"overreaction" poems
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.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
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
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
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.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
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
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
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.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
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.
*********
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
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.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
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
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
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.
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 27, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
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.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
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?
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
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.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:04 PM UTC
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.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
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.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
cannot trust a thought.
i know not if i am action, reaction, overreaction.
i reside somewhere between emotion and environment
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
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
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
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.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
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.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
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.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 10:07 PM UTC
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.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
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.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
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
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
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.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
And Like that.
I had this overwhelming urge.
I don't know what came over me.
I asked God is this the route I should take.
This habit of association.
To **** out what may seem to be selfish.
Time is of the essence.
This illusion of what is definite or what may not be.
Certainly this proclamation arrived out of nowhere.
Again I asked.
Notating my lack of patience.
I found the choir of mind without direction.
They stood and hummed.
Some in que.
Others were all over the place.
Without a podium or overreaction to the problem.
Amen, acknowledging your grace.
This aura highlighting sudden fixation.
I sought guidence.
Leaving the trail Whince I came.
I felt pain in my rib.
A spiritual curriculum decided by what's missing.
Again I asked.
More left to the imagination
A reiteration of urge.
The potency of silence.
Engaged by a look.
I understood what the choir was saying
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
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.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC