"overactive" poems
I want you to get what you deserve And thats the best
And I times I don't give you my best and you deserve better then that But I promise I'll give u my best from my heart !
I know times get rough between us n I know I can get overactive but u deal with that with your best effort I guess what I'm tryna tell you is tht your the BEST BABY and I want nothing but u all I want is YOU! I want all of YOU
And I don't wanna share it with anybody :) I wanna care for you and take you to a place where your always gonna be safe
This **** right here is long term
People say we're too young n stupid
But I don't think so we've gone through things that a lot grown ppl have gone through
So I smile and think me and my girl is something real cause we've already have gotten through tough things whats gonna stop us
you and me are a team that can't be beaten !
Yesterday I told you get deja vu a lot and I had this weird vision of you older in this white dress
and then I woke up from my nap
I was scared n couldn't stop smiling I was scared that I might mess this up but smiling cause I was like tht dream was amazing until my mom called :/
So when I say "I love you"
I really mean it ! I can't go a day without talking to you or and I struggle when I can't see your beautiful face
So listen when I say this Reina
I LOVE YOU
And you are the BEST
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 5:30 PM UTC
Every time I hear of you--
I wonder what went wrong
that you would choose
another over me.
The cogwheels of my brain
would constantly rewind
to the very day we meet;
the nerves I had prior
and the brief good memories.
This bitter nostalgia
reminded me of
my foolish sense of hope
that I was the special one
among many others--
Only when I was told
that I was rejected
did I realise...
I was only a pitiful jester;
dancing and joking
for your fancy
on that very day.
I could not help thinking,
being rejected on a Christmas eve
is a terrible Christmas present,
and also the only Christmas present I had.
They say that it was not His will--
But they also did not know...
Perhaps it was His will
that I spend the dead morning of Christmas
soaking my pillow in tears
while nursing a overactive mind.
And yes, I saw you again on New Years Eve--
from afar, where everyone was celebrating
of their successful association with you
with delirious hopefulness and motivation...
Meanwhile, I was made to
welcome the New Year all alone
with tears in memory of your rejection.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 1:17 AM UTC
I truly over-romanticize
I think about them day and night
And it isn’t wise
Because I know I’m not crossing their mind
So why can’t they leave mine?
The idea of them dances around in my head
From the moment I wake up
To the moment I go to bed
Oh to have my dreams come true
I don’t know what I’d do
If I were to finally be with you
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 4:29 PM UTC
Golden hour daughter
Splitting eyes gouging light—
Harboring disfunction, not
Finding sensory stimulation
Beyond illusion— overactive/>
Am I a life force,
Or a chair for it to sit?
Stitching pixels to form—
A drive to keep an open
Ripped rib wind— about
My drouth stomach,
Itching, salivating…
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
There is a consumer product demon
in the trash underneath my sink.
The other day, I tossed in a wrapper
from a Quest 20-protein-gram nutrition bar
and a hand reached up to grab it.
Thinking I was daydreaming
I pulled out the white plastic Rubbermaid trash basket;
no hand, but the ¼ cup of Kraft Fast Mac
tossed in yesterday was moving, undulating.
It made a distinct voice-y sound
like “You’ll like Mac-a-lot, so eat me!”
Thinking this was just my overactive poetic imagination
I turned to the sink.
My JetZScrubber had wrapped around a spoon
dancing in circles around the In-Sink-Erator drain
while the Ajax Easy-Hands Dishwashing Liquid spewed bubbles
in unison.
Now convinced I took too much acid in college
I ran upstairs where my dog Mr. Brown sleeps
on his 44” x 36” leopard-print GoodDogBed.
“Howdy, partner,” Brown chimed.
“Sure is a fine day to go for a walk
using that Halti multi-loop leader and Sprenger prong collar.
Yes, I love ‘em.”
I took Mr. Brown to the dog park.
the one with the Safe-Steel chain link fence
and the pine trees without labels.
He pooped in the sawdust and vocalized
in his hound voice.
I could have sworn he said,
“Glad I didn’t do that on the L.L.Bean Woven Nylon Area Rug,”
but I wasn’t sure.
