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Nicholle Justine May 2013
I used to think
that they
were overreacting.
A break up can't
hurt like that.
******.
It's all
true.
I reach for the
ice cream.
I must've gained
ten pounds since
I told you
I can't treat you
the way you
want to be treated.
I cannot sleep
at night
Because I
wonder if
you hurt
as much as me.
I cannot listen to
music.
Because every melody
is a memory
every lyric is
our story.

*******.

We spent too
much time together.
I told you everything.
I would spend a day
with you.
And when I got home
we'd talk on the phone.
Til the sun came up.
You were the only
one
who
knew
me.

This sinking pit
in my abdomen.
The word
****
constantly on the
tip of my tongue.
The feeling of
hating you
loving you
missing you
wanting you
forgiving you
loathing you.

I cannot
help but think.
I wasted time on you...
mk Jul 2015
your witty remarks
and hearty jokes
aren't very funny

i thought i'd tell you
before things got
out of hand

i don't appreciate you
calling me
"sweetheart"
"baby"

or
"darling"
you are no one to me
and those
nicknames are
reserved
for those who
actually know
how to treat me
as a human
not a plaything

just because
i was born a certain gender
does not
give you the right
to feel like
you have the right
to call me
what you want
and treat me
as you please

my ******
(yes, i spoke the forbidden, sue me)
does not
make me
better
or more
than any
other human
with
any other
*** organs

so next time
you're about to
open that
big mouth of yours
or
put your
arm around my shoulders
or
wink at me
you'd better
think
twice

i'm using
my words
nicely
but
i'm not
always going to be
so nice

unlike what you said earlier
i'm not overreacting
this is a natural response
to everyday sexism
and just because
society has become used to it
adapted to it
accepted it
does not mean
i will give in
or give up
or ever conform
to these
downright disgusting norms

i am a woman
that does not make me
inferior
to those of other genders
nor
am i superior
to anyone
well...
except, maybe,
**you
// thank you, doctor, for showing me that no amount of education can take the filth out of a sexist barbarian //
Haikel Azizie Jun 2015
I care for you,
Because i love you.
I care for you,
Because i dont want anything bad to happen to you.
I care for you,
Because you are very essential to me.
I care for you,
Because i dont want to lose you.

But being too caring,
Becomes controling.
Becomes overprotective.
Becomes overthinking.
Becomes overreacting.

But be worried.
When they start to not give a **** about you,
Everything is gone.
Because i did.
Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
They called her an attention ***** for the last time
As she put the gun to her stomach and pulled the trigger.

The fat girl
The bipolar girl
The depressed girl
The nymphomaniac
The airhead blonde
The discarded cheerleader
The broken hearted

The girl who cuts
The girl who cries
The girl who has a eating disorder
The girl who can't help herself
The girl who is always alone
The girl who gets yelled at
The girl who always gets *****

She just wanted love
But this is all she has

She has a cheating boyfriend
She has a horrible father
She has an abusive mother
She has a shattered heart
She has a numb mind
She has a lost hope
She has a sharp knife
She has a loaded gun

I'm sure they just wanted attention. I'm sure they were perfectly fine.
I'm sure they didn't need the helping hand. I'm sure they're just overreacting.

I'm sure she's dead. I'm sure you don't really care.
//On friendship and compassion//
My tribute to all the "attention ******" out there that people hate.
Diamond Dahl Nov 2012
What is giving? In a relationship sense, giving goes beyond basic human consideration or being a good roommate. Beyond taking someone else's plate when they've finished dinner, or hanging up his or her jackets when they've dropped it on the floor. It's sharing thoughts, and feelings, and being genuinely interested in hearing another's. It's surprising someone with a key lime pie. Or finally going to the stupid guy movie because, though not a fan of guy movies, his company will be more enjoyable than the movie will be unenjoyable. Giving is, even though you don't really want to go for a walk down to the park, it will make her happy. Giving is putting another's happiness before your own, because causing them joy brings you joy. Just as causing them pain brings you pain. Giving is also being grateful, and acknowledging, when someone has done a household chore you weren't looking forward to doing. And saying thank you every single time someone drops you off for work, every day. Giving is finding a safer spot for your significant other's prized possessions -- antique works of Shakespeare, or reptiles. It's having someone's clothes packed for an emergency trip before they can even ask. Giving is a dozen attempts to hang the TV properly. Giving is being willing to run around Disney with her and her crazy sister, 21 and 15 respectively, for a princess and pirate party. Giving is sitting on the trunk of your car at 2:30 in the morning cause you read she was crying on her kitchen floor with no where to sleep, debating on telling her you're outside if she wants to talk (albeit a little stalkerish). Giving is trying melatonin, with little hope of it working, cause you know she loves you and worries about Tylenol PM. Giving is nagging her (them) to go to bed after she's (they've) fallen asleep on the couch, to the point of frustration, but you just want her (them) to be more comfortable in the bed. It's also knowing that being asleep on the couch, near you, is sometimes more important than being in the comfy bed, away from you. Giving is the harder stuff too, taking is too easy. Giving is sometimes realizing that yes, you do need to stew for a bit. But anything more than an hour is detrimental to fixing the problem. And sometimes you also need to yell (10 minutes, TOPS). Then you act like an adult and deal with it. Sometimes giving is telling yourself you're overreacting, to take a deep breath, and go get a kiss instead of continuing to stew. And sometimes it's swallowing the lump in your throat and saying, "I'm struggling." Or "this has been bothering me," or "I'm sorry." Giving is also adding to "I'm sorry," "this is how I'll try to be better." Giving is accepting certain things, or people, for what or who they are. Giving is indeed standing strong and saying, "you picked me, this is who I am," because no one can change you, but realizing that some suggestions of change are for the better. Giving may also mean coming to the end of your nagging and saying, "that change will come when he/she is ready to," making it that much sweeter. Giving is not "I'm going to do what I want, when I want." Giving is realizing someone is depending on you, or thinking about you, or holding dinner for you. Giving is knowing that someone just needs to see your face to feel better, so you put on the sweetest, most comforting, most supportive expression for when they do. Giving is sharing your plans, for 10 years from now, for next summer, and for this evening. And to speak about those plans in an inclusive manner, like you can see that person there with you.
Written Sept. 2011
This is Not poetry.
Some things exist behind curtains of experience.  

Those whose tongues have
tasted the holy fire know the touch
of something divine.

Those who have laid eyes on
their sleeping bodies, and walked
away to places unknown, can grasp
the idea of an inbetween.

Those who have groped in the darkness
for something to believe in again, who
have longingly looked over the cliff edge,
know that true despair does exist.

As for me,

I know that true fear can
come in the form of footsteps
behind you on the empty street.

The person at the bar who insists on
hollow compliments and free drinks.

Friends who scoff at your anger for
men who yell out their passenger side
windows about the treasures beneath
your clothes.

True fear can come in the middle
of the afternoon, as you face
off against the four floor staircase
to your apartment, when your steps
are echoed by the man in 2b who has
a wife, son, and a taste for resistance.

Don't tell me I'm overreacting,
when the single most terrifying thing
I can do is walk alone under the street lamps.

Don't tell me I'm too uptight just
because I've learned that flattery
can come with a horrifying price tag.

Don't tell me I'm wrong just
because you don't understand.

Look me in the eye when you have
waited until a security guard can walk you
to your car.  When you have held your
breath in a shared elevator.  When you have
lowered your eyes to the men who yell
obscenities at you, because standing up
for yourself could prove deadly.  

Look me in the eye when you have held back
the curtain of experience, and walked in the shoes
of someone who lives every moment knowing
this could be the day someone decides to steal
from me what is only mine to give.

Then look me in the eye when you tell
someone of your wound, and they reprimand
you for daring to walk this world as a woman.
Not actually in love with this. But I've been putting off writing for far too long, and everyone always says that if you are in a rut, the best thing to do is write until you feel inspired again. So here we go.
rook Oct 2014
I know I must have lost my mind,
Reaching for something I cannot catch
Or virtue of a different kind.

I never thought that one could find
In someone else a perfect match
I know I must have lost my mind

In a subject so undefined
It's to this feeling I attach,
A virtue of a different kind.

Though after many I have pined,
From this one I can not detach
I know I must have lost my mind.

