thigh
breathing
on the layaway plan
ghastly pumpkin in the oven
languishing gracefully
your generosity in death
a carnival ride of fascination
like a broken bird
to tormented to hold
your preference
hors d’oeuvres of rat poison
and verse
for the thin air road
a smudged face poets last word
in crumbs of burnt onions and charred meat
your so pretty in penny loafers
bare legs dangling
In this homeless corridor sunken in your blackened
idol of release
and that stupid stare
your weight no longer measured in grief
i was born to late
to die with you
to save a pretty nymph in a downward spiral
precious fertilizer of poetry fields
i'm fixated on your suicide pose
but you're too busy being dead
to give a ****
my sweet eyed snob of smiling hooks
i'm obsessively obsessive
for what could never be
and is
am i not your fan,
your creep?
if i pulled you from the oven
and rattled life
no doubt, you'd be all **** and vinegar
i'd be your despicable hero
a vampire
like a straight jacket of love you hate
your dead now poet of twilight
and i'm left here reading your poems
telling you softly
they are the best poems ever
and making believe
you love me
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
Please love me, although I have loved before.
Please know that even if
I have worshiped foreign hands,
Marveled at constellation eyes,
Shed tears for other minds and hearts
That tore from me some brutal, awesome love,
Know that nobody has ever made me feel safe
For any measurable length of time.
That not one of them ever stopped in the midst of kissing me to say
"You are just so beautiful."
The way you did, Lover,
2
3
4 times,
Just yesterday.
That all the flowers I ever gave them,
All the gifts and poems and artwork
All those things to show my love
Were tolerated
The way the sun is tolerated on a blistering summer day
Because to escape from it would be too difficult.
Know that I always knew that,
Felt it from them,
Felt shame for it.
And no matter how many photographs I have obsessively taken
Of a face I thought they must have molded the face of the sun after in every ancient carving,
Know that she never wanted me to see her.
And that that
COUNTS.
You looking up at me from those white sheets, Lover,
And never glancing away in embarrassment or apprehension
Counts:
Skin
Counts
To someone who has been held at arm's length for so many years.
Kisses count,
And I count them, every single one soothing the ache of the losses I never asked
To suffer.
It is true, you are not my first love.
But never have you pushed me away.
Never have you shut me down,
Never
Have you been cruel to me.
And all this
I find it counts
More than the awe I felt for those who would abuse me,
More than the fear and loss and devotion and destruction that they demanded
And then blamed me for the consequences of.
Although I have loved before,
Please, please, please love me now,
For that is something you can be
First at,
Lover.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
its all your fault, its all your fault
its all my fault, its all my fault
it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter
we're both at fault here
but go ahead and blame me, make me the villain
it's because you never learned how to be chillin'
or maybe i just never learned to care
but if that's the case, how come you were never there?
i think in that regard, its not fair
i was there for you through thick and thin
because if i didn't, you'd try to get under my skin
and yet you've never been there for me
quit spamming me on ig
yeah, too busy talking **** about me to our friends
but i've been called every single name under the sun
so good luck if you're tryna have some fun
coulda been friends but you wanted more
wanted me to block you from the waves while i died on the shore
So obsessed with who’s real and who’s fake
In that case maybe you should take a double-take
Only ever hitting me up when you’re lonely
Stop thinking we homies when you don’t even know me
Not even trying to get to know me beyond the surface
Yeah, these conversations to me have no purpose
Yeah got all these little boys tryna hit me up for affection
Don't care about the real me, only the attention
But boys don't get me wrong, just because I'm alone doesn't mean I need your fixation
Alone but not lonely, yet the men I like don't like my complexion
Unfortunate but it's okay, I'm looking for forever
So before that, I gotta get better
Acting like you’re the only one with issues
Well guess what boy, everybody’s got a mountain of tissues
Yeah, everybody’s got their problems
But unlike you, they keep quiet and try to solve em
Yeah I may be a psych major
And you may think that works out in your your favour
but friends ain’t being your personal therapist
I met too many just like you, could make a list
Yeah I ain’t tryna sound heartless but
If you think that, then you don’t know me at all, case shut
“I know you, you wouldn’t do something like that”
Yeah, the real ones don’t need me to obsessively hit em back
They respect my ADHD, yeah it’s a neurological disorder
I was born with it, people like you always tryna change my borders
They didn't even know about it beforehand, yeah they like me for me
Even been there for me when I had to go through therapy
Now you run your mouth around town
Truth be told, you brought my mental health down
When we were together, not now
I’ve been called every name under the sun, running your mouth only makes you look like a clown
Yeah I don’t like being bitter
But truth be told boy, you’re a real vibe killer
I’m always thinking about the big picture
But you always make everything about you, like you’re some famous fixture
Keep that in mind next time you complain about getting bitten
Think about how you made a tiger out of this fluffy kitten
Nov 9, 2021
Nov 9, 2021 at 2:59 PM UTC
I love that Jewish ****
I know it’s better than whatever ****
That you’ve been gettin’
It’s Israeli and it’s rarely being used *****
Just look at you *****
You spent an hour in the shower
Feeling useless
Until you had the realization
That the water’s lubrication’s
Even worse than when you use spit
You know, I’m all about the Benjamins
But I’m chilling on the Abrahams
That’s a little too hasidic
For a person who’s obsessively
Collecting all the circumcised
Erections in this city
‘Cause he’s orthodox, get it?
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 7:21 AM UTC