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tread Jan 2013
ever had those moments
of artistic remorse
where you want to burn
your imagination?

I want to burn this poem
I want to burn my poems.

I'm no poet,
I'm a ******* narcissist,
I'm a ******* farce.

*******.
Anna2000 Oct 2013
First month, first seat change. we were on opposite sides, no interaction. I relish this, i am not a
BOLD or EXTROVERTED person
some might say I am shy or introverted
now that the time has come, I am not ready to change seats,
to take the chance of sitting closer, forced interaction,
I am nervous,
but am calmed with the thought that chances are, we'll be seated even farther apart,
I was wrong.
our elbows will brush, our knees will touch, our gazes will meet.
I hear the words coming out of the teachers mouth,
but  am stunned into silence ,
my whole being shaken,
our names are called,
our seats given.
To some, this may seem silly, immature, an overreaction.
For them, this may be true, in this situation calm, collected, thinking: this is no big deal.
But with dread curdling in your stomach as you snap to,
stumbling to your seat,
this is an earthquake shaking the earth, a volcano spitting ashes,
a panic attack waiting to happen.
and it pounces.
seated, trying not to squirm, to shake, to ****;
wondering what he's thinking, trying not to stare.
he thinks you don't see,
the glances he shoots the short foot between you,
thinks your engrossed in the teacher, the clock, the pencil
any thing but him.
But your any thing but engrossed, you see every shake, gaze,
fell every brush of the hand.
Finally, this long hour is over, the mixture of excitement and torture has come to an end.
As is to be expected, on your way still in has gaze, you trip, you stumble, your face cherry red;
embarrassed, but thankful,
that he doesn't have a class with an even more abundant chance of embarrassment.
over the day,
you forget the way he gazes,
his shy way
different from the others,
the way he's taller,
in a way that makes you feel safe, flushed, happy, even if their is no chance of him being yours.
But then lunch comes,
you sit down,
ready to devour food that can only fill your stomach, not your soul as much as you wish it would, or
could;
but looking across,
you spot him, watching you,
his gaze surpassing the walls of people, as much as a shy person wouldn't like,
is it coincidence that he found the one gap with a view of me?
is he staring at me?
what to do?
with all this questing running your mind,
your appetite flee's,
and so do I,
to my safe haven within the books.
tomorrow, the nervousness has subsided, its over, your over, its done.
but then, on the way to first period,
our paths cross,
glances exchanged,
blushes made.
You know that this is not over, not done,
the time has come for class to begin.
I've tried to forget, to overcome this nervousness, but I've been defeated,
ground to a fine powder of nerves by a crush.
our knees bounce in anticipation,
our pencils tap,
our feet twitch.
time to share the book,
the dreaded closeness.
Finally it happens,
the brush of the elbows.
we both feel it,
the sparks that glow blue,
the cheeks that grow red.
we have been given a gift, a chance,
to overcome shyness,
to create something wonderful.
but to take that chance, to accept this gift means time, courage.
and every day until then,
this tension will be relieved
and i will be a nervous wreck.
We started on opposite sides,
but fate pulled us together, forced a chance.
now we sit close, still tense, still wired,
but strangely happy,
exhilarated,
alive.
to this day, he still sits in the gap :)
Lily Apr 2018
My mind keeps spinning,
My heart is breaking,
My thoughts are circling,
And I can’t seem to find any relief.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way,
That all the things that are happening to me
Are not that bad, and I shouldn’t worry.
Yet I do, and I can’t stop, and
I know that’s unhealthy,
But I have an overreacting tendency
That’s so natural.
My mind naturally runs in circles,
Like a computer program that is set
To only one function that cannot be
Overrun.
This overreaction is slowly killing me,
From the inside out.
I’m cold, I’m hot,
I’m hungry, I can’t stand to look at food,
I’m okay, and then I’m not.
I’m not okay.
Okay maybe I overreacted
I get that way when I feel isolated
Being out in the world all alone
Like before everyone had a phone
I didn't really mean what I said
I just get that way when I feel emotionally dead
I was feeling like no one understood me
It was breaking my heart internally
So naturally I lashed out at them with frustration
But now I know that was an overreaction.
So Josh(DaddyKiller), Holly and I made up and we're back to being friends. I was just having a whirlwind of mood swings in one setting.
Shyanna Ashcraft Feb 2017
Heartbreak
Is not an overreaction
Is not a figment of imagination
of the ones who feel too much

Heartbreak
Is not simply a word
for the ones who have loss.
Is not simple at all.