Oh, many scenes I have designed
But from these I have not a scratch
Of virtue of a different kind.

Were I to speak, and be declined,
To someone else I'd soon dispatch;
I know I must have lost my mind,
Or virtue of different kind.
this is awful wow, basically an aro overreacting to having romantic feelings maybe
MJ Smith Nov 2012
Maybe I've become to attached Maybe I fell for u to hard
Maybe I'm just overreacting
Or maybe the spark is gone
I've been thinking lately
Maybe I whine to much
Maybe I'm just a loser
Maybe her love for me is gone
I could just be overreacting
But all the signs lead to this
Maybe she just doesn't want this
What could I be doing wrong
Maybe I love her to much
Maybe I annoy her
Or maybe there's someone else..

Idk maybe I should end it
Before my heart is broken
Maybe this is just argument
But how do I know
She says jokes to play with me
But what if their real
What if she thinks I'm soft
What if she thinks I'm small
What if she thinks I'm just another boy
But she'll know I've been all in
Since day 1
She'll know that I love her
She'll know that she's my world
She'll know that she's my favorite girl

This more then me just venting this is me pouring my heart to person who I don't know if they care anymore?

So I wanna hear it from your lips
I wanna hear u say it in my ear
I wanna hear u say it to ur mom
I wanna hear u say it to a friend
I wanna hear u say it to the world

That you love me and you'll never put someone above

I want you to be all in
I want you to show me that your foreal
I want you to prove to me that im yours
I want you to say to me that I'm your world

You know I sound like a ***** typing this but I don't care
Only a real man can show his feelings to a girl
Only real man can say he loves his girl  
Only real man can shout that he loves Reina Marie

So can u tell me do u love me ?
Larry Potter Jul 2013
I was hungry enough to eat the **** end of a skunk.  I felt like gobbling the whole mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room.  Make that a quarter. I guess my tummy has had enough grumbling, like a seething network of volcanoes ready to devour Hawaii.  I am sure as exhausted as a zombie after a “battle of life and death” handling a plethora of carpentry tools which I have managed to rummage from our dismal basement.  I’m quite serious with the phrase “battle of life and death”.  I get to have this Obsessive Compulsive Syndrome which gulps a huge amount of my rhythm compelling me to put things in place especially in my chamber.  At times, a weltered pen could instigate an emotional havoc.  Or perhaps an inappropriate collaboration of curtain hues and mattresses would be ample to spin the color wheel concept out of my brain.  But now, my walls have done it.  Well, it was just a microscopic sight of a divine crevice, but how in the world could that escape my eyes?  Without a second thought, I approved an avid proposal from my subconscious – a full concrete room renovation.  And that’s how it brings me here, smothering the last square inch of the genius blueprint with this porridge of lime and clay, the hell with chemistry!  I have found out that my room has achieved the piquancy of a sizzling summer noon, thanks to the mist of dust and the precipitating drops of sweat that come tingling down my overheating body.  Ah! At least my system tells me that I’m not a promising patient of ****** dysfunction.  When the last patch has been perfectly planed in place, I drew my last ounce of pure strength and plunged into my most formidable bed, congratulating myself for a job well done. Alas! A thirty-minute nap and I’m ready for a superb coffee and doughnut delight.

I woke up from a cat’s screech. I peeped through the window. The nap breaker was a Cheshire, one with a dimmer fur, the stripes of gray suppressing the darker color.  Its tail enjoyed dancing around its rear, connoting either fear or excitement. It sure has a distinctive mischievous grin.  The feline was on the verge of climbing up the roof by jumping from a gutter about five feet away.  It seemed to have slipped but has managed to bring its **** next to the roof tiles. It stared at me with intent, giving me the macabre look from its glaring eyes.  It’s as if I’m being watched, stalked and examined in a way I couldn’t see, bringing me that feeling of guilt, of remorse.  Urgh! That’s why I hate cats.  Though I’m planning to keep one, I’ll reconsider it.  But what pains me more is to discover that my alarm was not able to do the job and so I slept three hours more than planned.  I looked down and saw the city lights flashing one by one, the beams glowing like a barrier of radiance diffusing into the gloom of the night. I guess this was the price I have to pay. I traded my snack with a peaceful hibernation, turning the coffee into a glass of iced tea and the doughnut into a great dinner with me, myself and I.

I have learned to cook since I was ten.  My mother believed that culinary prowess could be inherited from generation to generation.  And so, she put her trust on me and I haven’t failed her ever since.  This gourmet brilliance proves to be very useful at times of solitude when you got bored of ordering other’s recipes and decided to make your own buffet.  I remembered her telling me that all food would taste good if there is the chef’s heart flavored in it.  Cooking is an art, combining the loops and the whoops of seasonings and spices to the medley of meat and herbs.  Tonight, I decided that my dinner would equal breakfast, satisfying the grudge that I got from skipping my  diabetic snack attack.  A beef stew and a side of paella made my stomach die in joy, appeased at last that my gears are energized for my routinely nocturnal bookworming activity.

I normally hide under my sheets at nine but tonight, I shall break the rules. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fix the rules next time. Just this time to spare for I have gained interest on this book entitled “100 Years of Solitude”, talking about how one could live happily even alone, just by creating the world you have ever dreamed of. Gabriel García Márquez is dumping the “no man is an island” concept which anyway sounds inspiring to me.  Finally, I jumped into bed thanking Him for letting me outrun another day living alone in a comfortable apartment, free from all sorts of vexation.  I wished for a better life at school, which gives me an imagery of dull monochromatic memories.  I am not that famous but I can be someday.

A heavy beam of sunlight pierced through my window, refracting on the ***** white floor and creeping up to the mahogany table just right at the corner.  It intercepted with the glass pyramid and created a beautiful prism that glittered all around my room.  It was a really majestic scenery, one that I luckily happen to see every morning, a good optic background, I guess. Two hours before class time – that’s where my pattern starts.  Take a bath, eat, brush teeth, groom, check the doors and power, then I’m off to go. Everybody follows a certain kind of pattern, that’s for sure. Whether you wear different types of clothes everyday or use competing brands of toothpaste, clothes are clothes and toothpastes are toothpastes.  As humanity finds more and more complexities in life, they become wired to doing the things and involving the events which they think would give happiness to them and simplify their equation of life.

As a proof, there’s Mrs. Lanny Honeycut from the house next door. She usually sprinkles her daisies every ten in the morning, wearing that friendly neighborhood smile. On their patio, you could never miss a day seeing her husband, Mr. Blake Honeycut reading the daily papers with a round of tea, jam and bread spread on his table.  On the busy intersection stands traffic enforcer, Red Mayer, waving his arms to and fro while wearing that aura of valor, never seem to get tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Thousands go out for work and go back to sleep everyday and that's the status quo we're talking about. Even inside the academic arena, you can still hold on to that thought; I mean the size of the population doing the same pattern at the same time – my schoolmates, enemies and… friends? Well, I’m not quite sure with the last one, but it’s this: they all make a fun of me.  They say I’m a dork, a nerd, a geek, a freak, and etc.  I wonder if they mean everything that they say or say everything that they mean.  Either way you put it, I’m not buying it. I am not what they say I am.  I just like being alone and that’s where I do best.

And as always, the school is crowded with busy people rushing through the corridors. Others are beating the deadlines while some are happy they could breathe for another break. But no matter how busy everybody could be, there is always a time spent for “information dissemination” or chitchats. But only this time, the topic discussed is the same.  I could hear it on the entire campus, everywhere in the perimeter. Another student in the university is missing leaving no trace of existence.  It’s been going on like this for over two months now and the university council has taken their best courses of action to unknot this mystery while campaigns have been running on TV’s and vigils were spent. Not that I don’t care but it seems that this is also happening to other places, I mean, this is not the only school where maniacs could exist and become professional serial rapists in the making. By the way, this is already the 12th case on the record. Weren’t people overreacting to the issue? Isn’t the case overrated? Did they reject the possibility that these people ran away because they got pregnant, messed up or something like that? Soon, the university area was covered with security troops roaming around like a swarm of bees, buzzing and sometimes boozing all the time.