Nothing moved
except the wind in the trees.
and I wondered what to call it.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
you were a packaged deal
and came with a disclaimer
claiming emotionally unstable
and jittery
with minimal ability to balance
book and art and poetry
with your overactive *** drive
and unquenchable thirst for intoxication
and I kept you in mint condition
barbie
as best as I could while you kept mind
and we matched
and interlocked
and soon were inseparable
but barbie i can only keep you so long
your hair is fading
and so is the loneliness that once made me praise you
and barbie you are a burden
and are weighing on my glass display
and leaning and tipping
and are making no effort to support your own weight
i may be your plastic stand
but i am more than moral support
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
I see you around sometimes.
More often than not,
Beginning just before the sun sets
Hiding until dawn brings forth a new day.
I’m not quite sure I understand how
You make me feel as if I’ve lost my touch,
My tether to reality
Like the earth is threatening to open up
And swallow me whole
Or to cause everything I love to disappear.
Vanish into thin air, never to re-appear.
I used to be deathly afraid of those days.
Of the flashbacks
Of my overactive imagination.
That just kept running, with my mind
Somehow dragging very far behind.
I was scared.
I mean, who wouldn’t be?
Of course, don't be mistaken
There are those bright and sunny days.
Where I think I’ve overcome it in some ways.
And yet on an unsuspecting day
I will happen to fall flat on my face,
And everything feels out of control.
While the world spins too fast
For my brain to compute, and
I feel broken.
Like a record running on repeat.
Skipping and skipping.
Scared of letting go.
Terrified of moving on.
Am I stuck in this loveless mood?
In this gloomy wasteland
Where my heart feels heavy.
I long to feel the sun
Shining on my face.
If not perhaps once again,
Just to chase away the
Darkness,
That I can’t seem to escape.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:31 AM UTC
This silence is killing me.
Was it too much?
Am I that annoying?
Should I give them space?
The mind is a powerful thing
Because it can make or break someone's day
With all the crazy concoctions
And scenarios it cooks up
And the pain it inflicts
Even when there is nothing there.
It's all about interpretation.
The mind can help you pass a test
Or make you fail.
The mind can make a dream come true
Or ruin it with the nightmare of
Reality.
The mind is where I see you and me.
The mind is where I am free.
From pain.
From torture.
From life.
My mind is where I go
When I can look in the mirror
No more.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
If there were but some other place,
a place where shadows do not grow,
I would go to be there in that space,
where happier things I just might know.
Away from fear and hurt and pain,
and so many lonely, empty days.
Perhaps to see the sun's light again,
to feel a joy while my spirit plays.
If only just once more a time to see,
not how things are in my everyday,
but rather how things were meant to be,
before things decayed and went away.
Trapped in this unlit shadowed place,
of the loneliest and very darkest kind.
Forever lost am I, lost without a trace,
A prisoner of my own overactive mind.
There is no other place that I can go.
No other place to see...
there is no other place, I will ever know.
there's only me....
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 11:00 AM UTC
Is there a doctor in the house?
I think I'm having southern withdrawl symptoms
shakes and such
brain a blubbering mess
why give one so much feeling
if they can't get rid of it healthily?
Too much for one body to handle
maybe throw in another personality
nothing bad ever happend
just a technical problem during manufacturing
a wire connected wrong
or not connected at all
amygdala super sensitive
looking for comfort in wrong places
stupid faces
blazing aces
therapists are kind but really need a map
words only convey so much
can't help if they can't understand
whose fault is that?
Probably the broken robot
me
doesn't speak in proper vernacular
accustomed to being freakish and safe
greasing joints with *****
circuit boards of tofu scramble
electric feed back every once in a while
when I cough
perhaps new meds will calm overactive internal reactions
or maybe being all vulnerable to candy hearted young men
spilling secrets and insecurities to friends
but they'll all leave
right?
Europeans had no problem taking over lands
staying with natives
eating their foods
but if the natives had shared their deepest secrets and feelings
pilgrims would have gladly returned home for persecution
than to put up with an emotional Squanto.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
We've been this way for a very long time, we've been together for more time than you can imagine. Little weary chains link our minds, looping in and out and up and down. We're this tangled mess of synced thoughts and synced dreams, and sinking syllables.