Heartbreak
Is ripping
Is the tearing
of one's heart into miniscule pieces.

Heartbreak
Is the breath
that both catches in your throat
and completely leaves your body.

Heartbreak
Is the physical reaction
in which your heart stops beating
and your lungs stop working.

Heartbreak
Is when your smile stops working
but you use it to cover up the tears anyway.
*Is when you picture your life without them in your day.
02-13-14
Jordan Rowan May 2016
I barely know a lie when I say it out loud
Like a simple "I'm feeling fine" as I'm freaking out
Have you seen the faces climbing up the walls?
I'm so tired
I'm ******* wired
Control me a little because I've got none at all

I fell in love but I was too anxious for my own good
Sometimes it's rough always being misunderstood
Like the feeling I get when I look to the west
And all I see
Is them leaving me
But everyone tells me that it's for the best

I boarded up the windows expecting a storm
But I heard the wind blows only when it's warm
I'm feeling a little crazy, maybe a little overreaction
Insecurity
Will be the death of me
Just please don't look at me while laughing

Some say that you're always stronger than you think
But I don't feel too strong as I take another drink
Then it hits me that I'm the only one who knows
Who I am
And that I can,
Create a world with my hands
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
You're a walking overreaction
When something doesn't go your way
You think it's everlasting
And when the heart inside your cold chest
Doesn't get a response
You blame it on unhappiness

I think it's over, all of those complaints
But when they start again
I wonder if you ever learned restraint
Sometimes it's easy
But most of the time
I can barely stand you speaking

You're still a child
Somewhere, out there
There must someone who likes your style
I'll bet they're crazy
It doesn't matter how hard you try
It ain't me

Can you believe it?
Somebody near you
Doesn't like it when you talk ****
Maybe you should try this
When a thought comes in your head
Don't just say it, maybe filter it
Anjana Rao Nov 2014
How do you begin
to talk about trust,
when every thought
that swirls around in your brain
has additional questions
attached to it:
                         is it real?
                         is it made up?
                         is it rational?
                         is it an overreaction?
                         is it temporary?
                         is it permanent?
Tangled root systems
of the same questions,
for every thought.

And I haven’t even
started on
Feelings,
[that’s a different poem
altogether].
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when, for starters,
you can’t trust yourself.

Grow up,
with silence
and
shrugged shoulders
and
the helpless statements of:
I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know,
in response
to all your scientific parents’ questions –
questions peppered with
“logical”
and
“rational”
and
“you understand where we’re coming from
…right?”

and
eventually,
every time you think or feel anything at all
and have no explanation,
you’re left with one question:
                                                        how can you not know?
                                                        how can you not know?
                                                        how can you not know?
-
Say a word enough times
and it starts to lose its meaning:

trust
trust
trust
trust

Is it even a word,
or just a lucky combination of letters?
-
How do you begin
to talk about trust
when you’ve been let down
not once, not twice, not three times…

well, what’s the point of trying to recall,
when you’ve lost count of the times.

It would be one thing,
if you knew
why you’ve been abandoned,
or why people hurt you,
or why everything gets to you so often,
                                                                       [is it you or is it them,
                                                                        is it you or is it them,
                                                                        is it you or is it them?]
but it’s the not knowing
that makes you realize
that people as a whole
are:

Unpredictable,
Unreliable,
Untrustworthy.

You’re not usually too angry about it,
this is just Reality.
-
This is just Reality, but
it’s the not knowing
that kills you,
closes up your heart
in a certain kind of way
after a while.