I guess that’s what happens when you hang out too much with friends who are just jesters plotting your own jeopardy. I don’t think it would be good at all to be bothered with things like that because sometimes, it’s also useful not to have any use at all.  Like the king being admired by his kingdom amidst his sloth and compromises.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not friendly anymore. Actually, if it happens that I got company, I would magnanimously offer a treat at my place.  But the thing is, who would likely do that? I’d cross my fingers on it.

Wishes do come true even for a loner like me.  I think I have a fan. No, that would be too sublime. She’s hot and she’s hotter when you’ll know she’s so cool. Quite a paradox, but that’s just reality.  We came to know each other on our lab class. Her name’s Athena, fitting for her twisted logic and good humor. It makes me burn a lot of calories when I talk to her more than a 5-mile marathon could squirt. We were lab partners and we get along well. I just couldn’t figure out where she got the courage to befriend me. I do regard myself as unwelcoming species, but I might work on it when someone tries to knock the door. We juxtapose ideas. Yes, that’s what makes our conversations spin like a merry-go-round. But we enjoy it nevertheless, evident by the crescent smile we both generate out of the craziest topics in store. Once, she interrogated my way of settling wars with enemies. Well, I told her it was my habit of treating them to my house and giving them souvenirs to show how sorry I could be. She snickered and her eyes glowed like the Andromeda and her face shun the whole universe. Oh, I can do this all day long, if only I got hold of time and space.

Today, she asked me if it would be okay if she’ll stay at my place till nine when her dad could be home and she would be able to call her and ask to pick her up. She reasoned out that otherwise, the night would be scary because she’ll be alone in their house, no company, no security. I was puzzled how the thought of being alone could scare her. It is like freedom from any constraints, no ties, and no limits. But I couldn’t blame her. She’s too fragile, too vulnerable to handle it with herself.  With the speed of the light, I accepted the favor.  Well, that goes even without saying.

It was past six thirty when we arrived at my immaculate apartment. It’s great to be an“ OC” sometimes, I said to myself.  I thought of a winner dinner, one that would make her visit worth reminiscing. I preferred Italian.  I cooked her lasagna and drenched the dinner with sherry. We talked a lot until we run out of resorts. I guess she planned it, or I planned it, synergy perhaps.

The clock ticked nine and there’s no sight of her father’s getaway car. But there’s no sign of worry in her countenance either. I surmise it didn’t reach her inkling yet to phone her dad.  She was busy dissecting my kitchen and living room with her very playful eyes. That doesn’t trouble me though. That’s just as instinctive as any other first time guest could get. She grappled her attention on my antique collection of prehistoric movies, like the Scarlet Letter, The count of Monte Cristo and the likes. She happened to love them too. Well, that makes her more beautiful to me, other than the satin white dress she wears. Suddenly, she got the impulse of going to my room. She said there’s nothing more exciting to see than a gentleman’s bedroom. I startled from the request, but before I could say anything, she leaped straight to my chamber with the gestures of an imp. It’s weird to be in this kind of circumstance because I don’t often invite a lot of visitants to my room. I ain’t no hotel crew, bowing down and waving his hand to the chamber’s destination and leading the VIPs to their cabins. Yet this time, it’s the other way around: it’s my cabin.

But now it’s too late to stop her. She molested the **** and I giggled for some reason. Finally, the door opened a crack and a bend of light escaped from inside. She stepped in, and I followed. She was filled with awe not because my room is all made of gold nor did it resemble a royalty’s den. It was the exaggerated neatness and order that greeted her. In some unknown vortex of my deepest imagining, it made me feel like I’ve been through this instance before. The flashback is not so vivid as it appears, but something tells me this isn’t the first time. Deja vu could be working on it, I infer,although I don’t really believe in those forms of conceptualizations. Perhaps it’s the sherry’s spell infiltrating my mental prognosis. But something, I guess, isn’t really right.

I caught her opening a red box that was hidden behind my cabinet. I tried to steal it away from her but she fought back and it came tossing down the floor. Numerous items spilled from the case. A purple head band with the glittering initials ANNE, a ruby embedded bracelet, and a Nokia handy phone exposed the secrecy. This isn’t going to go along well and fine, I guess. A strong surge of desire came from my core. It tried to envelop my entirety and control me like a lifeless puppet. I felt the tip of the pyramid glass in my hand and I succumbed to lose my consciousness.

Morning came and it felt better than ever. It was a ***** Saturday. There she lies beautifully on the deck, like an immortal bud of red rose trapped in golden amber. The cellophane fits her well, and there’s no doubt she’ll be complaining anymore. I already prepared a cozy place for her deep sleep: A 5x2 feet wall engravement which I was busy molding last night. It wasn’t easy making her go to bed but still it ended up smooth and sound. I helped her get up and fitted her in place.I turned on the radio as I reached for my dear carpentry tools. The news was still nailed on it. But this time, the missing case struck for the 13th turn. Ahh, the hell with society! They never really get a way to deal with it.

I was busy patching the last mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room. Make that a quarter. I guess there’s no end to this divine crevice issue. It must be following a pattern too. But I can handle it, thanks to this vicarious personality. I wonder if I could get the chance to invite another visitor in my place. But if I do, I would certainly offer the best treatment they could ever have.
Annie McLaughlin Jan 2016
You laughed
when my sleeve hiked up
"Oh no, you're one of them."

You laughed
when I wanted to die
"You're overreacting, you just need some sleep"

You laughed
when I showed you my favorite song
"That is plain out pathetic"

You laughed
when I said goodbye
"you're not gonna do it. You never do"

Will you laugh
at my funeral
in the morning?
Lizzie Apr 2018
Thoughts racing, heart chasing.
You're mad, I'm sad.
Can't stop shaking, there's no faking
When I see you in the halls,
I stall, hide behind a pillar, a friend, anything
Just to avoid the awkward eye contact.
I'm not good at confrontations, at the mere thought of it I flee..
You might think I'm crazy or immature,
But when you told me to stop talking to you my mind went a blur..
My friends say you're overreacting, over something so small.
I fear you'll dump me, leaving me lonely..
I'm so sorry.. Please forgive me?
Happy 18th Birthday, I love you S.L.
Varshini Jul 2018
Most days, you're not a woman developer,
you're a developer.
You work just as hard,
You (try to) talk just as fast
You keep your feelings under the surface (barely)

Actually, scratch that
You're always a woman developer.
you're just so used to internalizing these habits
Trying to have confidence in your skills
despite the impostor syndrome pulling you down each time slowly, like quicksand
Trying to make up for the confidence you never had
compared to someone who always had it all
Trying to not cry in the kitchen because god who
is allowed to have feelings
Trying not to talk about men who made you uncomfortable because oh my god

for the fact that people call women overreacting
most men seem to make every little statement about them, have you noticed?
oh wow, isn't this just reverse sexism?
oh wow, can I even talk to women?

Being so vocal about being queer and Indian but if you make
one noise
one sound
one phrase
about your experience as a woman
because in such welcoming company you subconsciously thought why not

You let down your guard
But
There goes the shattered glass as the topic of gender-based discrimination is finally broached
There goes the thing nobody ever talks about
There starts the debate you did not want to participate in

"Oh wow you're so harsh to these guys"
"We were just slamming what they were doing, you slammed their actual personality wow"
"I just said they sounded like a brogrammer"
"sure if you say so"
"Isn't that just an arbitrary description"

How do you explain
How do you describe every nuanced experience about
Every male in your life
who have been exactly like this to you
How do you explain the light discrimination
The harsh discrimination
The systemic problem as a whole

How can you condense all this into a workplace environment talk
Where you don't usually talk about this?
Where you don't know if you can actually talk about this
Where you know that you ultimately don't want to talk about this
cuz how can you explain these feelings that they can never understand