Every sigh that you let slip from your tired lips is an indication of my exhaustion, because you and I, we lie in comfortable tessellation.
You and I, we've been through magical realism, and the romantics, and the surrealists, the grammar nazis and the pretenders.
You and I, we've etched each other in shifting sands, in clumsy waves.
You and I, we know each other's movements across a blank sheet of paper.
You waltz onto empty pages with constellations for punctuation. Screens may read verbose sacrifices to the patron saint of inspiration, but you, you don't stop or pause to check for abbreviation.
You take half hearted syllables and turn them into poetic nations, you build monuments to love but you neglect infatuation.
You try to touch every single figment of my overactive imagination but then you shuffle away so as not to cause complete annihilation.
You speak lucid languages in times of complete inebriation and you continue this slurred speech against all drunk invitations.
You try to write me down in moments of utter desperation but the grip of your words falter as I run to my wild desolation.
You and I, we've run across clouds, left our footprints in the wake of comets.
You and I, we've sailed all the seas of consciousness, those that can be fathomed, and otherwise.
Slowly, your step exceeded mine, and your stride was longer, so I struggled to keep time. Slowly, I felt our tangles unwind. Slowly, our roots straightened out in a single line and you crossed it.
You crossed it.
Un Saut dans le vide, a leap into the dark, and you were up, up and away. I wanted to trap you in cunning similes, but you were running as fast as the wind.
Little weary chains that linked our minds now struggle at the seams, tiny links begin to
unlink,
unlink,
unlink.
one
by
one
by
one.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
We found the table overcrowded
with empty wine glasses,
smudged with lipstick
and fogged with
mid-sip laughter,
You sat across from me,
staring disinterested
at the bustling table,
a drunken lot of babbling,
over-dressed, under-clothed women.
They were a swarm,
a cluster of buzzing worker bees
enjoying a loose night in a filthy bar.
Like the good lady I am,
I crossed my legs
and watched the purse of your lips
relax
into a grin.
I was ******* down the champagne,
sick with envy for the lipstick
that clung to your pout
and furious at the curtain of caramel hair,
begging my fingers to smooth the knots
and then mess it all up again.
When the table cleared,
and we were left,
calling cabs in the reaches of dawn,
you stole glances at my jewelry
and the jade of my irises.
They absorbed your aura
as you strode clumsily towards the blue taxi,
while I was busy imagining what your name might be
if you thought my dress was pretty,
or if you thought my perfume
would taste like berries
if you kissed it off my neck,
your heels had clacked all the way to the street.
and maybe it was
the curves under your silk purple dress,
or the smell of spilt wine on my black one,
or perhaps a combination of both,
that led to my overactive imagination,
or maybe you put them in my head
when you hesitated at the door of the cab
before beckoning me over
and pulling me in beside you
onto the cold leather
and your lavender fabric
where your perfume permeated the backseat.
It tasted of honey and roses.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I am being Followed
I swear
by those creatures
in the corner of your eye
I am being Followed
I know
by little monsters
and larger beasts
humanoid things
and many legged creatures
disappearing
when looked at directly
I am being stalked
of course
by my overactive imagination
and shadows
at least I hope so.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 8:18 AM UTC
Aged twelve i lost my faith in the world. Opened my eyes to my own demise and what followed was a sadness with seemingly no explanation. I looked at the world and how shallow it is and I drowned in it. Where being kind and considerate seemed to get you nowhere.
Where we were getting taught to accept all that was unfair and unjust made me feel if you care you can't trust. And most of this was from our education system, I could see that hidden curriculum. So being the most unlikely rebel I dropped out of school, point blank refused to go, dragged kicking and screaming literally grabbing onto the doorframe until they gave up, and though I was relieved it should be believed that you never really get over someone giving up on you.
So I was left , set adrift. Sit in my pyjamas though I never slept, stay inside and limit my contact with it. Protect myself from it, I wanted no part of it. But the effects of isolation should not be underestimated, it just added to it, introspective perspective, curse of the sensitive proved deadly to my spirit. I'd Watch my friends play out from my window and wonder how can they be happy, don't they know? Don't they see the worse it gets the more you grow ? It seemed not, so maybe I was just crazy.