Oh,
you’ll talk to people,
if you must,
say whatever seem to be the right things,
be the listening ear they need,
if that’s what’s required of you,
be good, understanding, kind, empathetic,
to the best of your ability,
but you won’t Rely on them,
won’t accept statements of
I can help.
That’s a different story.
-
If you can’t trust
People.
[Forget about your family, the ones who supposedly love you,
with their helpful advice of “get a job, be useful, it’ll make you feel better.”
Forget about the docs and therapists, the ones who supposedly make it better,
with pills or overpriced talking sessions.
Forget friends, the ones who supposedly are your support system,
with “I’m here for you” and “I can help” that lead nowhere.]
then what you are left with
is trusting yourself
out of necessity.

And you’re back to where you started.
Today my therapist asked me to write about trust and I hate writing prompts but I can write poetry and I can write about my trust issues for pages upon pages so this is what I came up with, and I figured I might as well post it here since this is basically my sad poetry site.
Mistakes have names we hope to never speak:
Anger, lust, jealousy, selfishness, rage.
Mistakes are words we bestow on the weak,
Or the young, as we get better with age.

Mistakes are pseudonyms for impatience:
Insecurity, coldness, raised voices.
Mistakes describe us when we don’t make sense,
Or too immature, to grasp our choices.

Mistakes are identities we mistrust:
Ego, narcissism, self-loathing, shame.
Mistakes we avoid and avoid them we must,
Or we thought, we must forgive all the same.

Mistakes may come from dissatisfaction,
Or frequently just, overreaction.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Megan Grace Aug 2012
Love may be a four letter word but
today it sounds more like
your breath when we're close.
Today it looks more like
your hands endlessly moving
and fiddling with things.
Today it feels more like
your arms around me in the middle of June.
Today love is an overreaction
but I like it.
Today love is said more like
"You should stay here with me."
or "Do you want the rest of my drink?"
Today love smells more like
wet grass and guitar reverb
and air conditioned cars.
Today my head is more like
"I don't even know you."
but my heart is more like
"Who the hell cares?"
Today love is more like
you.
Joan Karcher Aug 2012
She's told over and over
it's her fault
her talk, her reaction
her action, her likes
dislikes, emotion
she's told it's her fault
she thinks it's her fault
it's who she is
it's her fault
she's told it's an overreaction
she's told it's not her fault
she's told it's out of her hands
it can't be her fault
she is so nice, and wonderful
and fun to be around,
she starts to think
it wasn't her fault
that life is different
she believes that
she is not at fault
that she couldn't stop it
but that it isn't her fault
but then it starts
to come right back
the same comments
start to be repeated
not to the extreme
yet
but it ends up, after all
it is her fault
August 4, 2012
b Nov 2017
If you follow all the sirens
and the red flags
you'll see what the news papers would call a man
but not really.
just a boy with a beard
pretending he knows how to put things back together
pushing the people he loves towards alcoholism
like it was all he was good for


//


I used to think love triumphed over all
But I'm starting to doubt the sincerity
of love
and all its trimmings.

Why do we romanticize love
It's not ever the fever dream we hype it up to be.
It's vulnerability in it's purest form
It's done more harm than good.

I'm selling my stocks on love

I'm done pretending I understand how the world works.
I'm done celebrating before I cross the finish line.
I'm done believing in something that I'm not sure is real.

I'm selling my stocks on love.
this is kinda heavy i apologize
Hannah Johnson Apr 2011
i don't get angry often.

there's no point

for

it's a short fuse and

i often get caught

in my own explosion.

but sometimes

on very rare occasions

it's not an overreaction.

sometimes

justification

hurts worse

and in the long run

means more.
Anjana Rao Sep 2015
At the end of the day
it is us -
the sensitive, the women, the marginalized, the empaths -
who are sought out.
It becomes our job
to tame the beast.

Our job to
endure, educate,
be patient, compassionate.
Our job to put on a good face,
no matter what we might feel,
to not expect or accept pay,
unless it is in the form of gratitude.

We cannot be lions,
cannot raise our voices
and bare our teeth,
for that is not good behavior.

That might terrify.