You shut up and move on with coding.
But inside, you're conflicted with ideas of presentations to express the fact, or never speak about this again
Because in the end,
You're just a developer, not a woman developer to them.
(Disclaimer: This does not talk about nb people because the main context involved a woman and a man and about their interactions, do not mean to erase nb peeps ily)
Jasmine Marie May 2013
(I think I've lost the ability to start things, so please forgive this poem for not having an attention grabbing genesis)
I've been twiddling my thumbs for almost eight months now
Putting off all that I care about
(And especially everything that I don't. Here's lookin' at you, AP World History)
Sitting around amassing a booklet of words to use in the future for novels and whatnot
But only using them in essays so I seem smarter than I am
(For example, susurrus means 'a whispering or rustling sound; a murmur')
Hoarding anything affiliated with Ben Folds because he makes me feel things on occasion
(I currently have 189 songs of his on my iTunes library; No one understands me.)
Making **** jokes at lunch while masking the thoughts of substance ricocheting around in my head
(Also your mom jokes because no one would think that you're crying internally about the uncertainty of the afterlife whilst making lewd stabs at their mother's integrity(and ******. Ba dum tss.))
Apparently craving the lingering feel of another's touch
(I had a dream a few weeks back that Ben Folds licked my hand; My stomach folded (hahahah, folded) in on itself.)
Thinking that my feelings of misanthropy and apathy and everything else I can't find the words for yet are mine alone because everyone else is too stupid to have thought them themselves
(Even though I know that I'm not particularly special and I should stop being so elitist and stupid)

But I've finally found a light at the end of the table in the last place I'd expect--
(I meant to say tunnel, but hey, the source of said light does sit at my lunch table.)
A cherubic Presbyterian boy with an aversion to all things perverse,
(Which includes my sailor's tongue and occasional tendencies to want to put it on a member of my own ***, though he doesn't know about that)
A spec of cleanliness on the grimy waistcoat of humanity who makes me want to be the best I can be
(Today when I saw him, I only swore once; I was very proud of myself)
But maybe I'm just jumping the gun
Because what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me who isn't even sure she believes in God?
Maybe his prolonged contingencies were merely contingent and I'm just overreacting because of my few and far between incidences of human contact.
(Seriously. Don't touch me.)
Maybe I just want someone to talk to for hours about everything and nothing at all.
(What with me being relatively antisocial, it's hard to find people with similar mindsets.)
Maybe I just want someone to funnel my adolescent attention into
(Because teen movies have taught me that one obviously can't be happy without having a crush on someone at any given time.)
Or maybe it's just because the way the Bible quote on the back of his t-shirt conflicted so humorously with the way he shook his hips to a J-Lo song on "Just Dance."
(Seriously, though, it was hilarious. I was dying.)
Or the way our fingers brushed when we were catching frogs
Or the way he blushed when I stepped out in my bikini
(I went to a pool party today.)
Or the way he held me momentarily in the delirious confusion of the flashing strobe lights
Or the way he got one point higher on his research paper than me a month ago
(He was excited; I was upset.)
Or the way that he does everything nearly to perfection.
I could go on..
But I don't know.
Maybe I'll get over him in a week and slip back into myself.
Because, like I said, what would a good Christian boy want with a heathen like me?
I don't think that I'm particularly good at formal, or informal for that matter, poetry, so I thought I might try a more comfortable format.
Amber Bowen Feb 2015
Here we go again
Not a single word in sight
No attempt at contact
Did I do something wrong?
Or are you ignoring me
Am I too clingy for you?
I don't believe a simple "Hello"
Every once in a while
Is considered too much
Maybe you're busy
And I'm overreacting
I can't help
But to worry myself sick
All these what if scenarios
Only to conclude you are alright
The sun resets itself
Leaving us another cyclical day
Of worry and ignorance
Being ignored ***** tremendously.
I feel so alone and forgotten,
It's unreal.
rs Oct 2014
there are holes in my body where i was pinned to the stars
my voice cries out to eternity
begging for silence
don't tell me i'm overreacting
when my eyes are bloodshot and blackened
when i'm clutching my knees as i shake
screaming profanities and nonsense and numbers
and how dearly my soul misses the galaxies it's travelled
when i'm begging for peace
whilst waging a war against the dissonance of my thoughts
don't tell me i'm overreacting
when fever dreams are my only escape
Alyssa Yu Feb 2014
It's true
It is a beautiful, exciting thing when the person you love returns your affections

But I have found it is something else entirely
Something a hundred times more meaningful
When the one who showed you how beautiful words can be
Breathed life into your thoughts
Compiled your most complex emotions into neat little stanzas
And writes like everything you wish you could be

Starts following you on Hello Poetry.
"Ian Cairns started following you."
NV Nov 2015
and
i don't know
if this is me
just overreacting,
but
the only reason it scares me
when the wind causes my bedroom door to slam shut,
is because
i'm deeply afraid
that
i'll get used to the sound of people leaving.
Dia Jun 2014
It's an anxiety attack waiting to happen when I can't think of a witty way to say something unoriginal; something that everyone has heard before, but that just now occurred to me to say. I can feel my thoughts racing, my heartbeat speeding up to pump blood to my overreacting brain that's now thinking, "How the **** am I gonna get these feelings out, now?" I can't think of a cunning way to use a metaphor--one that I need to be able to put this pen to the page and call all these thoughts in my head poetry.
What is the meaning of poetry? I feel like I should have some kind of figurative language in here, but my brain is fried. I'm too numb to process a **** thing. I'm so numb that it physically hurts and that pain is all that I can feel. That and the burning of my eyes from lack of sleep. This isn't poetry. I don't know what this is--random words strung together by a writer who's falling asleep at the page, who doesn't even know what sense is at this point. It's a rant...it's a ramble. Sleepless ramble
I was writing this last night..."this morning" at 1am and I fell asleep while writing it. I woke up and found this so I decided to put it up.
script on screen life is but a dream a b c d e f g gee **** g-chord ******  geezz script on screen row row your boat h i j k ellemenoh *** oh please baby *** for me let me watch you stream merrily merrily merrily script on screen q arrest tee you vee double you x why zee

last night i watched a woman answering questions about ***** size she spoke about the toilet tissue roll test for years i’ve been thinking my ***** is rather undersized (compared to studs on **** sites) this morning i took the test undid the roll from wall and stuck my ******* in the hole at first i had trouble getting it in so i guess my thickness is healthy then i slowly managed to shove the entire head of my **** out the other end by that time clear pre-*** was dripping from my ***** hole pressure from my hand gripping tissue roll felt surprisingly arousing i began ******* the roll squeezing pushing in deeper jerking almost bringing myself to ****** i passed the test the toilet tissue roll appears kind of twisted indented

what will happen next hoping for heartbreaking story with happy ending man masturbates while woman urinates both watch each other intently what is so fascinating

Asheville is small yet monumental by luck or fate he hooks up with Tim Calaprese a gregarious loving soul Tim loves women and wine and dogs particularly Farina he owns a beat up old house on steep hill overlooking downtown Asheville Odysseus rents a room for $200. a month Tim is a wine salesman and gone much of the time Odysseus is critically destitute he goes to Salvation Army they provide bed-sheets towels he sells tent and camping equipment to hippies on Haywood Street for several weeks he and Farina live on convenience store hotdogs he gets job prepping house exterior to be painted his boss tells him he is a good worker after a hard day’s work the boss lays him off he gets hired as a waiter for the dinner shift in the restaurant of a resort hotel he is weary of waiting tables but needs cash in the mornings he takes Farina to ****** Lake to swim then they go back to house paint on the porch many mornings are overcast with fog around noon sun comes out warms afternoon Odysseus loves Blue Ridge Mountains he paints a series of mountain scapes while listening continuously to Palace Brothers Pearl Jam Pavement Sebadoh Steve Earle occasionally he works on story about the clone sometime in 90’s DNA has become a factor and he needs to incorporate detail into story