Self awareness too early made me wary, it was scary and I didn't understand so I surrendered to that white coat "helping hand" Your child's withdrawn, depressed and suffering from social anxiety, but was that really me? Could they not see?! They asked so many questions but never asked themselves why? Not that I could express what was going on in my mind at the time.
So I took it for gospel as I could no longer hear GODS call. (My faith in him died slowly as I'd pray every night hoping he'd show me the way but he never did) Traded it in for the words of professionals and specialists, cause they must know right? Little did I know it would shape my life for a long time.
Give an obedient child a label and they will stick to it, give an overwhelmed and confused child a label and they will thank you for it! Unlucky for me I was both. Any opportunity to make sense of the world I now saw I took willingly. Turned out mentally ill is what it would be.
The effects of isolation on an already overactive mind cannot be overstated. The battle I fought was with thought. This is why I had no time to speak to or see anybody. It was all consuming in my tiny anatomy.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
The grey coated ashy sky screams that we should in fact be inside.
But instead I’m rushing across a lawn in black, breaking flats.
With my heart in my chest, and my hands shaking from the rest.
I’m not prepared for what’s to come, for the repentance,
That will be taken, as we lie here hidden away from the sun.
The fluorescent lights are stinging away the outer layers of my eyes.
I can feel my confidence drastically shrinking in size.
All that are in favor stand up, a man in a blue button up calls out
I don’t stand. I’m scared, I don’t want to be the first one to lose
You’re unaware of the magnitude
Of your actions, as you rise.
Thereby sparing me and cursing those that I despise.
I fell in love with your appearance almost instantly.
With the softly curled hair that so gracefully
Rested above your eyes.
I had known you for a matter of minutes
And there it was I was in love.
It was a strange moment in time,
Where your eyes turned around to look into mine.
I felt a connection, immediately, without even a second thought.
Who was this impulsive romantic?
And what had she done with the particularly critical
Normal version of myself? Where had she gone?
My failures have never been so prominent as I’m sitting there
Wasting away in that old uncomfortable creaky plastic chair
I spent the time awaiting my fate,
Dangerously lost in the loose linens of your being
But I assume it’s now about eight
I don’t know exactly what my heart is feeling
I’m absentminded, free. Finally free from the
Troubles and worries of my everyday life.
As my overactive imagination overwhelms the logical side
In a landslide majority vote, I’m lost without a sense of maturity.
And so, I allow myself fall into your eyes, and slightly imperfect smile.
You were almost obnoxiously beautiful, but
With your snide offensive comments, and your homophobic sentiments,
And worse of all your willingness to sacrifice
The shortcomings of others to build yourself up
Was more than a little off-putting, and your arrogance
Was more than a little disgusting
For the image in my mind of us, to ever exist.
Darling, I wanted you to know
That is a future, I will never miss
And I truly hope to never have to see you again after this.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 4:42 AM UTC
I read a lot.
I read a lot of romance novels.
I read a lot of fiction.
I know they're not real people.
I hope that the love in the story is how love truly feels...
or maybe it's something else.
To write a story you need imagination. That's fake isn't it?
A fictional story is something that isn't real.
So the themes like love in it aren't real either, right?
I have an overactive imagination.
That's even more fake.
Nothing I could ever imagine would be real.
Maybe one day it might be.
But not now and not in the past.
You know what I often imagine? You and me.
In the future of course.
So... is that fake?
This... "character" that I've "created" based off of you in my head.
It's not you.
You're you and anything else isn't.
Even my "character" that's portraying you.
But what about you... the real you?
Do I know you as much as I know this "character"?
Probably not.
Do I... love you as much as I love this "character"?
... I don't know ...
I now start to fear that...
I've simply fallen in love with the idea of you.
As heartbreaking as that might sound.
As painful as typing this may be.
As nerve wracking as pressing "send" may be.