Call it an overreaction but
when we use our voices
we are ignored,
put down,
locked away -
“tamed.”

But we are a force
when we are loud
and when we are quiet –
you will remember us
before the end.
Written in response to the tarot card Strength.
Katie Doodle Jun 2010
When a woman is *****
She hides from the cynical eyes.
I went to work
Made idle chitchat
Wrote copays.
Most women avoid ***
And cringe at the thought of *******.
I take part in *** compulsively
Crave male attention
I'm engaged nearly every night.
Some go to meetings
To share their struggles.
I don't want to hear your problems
Do not wish to share my own
I offer no support nor input.
**** victims are fragile
They break fairly easily.
I do not break
Nor do I crack
I just am.
I do not fit the description
Of victim nor survivor.
I question myself daily
Was it ****
Or an overreaction?
Most women cry
They seek comfort
They long for understanding
And justice.
I do not.
Am I a victim too?
A survivor?
Neurotic?
Anyone?
Copyright 2010  Katie Doodle - All Rights Reserved
Paul Oct 2010
First:** Get mad when someone goofs up.
Take "overreaction", and add a half-cup.
Bottle the liquid anger up,
and store until it boils over...

Pop the cork at some bystander,
and It flows with a vengeance, past him or her,
and straight to the innocent; add just a little stir,
and thats miscommunication.

Caution: Don't drink in groups-- it's quite explosive
and the need for communication is just too massive.
No experiment shows the involved to be passive
It becomes aggression for aggression's sake.

Last: Toss the leftovers.  You don't want them anymore.
Everyone is a little less happy than they were before,
But fixing it is just too big a chore,
So the effects last about 4 hours.
Paul Langdon, copyright October 2010
J Oct 2015
Somewhere in my bones, I remember a quiet joy
When I smile in silence it pretends it's still alive
Lost in thought, images flash against the canvas in my mind
Painting over everything and leaving memories behind
Living in a hell like this, faking like I know what's going on
With psychosomatic cinema reeling, playing 'til I'm gone

Weary with the ghosts of all those lifetimes marching
We can act like there was nothing to it, but overreaction
Fly the flag of freedom to cover up the false,
but down here we collect the blood dripping down the walls.
If I fight hard enough can I remove the stains from my soul?
What makes me weak to you is that I've survived at all

All I've got left is shriek and tooth and claw
Struggling against the darkness threatening to swallow
I see everything that's happening,
but I'm far behind dark eyes
Far behind, struggling against the lies I've been told
It's just something that happens, you just have to fold
Feels so surreal, like nothing was done
It's all fun and games, until someone gets one

Going through the motions, and all the other sheep
Don't realize that persona's only skin deep
No one wants to dig if they've got to excavate
So just keep walking, and leave it to fate
But if I were to die tonight, they'd be weeping
Wondering how they didn't know, having trouble sleeping

When you teach her to be selfless, just remember who gets hurt
It won't be the people she supported left lying in the dirt
If money can't buy happiness then why is it that we
are separated so thickly that we can't even see
They say the grass is greener on the other side
When you've gotta pay to save your soul it's easy to see why

Among us are walking ghosts behind a paywall
Barred from even showing the world who they are
Scream too hard and they'll rip your heart out,
you have to paint your pretty face and fake to find your way out
Always happy, always smiling, 1984
Express your inner turmoil and wage existential war

Show your colors, find a ticket to the prison in your mind
Get out, you mar the landscape like the rest of your kind
This life's a revolution in of itself
Take down the lies and slander sitting on the shelf
Keep flinging names until one sticks,
in the end, if you disagree it means you're sick
Trying to cure a cancer they brought on themselves
You can buy into the game, you can pay to excel

We are born imperfect and why can't we see
Others are imperfect just like me
Danni Nov 2014
What did you expect from me
when I'm crying,
and you know every reason why?

What did you expect from me
when you claim to understand me?
It is clear through your tone
that that's what you think,
but I sure as hell can tell you:
you don't know.

What did you expect from me
when you walked into my room
like you owned it?

What did you expect from me
when you say I overreact,
then insult me in any way possible?