on stormy afternoon in July as thunder echoes through Blue Ridge Mountains phone rings Odysseus is suffering from severe attack of food poisoning it is difficult to reach receiver phone keeps ringing it is Penelope her voice sounds shaky she says doctors have diagnosed her with leukemia it is startling shock she is only 43 years old his stomach rips he needs to run back to toilet telephone cord is not long enough Penelope says it is urgent Odysseus return to Chicago to see if he can be bone marrow match for her he tells her he will drive up immediately after food poisoning passes Penelope becomes irritable he can feel himself leaking between his legs hangs up immediately runs to toilet spends most of night in bathroom brief naps in bed in the morning he hears someone knocking at door he does not know who it is he cannot leave toilet he hears footsteps enter house call his name Odysseus are you there where are you it is Penelope and Sean he flushes toilet comes out to greet them what a weird surprise why didn’t you think to give me some notice he questions as he lies down on bed Penelope and Sean want to take Odysseus to hospital he tells them they are overreacting food poisoning will soon work its way out of his system Penelope asks if there is anything she can do Odysseus answers Farina hasn’t been out for a good walk in days Please be an angel and take her up the street there’s a field there she likes Penelope calls come here Farina let’s go for a walk Farina follows they depart out door Sean sits down at foot of bed he forcefully speaks Odysseus i know you you like to skew the facts to fit your own purposes then hammer me for whatever make-believe you can cook up when are you going to finally start being a man live up to your responsibilities Odysseus questions what facts are you talking about i’m sick as a dog now is not the time to have this talk Sean challenges yes it is you listen to me your sister is sick and needs your help Odysseus replies i’m heading to Chicago as soon as i’m well enough to travel Sean insists that’s not soon enough we’re taking you to a hospital Odysseus stands from bed Sean stands up facing him they stare each other down Odysseus goes to slip on jeans Sean stands in the way Odysseus tries to step around Sean shoves Odysseus back unto bed Odysseus stands shoves back fistfight ensues mostly Odysseus throws wild punches Sean blocks as they violently jostle out door Sean trips on wet porch falls breaks rib Odysseus grabs his pants car keys flees Penelope and Farina watch puzzled as he drives off day after incident and departure of Penelope and Sean Mom calls insists Odysseus return without delay to Chicago he answers i’m on my way Odysseus packs car with Farina drives north he feels pressure of his family envisions himself as piece of living meat whose sole purpose is to supply Penelope with bone marrow momentarily imagines his family as predators Mom is the real killer she knows how to delegate ****** Dad had been a killer for Mom Penelope has learned from Mom how to contend Odysseus is weak link he taught himself to brave harshest conditions yet is no competitor he is worker bee stupid dreamer all alone in greedy predatory world more than anything he loves and wants to help Penelope he is annoyed by nervous tension of family
Kelly Bitangcol Aug 2016
You had a lot of fears. From the day that I first met you, you told me you were afraid of many things. I thought you were overreacting since that was one of the things you usually do, but I had a glimpse of realization when we were in a room one night and I turned off the lights, you touched my arm and asked me to turn it on again. When one afternoon we were about to watch a movie and the only choices were a horror film and a sappy love story that was just 11% on rotten tomatoes, but you still begged for me to choose the bad one. When your cousin was rushed into the hospital then you saw a patient that had an accident being submitted into the emergency room, you suddenly walked away. And when we went to the cemetery and suddenly you told me you were sort of feeling uneasy. You said sorry to me because I will be loving a person who is a coward, and then you started explaining me your four phobias.

Nyctophobia.  A phobia characterized by a severe fear of the dark. You couldn’t sleep with the lights off that’s why you always had a lampshade by your side. I always preferred darkness, and you preferred the opposite. When we were sleeping and I was facing your back, I asked you why and when did it start, you just said with a cold voice, “Everybody hates darkness. People's darkness, all kinds of darkness, especially mine.” I told you, “Not me.”, only to found out you were already asleep. And yet I still did it, I looked into your darkness and explored it. I didn’t see pure darkness, what I saw were tears formed by solitude, your past that you were trying so hard to forget, your broken pieces that you abandoned for they could never be fixed, and stars. My love, I saw stars. You thought darkness consumed you so much that you didn’t have light in you anymore, but you still have. Your soul was the perfect combination of lightness and darkness, and I loved them both. Even in your darkest times. I loved it even more when I came home late at night and was surprised it was all dark, you didn’t have a lampshade beside you anymore.

Phasmophobia.  Fear of ghosts. The word originates from Greek word 'phasmos' which means 'supernatural being/phantom’.  That’s why we all had movies and books with all genres except horror, except the ones with ghosts. You had a nightmare back then, filled with ghosts, I held you and assured you they aren’t real. While crying, you said, “They are. And the worst are the ones you never expected.” I didn’t get you that time, but I did the moment I saw one too when we went back to your old neighbourhood. They were the ghosts of your past. The ones who left you and still visit you in your sleep. And the different thing here, is that you never treated them as ghosts, instead you treated them as angels. That’s why whenever they scare you at night you mistake ‘guiding’ from ‘haunting.’ But you see, I promise you, that I will never be a ghost of your past, because I am your present and your future. I will also not be your angel because I will never be one, but I will be your someone. Someone who will help you overcome your fear of them, someone who will hold you tight every time they come to you, someone who will make you forget that you even had ghosts in your life. I may be just a someone, but I will be that someone who is always there.

Hemophobia.  The extreme and irrational fear of blood.  You wounded yourself one day and when I was healing you, you kept your eyes closed, because you don’t want to see your blood. You hated white sheets with passion and refused to have them anymore, for blood becomes more visible when it drops on them. And when I was throwing away the sheets I started to realize, I am the girl who bleeds poetry but falls in love with someone who is afraid of blood. You hated red for it signifies pain, you hated blood for it is a reminder that somebody or something hurt you so bad. So I wounded myself, I bled with words that could save you, I didn’t care how many scars I will be getting as long as you know that this blood that is pouring is not caused by pain, but by love. And when my wounds became severe already, you were the one who healed me, the healing didn’t really help that much since you weren’t looking. However one morning, I woke up with my scars getting better and a new bed sheet, it was white.

And your last fear, necrophobia.  The fear of death.  That was the first fear that you have ever told me and I asked you, “Why? Everyone will go there at some of point of their lives. Even us. The thing is you should not think about it.” But you said it was hard, you said it was hard to not think that one day everything will be over soon, that you will be buried to the ground and after some time, people will forget about you and will only remember you when they see your tombstone. I never understood you. I never got to. And that was also the only fear that I didn’t help you overcome. You never did, instead, you accepted it. I knew it by the moment you asked me,

“What are we?”, while playing with my hair.

I sat straight and looked you in the eye,  “We’re in love. And that’s like dying, isn’t it?”

Your beautiful smile vanished from your face and I looked down, knowing that is your greatest fear. I was surprised when you said these words with the voice that I have never heard before,  “As long as I’m dying with you, everything is fine.”

You looked at me like I was the only one you have ever seen. The thing is, I don’t know a lot of things and I have no idea what to do.  But for now, baby,  let us just let love **** us both.

*(k.b)
Naunie Baltzell Oct 2015
The first boy to enter my life never let me finish a sentence without kissing me.
And I remember all the girls saying how romantic it is being interrupted mid-sentence with a kiss.

I did not find this romantic.
Forced silence is not romantic.
Forced silence is not "relationship goals".
Forced silence is degrading.
Forced silence is a sign that the purpose of your lips is to please others instead of speaking your mind.

And maybe I'm overreacting.
I'm sure I'm overreacting.
Because if not, others would have spoken up....right?
kerri Sep 2016
something seems different
part of you has changed
i don't know what it is
but you don't react the same towards me
did i do something?
am i overreacting?
goodtea Sep 2018
he
disregards me
says it's funny when i'm mad

he says he
likes the idea of me
"i wanna *******" and
"i don't think you know
how much you turn me on"
he likes the physical

his drunk texts are angry
the next day is always peaches

i can always trust him to lie

he says he thinks about me all the time
but he wont let me spend time with his friends

i told him stop and no and
i thought i was healing but i-
i thought i was overreacting but i

screamed, "DON’T TOUCH ME" the
next time someone hugged me and
told myself it wasn't a big deal

started lying for him and
told myself he cared and
maybe he didn't realize

i

disregarded myself

so now that i've left
he can be mad
and maybe i’ll laugh
whomp whomp


sorry i disappeared
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
You have these wrong judgements about me
And the haughty expectations.
I bet if someone asked a question:
"Do you know your daughter?"
You would say
"Yes."

After all,
You have lived in the same house with her
For sixteen and a half years.
But you can only begin to imagine
The life that I lead.

You know I am liberal,
But my feminist views would shock and disgrace you.
Get your conservative head out of your ***, please.
And realize that I care about people
Not politics.

You know I was molested when I was young.
You do not know that a friend has since
Abused my body in unmentionable and uninvited ways.
But I cannot tell you this.
I do not want you to reinforce the idea
That I am overreacting.

You think I am selfish and that all I do
Is pick fights.
I'm actually terrified of rejection
And have minimal self-esteem.

You think that I enjoy going to church
But truthfully, I do not agree with their theology or interpretations
Of most things.