I hope that I truly love you...
and not this "character" that I've created.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
All this lifeless air created from migrated diverted array
Shot from wasted uneventful deep rooted motionless fatigue
Squeezed beneath a realm of misguided beliefs
Things mixed and shattered, confused mistaken repeats
Dug from a soul that never eats
All this lifeless air was created by total dismay
From thoughts that creep without light often in the calmest state
Shaking the essence of what purgatory seeks to infiltrate
With masks that always intolerably penetrate
The gateway to a subtle overactive mind grenade
It hits like a brick, it comes out of nowhere
Breathtakingly taking you into its mystical embrace
To another space in a place where nothing feels the same
Only discombobulation and facades of an erratic charade
Leaving your thoughts confused and in an melancholic state
Calmness in your spirit is a lantern burned from the light inside you
It seeps from your pours and glows intensely within your core
Unmasking horrific ramifications that you justified in the past
Leaving your mind free to disseminate thoughts that usually trespass
Recognizing feelings can be often obsolete
The lurking and self loathing of being stuck in between
a domain of migrated air and empathetic domains
Dragging your lifeless air into migrated array
Only erratic melancholy conceives and births total dismay
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
The chemicals produced by the brain
Combine and collide
In order to confuse.
I want to defy the formula,
Ignore the reaction,
And choose.
Choose what I want,
Who I want,
Override chemical overthinking.
Overactive imagination plus a little stimulation
Equals lust, obsession, pain.
Perhaps if I try really hard to overcome my programming,
I could be an alchemist of emotional responses,
Instead of an oxytocin ******
I know, I know
It's arrogant of me to expect to be
The first human being to truly master self-control.
The alchemists of old
Had a better chance
Of turning straw to gold.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
guilt is overrated
so too is an overactive conscience
to be burdened emotionally
with another's cruelty
is ludricous
independence of a warped mind
is attainable
necessary
for spiritual freedom
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
A burning desire for change;
A lack of courage or will
A loathing for what revolves the world;
A face printed on a pine green bill
A fixed way of life;
A reoccurring depression
A longing for something nonexistent;
An evolving experience to teach a lesson
A loss of interest;
A depletion of confidence
A slew of captivating faces;
An overactive conscience
A bond lost to dishonesty;
An end to faith in humanity
A new outlook, new perspective;
A bundle of positive thoughts collected
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC
I want the respect that I don't give,
and I want you to notice how blue my eyes are,
and how red my lips are.
I can offer you my hands,
they're exactly as soft as you want them to be.
You can look down my throat,
or bite my finger nails,
anything you want.
I want you to stop talking to me forever,
so that I can think about you all the time,
and I want you to watch me
as if you knew what I meant when I said goodbye.
It always gets to the point where my face is hot
and I can feel it seep into my ears,
and my heart is beating so fast that I'm afraid it'll get tired and stop,
then I'll just be dead.
God's not a dancer,
he doesn't have any feet, or a body,
not to mention a spine.
How could you dance without a spine?
I want you to ask me questions that I can't answer,
and prove to me how much better you are,
or maybe if you stood there and smiled at me long enough,
I'd realize how tired you really are.
If I stop talking, that means I'm better,
and if I keep talking, that means I'm worse.
I hope you don't understand any of this,
because that would make me a liar,
and I'm sick of being a light that you stare at,
and I'm sick of that chair that you sit in.
but mostly,
I hate the smell of the theater,
and I always wonder why the floors are so sticky,
not that I care, I just have an overactive imagination.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
Sitting in the moonlight, clad in a soft white gown,
blood running from her fingers, to drip to the thirsty ground.
You feel her eyes upon you, beckoning you near.
You try to turn and runaway, but your frozen there with fear.
The remnants of her last meal, lays ravaged about her feet.
The ground is slick with blood and gore, you wish you had not seen.
She lifts her arms out towards you, to take you in her embrace.
You start to sweat and you feel your heart begin to race.
Her mouth, it is an ugly **** of pointed teeth and torn flesh.
It makes a sickly smacking sound as she smells your blood so fresh.
Suddenly, she's there beside you and hitting you with a plate.
You blink your eyes and shake your head, a smile comes to your face.
Now comes the messy task of cleaning up from all the food action.
You are just an average teen, with an overactive imagination.
It wasn't a ghoul or vampire, out to make you ****** confetti.
It was just your little baby sis, eating her spaghetti.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 4:00 PM UTC