What did you expect from me?

What do you expect from me?

I can tell you what to expect.
But maybe that might be an "overreaction."

I don't answer to you.
Good bye,
and good riddance.
September Feb 2017
cannot trust a thought.
i know not if i am action, reaction, overreaction.
i reside somewhere between emotion and environment
all you are is a response to everything around you.
take it all in, endothermic reaction.
L Smida Sep 2012
These tears fresh and hot
Burn like sin in my eyes
The fault is all mine to claim
For inconsiderate tongues exposed
Loss is ever in my favor
Hurt like a ******* kid
Undo words that were already said
Forgetting is undoubtedly denied 
Holding onto hurtful words
Unable to let a beauty go
Confused and flustered is the setting
Something civil nags my heart
Begging hangs on my lips
But orders aren't my place
Wanted or not
Wishing honesty would visit us
Long enough to set me straight
Obligated to erase this mess
Wipe it clean off the mind
Though, Too easy to let happen
Arguments remain in session
Overreaction much
But fault falls into my hands
The only way to cross the finish
Accept all problems your own
Convincing her incorrect correct
Task accomplished 
How to be felt?
Better but forever broken
There comes a point when one hot tub
Becomes too much and it's just so,
That anyone in must get out
And cool off before the overload.

Fools fastidiously test their fingers
To determine their further actions.
This is because they might be scared
Of heat, or of an overreaction.

Finger dipping won't be judged
Or looked upon more than at once.
And then the dipper may either shrug
And walk away, or take more chance.

But as it very often goes,
From all the dippers I have seen,
The fingers tell the nervous system
To go on and pursue safer dreams.

But should you dip your whole leg in,
Or your whole arm, or your whole self
This not only a greater risk
On your own body, but on everyone else!

Everyone else may judge variously
And hold the grudge and not forget
Because those who act in minority
Are expected to soon regret

Not walking the narrow line
And not living with expectations.
These expectations, they defy,
And then they may face isolation.

The body submergers, fearless divers
May contradict cultural beliefs.
But it is they who act with truth
That are granted, at night, better sleep.

Swimming pools, hot tubs,
Bath tubs, and ice baths.
Walk around and in my eyes,
Their water's not the right path!

Water makes me, water heals me,
Water let's me live more days.
Water taunts me, water dances
And then water washed away!

Should I dip my toes most places,
So often the story goes
Full of fear, I'm not complacent
With the temperature, so then I know

That it is time to walk away
And seek another body to enter.
At times, when bodies enter me,
I often feel their entrance then hurts!

It's either one way or the other,
A quick dip or a thorough swim.
And whether or not I like the swimmer,
Their endurance is a simple whim.

In the pool, they may frolic,
In the pool, they may be joyous.
That's until another water
Proves to be slightly more buoyant!

Slightly easier to navigate,
With more salt, the swimmers float!
Fresh water is such a drag,
So in the oceanic, swimmers go.

Day after day, swimming or hosting,
The water bodies keep swimming on
And ultimately, in this sense,
There's equality in this song!