Plus, most Christians are hypocrites.
It is so easy to point the finger
Without actually spending a day in someone else's life.
Oh did I forget to mention
I'm bisexual, I drink, and I have *** before marriage
I'm not exactly up to their standards
Or yours.

This just scratches the surface
Of the reasons why you don't know your daughter at all.
Ember Evanescent Jan 2015
I'm going out for a bit
No, just up the hill
I won't be long
Don't worry
I know it's dark out, but I'll be okay
I can see the house from there

Of course what I mean is

I need a break from my family
No, I'm just going somewhere quiet and dark
I'll take as long as I need
Leave me alone
Yeah, of course it's dark, that's why I like it. Just shut up and let me be
I'm not even far away, you're overreacting!


Six missed calls, but I have my earbuds in and my music blasting
The same song on repeat
I came to write poetry, maybe some song lyrics
This is the pen I stole from the library
I scribble with it but the stupid thing won't write
It's freaking Broken
Now I know how He felt
He stole my freaking heart just to find out that it was already Broken
I hate being Broken
All I wanted was to come here and write
But I get lost in the tune
I finish drinking my sugarless chai tea that I brought with me
Every time I tip my head back to take a sip, I see the stars better
Forget writing, for just half an hour
Forget life
Forget school, and work, and deadlines and everything
Just forget it all
Let it go
Look at the beautiful stars
Pulling up my knee high boots
I get over my paranoia of being watched, or stalked
Nobody is hiding behind the tree or in the shadows, waiting to pounce
No one is going to attack me while I'm sitting on this bench in the darkness in the late evening
I'll be fine
I watch the winter frost along the tips of the grass sparkle and shimmer
The stars are so magnificent
I put the same song on repeat
A song that doesn't tell a clear story, but I can relate to any situation
I've listened to it since elementary school
And here I am years and years later
It is still saving me from myself
I am feeling broken and hollow
I hate myself, I hate life, I hate hating my face, I hate feeling so worthless
But forget that for a minute
I stop checking the time and I ignore the strange looks I get from the residents in the windows of the houses surrounding this little park area watching me and wondering why I'm out here so late all alone
I'm ugly, I'm cold, I'm stupid, I'm a waste of space
I don't deserve life
I don't deserve to talk to anyone
I don't deserve to annoy anyone with my existence
I don't deserve respect, or love, or loyalty or happiness
I think this daily.
I feel bad about freaking cars having to go to the trouble of stopping for me even when I have right of way at a crosswalk
But I have on my black comfy leggings
My black tank top,
My black slouchy cardigan
My black knit tuque
My lips are still slightly stained a faded red from this morning
My eyes are heavily outlined in black
The black is comfy for me
It makes me feel safer
I blend in with the night
I feel happier when I put all the black I have inside, on the outside instead
It's always better to externalize the darkness
Somehow, even though it looks pretty depressing, it helps
I stand up and begin pacing
I turn up the music and inhale, deeply
The winter air bites at my lungs, stinging my skin with its bitter icy fingertips
I let the cold seep into my breathing
To freeze all that burning self-loathing
I force a smile on my face
Somehow, in this dim starlight
I can see Peace so much better than in the sunlight
I breathe so deeply in until I can't intake anymore air
My lungs are at their limit
The smile I'm forcing stops being forced as the winter air and the music's melody washes away all those horrible Broken feelings
A strange feeling overtakes me as I wander around, pacing in spirals with my head tipped upwards, my eyes dancing along the constellations and the shining moon
Maybe the moon isn't whole tonight, but it still shines bright
Maybe I'm not whole, but that doesn't mean I can't shine bright
My phone is ringing, but forget that.
I can't stop smiling, I'm walking around in curvy lines my eyes staring up in wonder, my arms slightly spread
I'm happy
Oh my gosh, I'm happy
I almost laugh, I can't believe the burden is lifted.
The car pulls up, and I realize I've been gone longer than I meant
They've been searching for me.
They're angry, but I'm inexplicably happy
I smile and nod, then saunter home, my music still playing
The Happy feeling doesn't linger too long, but even when it fades out,
For the rest of the night
I'm left in a neutral state
Not *my
neutral state, which is just sadness,
But a happy person's neutral state
Truly not unhappy
Peace.
That's all I wanted.
And I got it, tonight.
Really long story, but essentially, my point is, I felt happiness, and that's rare for me. Stars, music, and tea. That's all I needed. Oh, also a little black, cold air to breathe and a moon. A smile doesn't hurt either. ;)
Kristen Nicole May 2016
you called me today
and asked if we could not have deep conversations anymore.
then you asked me to define deep. and I didn't want to.
because that wasn't what I wanted.
but I've had to become submissive to you
and your stupid requests
all because of a card, with words of distress
with words of don't leave me and trust I'm here's
and you still act like you're 10
or so says my mom
and my therapist
and my doctor
and my teacher
and your best friend.
and that sounds mean
but honestly it's true
I connect with him better than you
but i swear i won't sleep with him
i wont **** him up
because I'll lose you already
so who ******* cares?
cause in a month I'll be gone
and you can forget
so you'll feel okay and I'll waste away
because again, you act like you're 10.
which is probably why Henry lets you complain
cause he's just the same
and you take your coffee with daily suicide threats
that I freak out about and you forget.
cause I've been in a pysch ward,
but not in your head,
but I promise you're better than restraints on a bed
just maybe not always
cause sometimes you're mean
and can't come to terms with the fact
that not everyone wants to worship you
or talk to you or hear you
or maybe even see you.
but you wouldn't know
cause you live in a bubble.
you're always safe
you're cared for,
so you'll turn around,
and
slam
the
door.
2ndBest Mar 2015
i sat alone


collecting my thoughts


i was caught up in


a beehive of an evening


infested with dreams


drunken feelings


fixed catalysts


kick starting the slow burn


down to our cells


chemicals mixing


+ im overreacting


as i imagine half my life


hanging from the ceiling


WE'RE ALL JUST CHEMICALS MIXING
Lyra Brown Jul 2013
-People need you more than you think they do, especially during times of intense personal change. It’s important to watch the people that you love grow and change and move away and make mistakes, and to be there for them 100%. Don’t make it about yourself. Looking past your own selfish wants will do you a lot of good and you will be doing yourself a favour in the end.

-React: cry, scream, throw things, write things you don’t mean, say things you don’t mean and reach out when you need help. Give yourself a limited amount of time to feel pain and suffering. Say to yourself “I am ANGRY about this RIGHT NOW. I am going to give myself an hour, five hours, a whole day to feel this pain." Then let go of it. You can’t be happy again until you feel that pain, and let go of it wholeheartedly. You can’t appreciate happiness without contrast. Life is all about contrast. The day you let that pain define you is the day you are actively choosing not to grow.

-Don’t judge or label yourself for “overreacting." Iain Thomas once said: "The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are.” The sooner you accept this, the sooner you can accept yourself and your feelings just as they are. No strings attached.

-It’s important to abandon the idea that you have of your parents. They are not wiser, more intelligent, more experienced than you just because they created you. They are not heroes, they are humans. They are going to hurt you just as much as you can hurt yourself. Forgive them. Love them. This is what being a family is about.

-Stop expecting people to treat you the way you treat them. Just because you believe in being a good friend to someone doesn’t mean they are going to treat you the same way. Don’t stop being a good friend just because of this fact. Don’t shut off the “come in, we’re open!" sign of your heart just because you’ve been disappointed or hurt one too many times. Your goodness is rare. Just because your heart is too big doesn’t mean it is a flaw. It is unique and special. Cherish that.

-Your siblings need you to be there for them more than you think they do. Make sure you tell them you love them as much as you can, don’t just tell them, but SHOW them. Actions speak louder than words, and trust me, if you actually show them you love them, they will never ever forget the way you made them feel.

-Try not to worry about money too much. I know it’s hard when there are a lot of things you want to accomplish and experience in order to feel like you are living a full life, but money doesn’t have to be one of those things. Just because it is a necessity does not mean it should take away from your potential to be truly happy. Whatever you’re doing to make ends meet is enough. Try to find solace in that.

-A wise friend once told me to live every moment of my life as if I had chosen it. Working a long and tiring shift? You chose this. Be happy you chose it. Having a long and annoying conversation with a stranger? You chose this. Find joy in it. Counting down the days until your next vacation? You chose this timeframe. Find joy in each day before you go away to find joy somewhere else. Have you lost or feel like you are losing someone who is very important to you? Don’t worry. You chose this. Love is not lost just because the person you love is changing. Love is all around. You still have time.

-Give people a lot of chances. People don’t often realize that your presence is actually a huge gift in their lives. There is only one of you, and people will take advantage of you, use you, walk all over you, and be careless with your heart because they don’t realize how precious you are. Just because you're fragile doesn’t mean other people know it too. Forgive them for this. Everyone is doing their best with what they have and it really has nothing to do with you.

-Laugh as much as you can, especially on your worst days. The best feeling in the world is knowing you have not lost your ability to laugh on the days where you want nothing more than to not exist.

-Sometimes it’s important to give more to people than they give to you. You may feel cheap and used at the time, but when you look back on how much you gave to someone, whether it be love or time or conversation, you will realize that they needed it more than you thought they did. This will be a gift that you are unintentionally giving to yourself.

-Be brave. People are going to shut you down and contradict you when you open up to them. This has nothing to do with you. People unknowingly project their pain and jealousy onto others without even realizing it. Misery loves company. The day you stop keeping miserable people company is the day they will try to keep defining you as the meek and miserable person they want you to be, and they will resent you for it. This doesn’t mean you are a bad person. Sometimes it just means that you have to let those people go, even the ones you thought you wouldn't have to. Anyone who doesn’t want to see you happy is automatically someone not worth having in your life.

-Pain is not something to be feared. It’s hard to realize this when you’ve spent a long time trying to numb yourself, but as soon as you stop running away from whatever it is you were trying to numb out, you will see that it’s actually not as scary as you thought it was. Avoiding pain is often scarier than confronting it.

-Have a support system that is not family-based. This is especially hard if you come from an extremely sick/co-dependent family and are used to being unhealthily dependent on family members and are not able to distinguish their feelings from your own. You don’t need to share everything with your family just because they are your family. And often times, you will be doing more harm to them than you realize. Get a therapist. Tell them everything. Make the choice to be more careful with your words and actions around your family. You don’t need a thousand friends to feel supported. Even a twelve-step support group you go to once a week can help. Do anything but stay in the same never-ending cycle of codependent family interactions.

-Try to be as honest as you can, especially with yourself. Even when it hurts.

-Keep a journal. Wake up and write everything you wish you could say out loud down in there. No one has to read it. It doesn’t have to be good. Just get it out. You will feel a huge weight lift from your shoulders, I promise.

-Cherish the people who have stuck around when you were at your worst. Cherish the people who never stopped believing in you when you had stopped believing in yourself. Thank them for not giving up on you. Thank them for teaching you how to not give up on yourself.

-Try not to worry so much. Treat every person and situation in your life the same way you would treat a newborn baby. You will not get from 0-100 in a single day. It is literally one day at a time, especially for those who are trying to get better from extreme trauma, addictions, or mental illness. Be patient with yourself. You are doing the best you can and I am proud of you for that.

-Wherever you are at right now is where you’re meant to be.
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
Go ahead.
Remind me how much you love me
How much I mean to you.
How much you know I can change.
I would just love to hear your lies.

Or you can
Yell and scream
Tell me I'm fat
Tell me I'm selfish
Try to diagnose me every time I ***** up.
I would not be surprised.

Criticize me, I dare you.
It would not be the first time
And it certainly will not be the last.
Am I ruining your idea
Of a "perfect family"?
I hope I have sent it to its grave.

I wish you knew what you did to your child.
You made her afraid to open her mouth
Due to her fear of judgement.
There is no question
That you have played a role in her depression
As well as her eating disorder.
You have made her feel worthless.
You have made her feel like nothing but a number.
You have created a girl who is obsessed with perfection.
And the worst part is,
You don't even understand how bad it has gotten.

You do not know what I have been through.
A friend took advantage of me in a major way
While I was not in a proper state of mind.
But you would say that I should have been more careful,
That I should not have been sneaking around in the first place.
I wish I could tell you
That some days I just want to rip my skin off of my bones
Because I feel gross.

What he did to me was wrong,
But you would not see it that way.
I have a hard time convincing myself of the fact
That this should not have happened.
It is difficult for me not to blame myself
Or not to shut down
Because those who I have told continue to tell me I am overreacting
Or that I did something to lead him on.
I fear that you would do the same.

All I want
Is for you to say that I am alright
For once in my life.
I wish you would compliment me
Or tell me that you're proud
So maybe I could start to believe it, too.

Yes, your younger daughter is the perfect kid.
And we have both been brought up the same way.
But she has not had the experiences that I have had.
It is not fair for you to compare the two of us
As if I do not do it enough already.

So what can I say?
If I am going to drown,
Then let me drown.
Or if you can stand up on your own
Take responsibility for your role in this
Throw me a lifeline,
Then maybe I can be okay.
Maybe I can escape this cycle of destruction.
Ryan Fiore Dec 2013
"I'd sell my soul just to see your face
And I'd break my bones just to heal your pain
In these times, I need a saving grace
Time is running out and I'm starting to lose faith."

These lyrics by Florida Georgia Line stand out to me.
I would do anything for this girl I like.
I've been in love with her for a year.
But sometimes, I think she's mad at me
When most of the time, it's me overreacting
Everything is fine
I try to tell myself that
I bleed out my heart for her
This puts me at my lowest point to know she could potentially be mad at me
It kills every nerve inside of me
I feel like she isn't paying attention to me
And the worst part of liking someone
Is pretending to be okay when they don't pay attention to you
I post really good testimonies sometimes and most of the time, she likes them
But lately, I feel like it's been dead
And so has our relationship
But just the other day, she liked something of mine
So am I just an overreacter?
I want us to be together more than anything
Anything.
ANYTHING.
In the beginning, it seemed so right
Because we had a lot of things in common
We are both Christians
We worship Jesus
We both love country music
There is only one thing:
She is the same gender as me
And there's no way she would date a girl
Which is normal
I know a lot of people like that
That makes her human
I haven't hidden the fact that I'm gay to a lot of people
But there is one secret I have hidden
I'm about to let it out
Because I'm at my lowest point
And I'm extremely vulnerable
When I graduate high school
I want to get gender re-assignment surgery
Not for her
Well I guess you could say that's a tiny part of it
I've always liked girls since I was in like first grade
Had no idea there was a name for it
I have a fear though
My church is such a big part of my life and who I am
I'm scared to death that they won't want me to or let me serve if I change
It scares me to the point where I make myself sick
And yeah I feel like a hypocrite
Because I teach kids every single week
That they should be who God created them to be
And yet I can't even do that
But I love what I do at church
If I didn't care about it, I wouldn't, excuse my language, make such a **** effort to go
If I couldn't serve, I don't know what I'd do
I don't care if people judge me
This is my life
Let me live it
This girl knows about it
Actually, most of my friends know about it
Sometimes I think I made a mistake doing that
Because that is just another way for her to think I like her
I don't want that.
I try not to hang around her too much
Don't want to make it obvious
She has gotten me through a lot of stuff
Honestly.
I told her and she said she'd support me
Although, it was awkward
Like she doesn't agree with it
I get this feeling all the time that she knows about me liking her
And just the mere thought of her being with someone else sickens me
I can make myself feel like I just spun around in a chair fifty times by thinking about it.
It kills.
What am I supposed to do?!
It's not like I can ask her if she's mad because she's probably not and that just makes me seem like a worried idiot
That makes me seem like I really care what people think about me
When I don't
I am my own self
Not perfect
But who is?
God, send me a sign that things are okay.
Please.
Because I really need it
And when it gets like this, I think back to suicide
I don't know
Do I really want to go that far?
After I've come this far?
I am an overcomer
I want to defeat this
And when I'm a guy someday
I'm going to be the happiest I've ever been
With or without her in my arms
But I prefer that she would be



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Isabella Nov 2014
I know,
There must be some males out there,
who care
And I know,
I may be overreacting, I think.
But, I also know,
That it isn't okay, or funny or clever
to mess around with peoples' emotions, whatever

You know
That there are females out there,
that care.
And you know,
I may be overreacting, perhaps.
But you also know
that it isn't my fault, not this time, not now
it's completely yours, and you've let me down.
Deanna May 2017
I am standing still as a rock curled up on the floor shaking back and forth. I am overreacting in response to your underreaction and something in my body just doesn't feel right anymore. A piece of me is angry that you dared to have this much control over me. Why were you trusted with a sword you didn't know how to use? Because these wounds are leaking blood and staining the new clothes I'm wearing for you. My underwear is covered in pictures of your favorite fruit that will never taste the same again.