Despite wanting to participate more,
Despite feeling like poison water,
I'm just a pool among the others
And my water's all I have to offer.
It's just about abandonment and being social.
Ms D Zynne Sep 2014
Its disastrous to assume to understand Divine intent
When caged within humanity's limited perceptions.
Overreaction, misunderstanding, intolerance of unknowns-
This is all a dream performed while the giant sleeps, you know.
MST Jun 2014
It hits me hard,
like a brick dropped on my head,
I was not expecting such a drop,
it almost killed me dead.
Although I realize my overreaction,
once I begin to walk straight,
as I realize,
it must be fate.
Think will fall upon me,
and obviously I will be hurt,
but to carry one with it in my heart,
will only cause it to not start.
I must learn to let go,
and release this pain,
learn from the experience,
and remove the stain.
As I see others holding these grudges,
I must learn to carry on through the puddles,
and when I am walking,
and the brick falls on my head,
I must remember this is lesson to look up,
as I am not yet dead.
A fun drunk poem.
Lucas LaBounty Oct 2011
Unconcious hopes change into filtered dreams
barely remembered as centuries turn bones to dust-
we despair as crippled loves just fade to ash.
You've gone so far away, yet I see you every day
out of the corner of my eye and the eye of my mind.
So now you've reappeared, just pretend that it's alright.
Don't worry, I don't mind, because without you, I was blind.
Moving on with you by my side never made much sense,
but it happens, oddly enough.
I need to learn to let it go;on the wings of an angel,
or falling down the face of a cliff like the teardrop that is life.
Breaking the boundaries that are bones,
stoppin the rythm of your heart that keeps you imprisoned.
Your memory eternal, like the passing of a baton,
or the flame of these burning pages
from a burnt hand to one unscarred, unscathed.
Spreading like a wildfire, a disease, rotting your mind
from the moment our hands touched.
Do anything to put the festering memories at rest,
All choice is gone, so doesn't hope have to die as well?
They churn your stomach, you crawl in your skin,
eager to tear yourself away from it all
and leave your pain in the grave of the past.
The idea of carrying the mistake is to learn from it all,
but what do we do if it's too much for a single back to bear?
Involve another, rely on friends like pillars
supporting the weight of your Hell
so much that a moment alone leaves you pinned to the floor,
unable to move, to do anything but shake and scream,
but it won't be the first time.
No such thing as an overreaction
when your life magnifies every emotion.
Jealousy and anger, your endless pain even in elation.
All mountainous highs and pitch black holes in the earth.
Losing momentum until you flatline,
but even then gravity takes its course,
dragging you to the center while your heart still beats,
though you're unable to feel warmth inside or out any longer.
Dream of a funeral, of the sound of lamenting friends.
Life is a cloudless day, but without color,
or the twin beats of the sun on your face and your heart,
it might as well be a winter night.
Nathan Porter Jun 2017
I’m not asking for an excuse,
I’m not saying I feel abuse

But my mind and my soul
Lacking explanation, stay cold.

Surprises promised, love attached,
Care for me, explanations lack

You claim incapability,
You claim to not see me

Your explanations lack gravity
And truth is lacking as far as I can see

WHY CAN'T YOU SEE ME?
WHAT’S WRONG, WHAT’S LACKING FROM ME?
HAVE I DONE SOMETHING WRONG?
WHY CAN’T YOU SEE?
THIS ISN’T A JOKE
YOU’RE HURTING ME!

I regret yelling that,
But I know I can’t take it back
You tell me not to erase poetry,
But that isn’t me, that screaming banshee.

I should stop
Cease and desist
Overreaction
I just wish to be kissed

But I can’t stop overthinking
What do you mean?

Is there a reason you won’t meet my eyes?
Is there any possibility of lies?

I know the answer
Burning in me like a cancer

Killing my will
Trying harder still

Pining for your gaze,
You won’t meet my eyes
I try to count the ways
It’s possible that I’m despised

You laugh as you say it,
You won’t hold my only contact,
My heart still being crushed
Forced to be compact

Why is it funny?
What have I missed?
Why are you laughing?
What’s so funny about destroying my existence?

Not even a glance.
There wasn’t a chance
The lack of your eyes
Stabs like a lance

I don’t understand,
What’s the surprise?
What’s so important?
It matters more than my eyes?

My chest is burning
My throat in flames
Is there a reason?
An explanation for my pains?

An explanation would solve all
And save my heart, before it falls
I hear your name from my heart
As out for you it calls.
But I can’t cry
The tears refuse
But in your gaze
I wasn’t allowed refuge

Overthinking the whole thing
Of that I’m the king
You’d think by now my head would ring
With all the times, to you I cling

Overprotection is an excuse
Overreaction is the truth
The only real explanation
Is the shame that comes with my emancipation

Freedom leading to my demise
My words coming back, this time as cries
Sam Mar 2017
I.
    i.
Someone hurt you, and I worried silently until my lip bled.
I never asked if you were okay, I never visited you to offer you comfort:
The next time I saw you, after you'd been absent for days, I smiled.

    ii.
You tripped and fell on shards of glass, and I listened with worried eyes.
You say there was lots of blood, and you and your family ended up in the emergency room at quarter past midnight, hence your half day at school.
Your arm is in a cast for a time, but I never sign it and I never make jokes:
I gave you the Spanish homework that you missed, and nothing else.