I am trying to rationalize your behavior. I am making up excuse after excuse for you and I am disgusted with myself. It was you who put me in this situation and it is all your **** fault which is why I am to blame. I didn't know that nothing was strong enough to break glass, but here I am shattered after your lack of words struck me. Who do you think you are, because apparently I know nothing about you.

It was so subtle that I almost missed its hands wrapping around my throat. My face was blue by the time your rejection had sunk into my skin, pins and needles over every bit of flesh. I was changed in an instant.

You don't miss me back.

That knowledge bouncing back and forth inside of my skull on a Monday night. And maybe you were tired or maybe you were stressed or maybe you were revealing the truth to me, finally, releasing your feelings, or lack there of for the first time. Wasn't I so lucky to be there for your debut? I can feel ants crawling around on my heart and they must be hungry because they keep biting away miniscule pieces of me that I guess I didn't need.

You mean so much to me but I must be meaningless. I am breaking down and apparently you couldn't care less. You never told me you didn't love me, you never told me you didn't miss me, I had to figure that one out for myself, you never told me I was nothing, but that is how I am feeling.

And soon you will have to see my face and I will get to look upon yours and we will be together. My soul will be screaming out at you, demanding to know what changed, but my lips will not make a sound. I am silent and it has always been my greatest weakness, well, until I fell in love with you, anyway. All of this pain, yet I won't have a word to say. I am trapped here wondering what way it will go. Most of me doesn't even want to know. It's only a matter of days and even after all of this, I still manage to miss you, but

You don't miss me back.
Elise Dec 2015
Come back to me
Bring back the man who really loved me
I love you all the same each day
But did you ever really love me anyway?
Infamous one Jun 2013
writing is like a rollercoaster up and down
the rush and fun keep telling the truth
thats what im all about and all i know
lick it stick it when we gonna kick it
freestyle thats are wild go for miles
comebacks ppl hating overreacting
dont hate me because im somebody
your mad because your nobody
writing about the good everyone is emo and sad
you act like a **** ill put you in check like your dad
do my own thing i know ne day ill be on the mainstream
you could hate while i do my thing calm down your full of steam
ANH Sep 2018
The words I speak don't matter
to those who don't listen.

Screaming air to those who
don't care.

They think my lips spill poison
and would rather sew them shut.
And would rather mute my voice
to their locked ears.

I breathe fire
baked from years and years
of pressure from all around.

All the little sparks and scars
added up for so long
until I can no longer hold it in
my mind and heart.

You may believe me to be overreacting
to childish play
or teasing words

but what do you know?
Do you care?
Do you know what it's like in my shoes?

Can you take all those pinpricks of pain from over the years
and still stay sane?

They'd rather have me stay quiet.
Silent
Don't start a ruckus or
Complain.

Out of the way and never
bothering the
structure of our world
with my pain.

And why?
is maintaining a lie more important
than my voice?
Megan Milligan Aug 2011
OPEN LETTER TO THOSE WHO SAY GOOD RIDDANCE TO AMY WINEHOUSE

“Good, one less crackhead to deal with.”

“Drugo *****”

“She was a bad influence to all.”

“Why is everyone sad that she is dead?
She never cared about her own life
so why should we care now that she is dead???
She brought this on her self, oh well! “

“Good riddance you Mr. Ed lookin, Lady Gaga wanna be, pill poppin ******.....”

These sad, sad, comments
About a sad, sad life
Full of privilege and God-given gifts
Thrown away on a whim and a dime
Sadden me.

Dear friends,

You know me,
But I suppose, if you say good riddance to Amy Winehouse,
By that same logic, you should say, regarding me,
“Good, one less alcoholic driving our streets.”
If I died in my car accident more than 3 years ago.

Wait, what is that I hear?
You say I’m overreacting?
I’m different because I got the point?
That somehow I’m better than her because I “learned my lesson”?

*******.

I’m no better than Amy or anyone else in that same sinking boat,
**** up a creek without a paddle,
Just because I cleaned up my act.
I’m only luckier than them,
Because statistically only 5 percent
Make it out the other side,
Without backsliding.
The other 95 percent,
**** rolls downhill without stopping.
Ultimately, they only have 3 choices:
Jails, institutions, or death.
And I’ve already made two of them.

Now I have to keep in mind that
Unless you walked in an addict’s shoes,
Or the shoes of an addict’s loved ones,
It might be hard for you wrap your mind around a couple of paradoxes:

“How could she let that slide?  She had everything?”
“Oh, she could’ve quit anytime she wanted, so she chose to continue being a ******.”
“She was only a selfish *****   She didn’t give a **** about what she put her family or anyone else through.”

Let me enlighten you to the plight of the addict.

Yes, I will give that,
We have choice over that first drink, or drug if that’s what’s up.

But chasing that first high is like the search for the holy grail,
Or searching for that *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
I kept following the path,
But the quest for the gold extended in perpetuity,
And my chalice remained empty.

I guess in a way you could say suffered
From battered wife or Stockholme Syndrome.
Drinking kidnapped me,
And held everything I was hostage,
I had everything, the job, the house, the love, the family,
The art, the poetry
But nothing became more important
Than the man who kidnapped me.

His needs, his wants became my own.
He spoke for me, he spoke through me.
I was him, and he was me,
And everything else bedamned.

I lied for him,
Stole for him,
Tricked my loved ones for him,

And in the increasingly rare moments of lucidity,
Interspersed between run-ins and blackouts and bottles of wine,
I tried to run,
But he would grab me when I made a break for it,
And drag me right back in.
While friends and loved ones who grabbed onto me with everything they had
Stood helplessly by as I willingly walked back to him.

A person has only so much strength,
So much will to resist.
And eventually, you only have enough reserves left to just exist.
It’s all you can do to stay alive,
If you can call it a life.

Yes, I was eventually one of the lucky 5 percent.
But there’s a word I operate by…”yet”.
Nothing is set in stone.
I could wind up right back where I started on that Monopoly board.
Don’t pass start, don’t collect 200 bucks.

So, until you have walked a mile in an addict’s shoes,
Or the shoes of an addict’s loved ones,
Judge not lest ye be judged.
Because the next hammer to fall just might be on you.

By the way, rest in peace, Amy Winehouse.
© 7/30/2011
Mahesh Hegde Nov 2013
The road seemed to never end. But these frnds were having fun walking together. Sweeto said, "the aroma in here is beautiful"..
Rudy said, "well I think you are just overreacting"
Friendo said, "Hey rudy, just stop acting rude, we are together here on the road, just live the moment.."
Rudy said, "yeah yeah, it wud have been better to sit at home doing nothing than to be here".
Silence there gave a sad frown which no one noticed..
Scary repeated the sentence, "uhh, all of you plz listen to me this road is really not meant for us, anything may happen there at the end, there could be ghosts or zombies or thieves, we cud get killed."
Bravery said, "Dont you worry guys, Until i am there no one can ever harm my friends."
Happy was happy cuz he had his dreams come true on this journey.
While the Jealousy was surrounded by the smoke of restlessness, both of them together creating partly dull atmosphere..
Excity was hopping like a small girl skipping but was losing its track from the others..
But Controller had got his eyes on everyone so it didnt matter when he was around, excity wud be fine..
Confidence with stability walked in the second row to guide all the others behind..
Angry was getting red cuz he thought what is the use of thus journey when this cud have been simpler and due to this Saddy was losing hopes..
But calmy placed his hands around their necks and said everything happens for a reason..
Strategy was guiding everyone in the perfect manner..
Striding at the front was love with its sparkling aura, since it had won, cuz it was stable after being angry and then sad, before which he was excited and controlled, even before which he was brave to be a friend which taught him to keep calm when there is sadness and use strategy and confidence to fight jealousy and restlessness and be happy.
But walking just beside Love was pain which said, "Dude, Let us see who wins."
The wise road of Life simply smiled..

— The End —