II.
You were confessing secrets in the dark, and I was listening.
You hid away your pain because there was no one there for you, not anymore, and told me because this was short, a two week summer camp during which you didn't think any friendships would form. When the sky was so dark only our shadows could be seen, you told me your wish for my face, how impossible to read it was, so adept at concealing emotions.
It was a fair trade: You taught me I had a mask, and I kept your secrets.

III.
    i.
You are rushed to the hospital, and I pretend everything is fine.
You are fine the day, the week, the year, after, so worrying is unnecessary:
I fly to see you over the summer, despite having had no intentions to do so before.

    ii.
Your face is gaunt, and you flinch at touch, and I hide my worry away.
You trust only two boys, now, and you stay away from human contact and the crowds in the hallways.
After the initial two weeks, no one talks of it, and I am not the exception:
I always ask, after. If I can initiate contact. And I ask  everyone,  not just you.

    iii.
You couldn't breathe through your panic and fear, and my hands shook.
You were so terrified of being beaten. So terrified of being kicked out of your home, for something you'd hardly had any control over.
I told you to call me, that you could stay at my place, no matter anything.
You said everything was fine, the next day. You claimed overreaction.
I secretly worried myself to tears, told you only that my offer still stood.

IV.
You are dying, and I am scared.
I was worried when you said the doctors had found a tumor, and I was worried when you told me you'd been unable to eat for days.
But I'd hoped for the best.

You were the first, you know.
I'd always just gone straight to expecting the  worse,  before.
But then bad things kept on happening, yet they weren't ever awful.
So, I thought, maybe, for once, I'd hope, and the pattern would continue.
I thought perhaps the tumor would be benign, and you'd be just  fine.

You're going to die, though.
And I'm worried about you, and I can't hide it:
I'm sorry for caring about you enough for it to be obvious.
I'm sorry you have to deal with my pain on top of your own.
And I wish *you would stay, could stay, because I'm going to miss you.
So ungrateful So spoiled So rude
Way to go and ruin the mood
Go sit in your room don't talk to me
Just be the kid we never see
elizabeth Dec 2015
My friends in high school
Used to laugh when I told them
I always slept with my phone on,
Just in Case

Four months into my first real job
I try to stop my head from spinning
By silencing my friends
In different time zones on a Monday night

I wake up from a dream
Where I see you for the first time in weeks
To missed calls and messages
"I need help. I am in trouble."

My stomach becomes your rope bracelet
That got stuck in my lace shirt
The first time I slept over
Only this time, I am trying to fix it alone

You answer me before the sun
Lights up my living room
Not laughing at my overreaction
As we both know your alarms are often warranted

I do not try to turn your pain
Into something beautiful
But rather my fears
Into something concrete

That night I brush my teeth,
Gums bleeding,
Eyelids falling,
Phone volume on Max
Louise Aug 2014


If I'm unnecessarily hurt
I see no other choice
than to push you away
without even using my voice

I'll dig in my heels
I'm so stubborn it's true
can't even be bothered
to waste my anger on you

I'll immediately switch off
very quietly withdraw
wanting to be alone
and nurse these feelings so raw

Acting like a woman scorned
I need much time to forgive
won't be pushed to change my mind
not ready to say 'Live and let live'

It may seem an overreaction
but it's a curse from my past
I'll never take abuse again
there's no room for any more scars


Just a bit of a vent!   : /
Madame Eleanor Aug 2014
My eyes have always been this dark but have they always been this dead?
Can't you see my demons are holding me hostage from their base inside my head?
You're killing me by doing what you think is best.
This may be an overreaction but you're the catalyst.

I act off-putting so no one will get close enough to hurt me.
Who have I become?
I think I was naturally sweet and cheery.

— The End —