"overthought" poems
My anxiety pulls me in my room and locks the door
My anxiety throws out the key that never existed and taunts me
Makes me think I am not loved
Makes me not reflect on my actions that cause pain
Makes me feel crazy even though I am not
Makes me feel like I am the only one in the world that feels this way
My anxiety ruins the good things in my life and turns it around to hurt me
But my anxiety can't hurt me
My anxiety is only in my head
AND because of this I have overthought and painful thoughts about what is going to happen to me so I stay in a state of fear
Torture
Anger
Sadness
I have even thought of how it must feel when I am gone
But once I thought that I realised once I am dead I am dead and who knows if you still feel the pain or not
So I decided to keep on living to get rid of this constant anxiety and live a better life.
SO
But my anxiety does not define me
It does not define my actions
My thoughts
My pain
My happiness
My tears
MY anxiety will not lock me in my own room in a state of fear and sadness
MY anxiety will not take away everthing I have ever loved and will love in the future
I threw my anxiety out the window and made a key to get my self out of this room
And If it comes out
I will throw it out over and over again and find and create new keys with the heart of people and my own
And although my anxiety is an emotion that makes me hate myself
I will continue to love myself and stay the amazing person that I know I am and not change for something that is insignificant and cruel as anxiety
And I will learn to grow, love and learn to never Ever let anxiety define ME
And so should YOU
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
I Tried! And Tried! I tried my best for you to show you that … I loved you. It wasn't good enough.
My heart wrote you poems for you. My heart wrote poems about you. It wasn’t good enough.
It wasn’t love at first site. But I loved you at your darkest.
The darkness came over you, but I never left you.
You will never know that I would come home and cry in the corner of the room, because of you.
Because of you! I lost my smile.
Because of you! I lost my temper with friends as I would stick up for you.
Because of you! I overthought.
Because of you!
Because of you! Because of ******* you!
Maybe you didn’t mean to rip out the veins of my heart. And yeah maybe you didn’t mean to call out the green eyed monster which sleeps inside of me.
You said you wanted to be with me, so why was you in such a rush to give me away.
I AM NOT A CHARITY CASE! I AM A HUMAN BEING WITH FEELINGS SO PLEASE TREAT ME LIKE ONE!
I can’t get mad at you because this is life.
Life will bring you up to the highest of heights and drop you.
Yes! I will always love you. But I’ll never forget the pain I was suffering in silence.
I’ll never forget the worthless feeling I would get.
I’ll never forget how I felt so unappreciated.
But now it’s time for me to find someone that will appreciate all the things I do for them.
Someone that will laugh at all my jokes, even if their cheesy.
We will look at each other with a smile and tell ourselves “how did we get like this?”
Yeah. I saw a future with you, it was so clear…. But clearly to you that was just a blur.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give
A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all
He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim
He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown
A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer
There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back
To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent
If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?
Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore
If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
Saturday Stings,
And all the lonely memories it brings,
Sundays Sufferings,
Slowly eating me up, expiered enduring,
Monday Moans,
Becoming motionless as silent stones,
Tuesday Tears,
Swept away by a sea of sobs,
Wednesday Worries,
Filling my mind overthought stories,
Thursday Thoughts,
Healing through our rewind past talks,
Friday Flashbacks,
Surviving on those life hacks,
_____________
Week after Week,
This continuously ongoing cycle,
I endlessly seek,
The day we once again meet.
~A.d | 12 Jan 2015
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.
This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.
You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.
Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.
You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.
But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.
No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.
But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.
That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Rudimentary trifling in creativity
Boiled down, frothy lines
Stumbled, broken relations.
Too much, too open,
Yet nothing is hidden between.
It’s not about the words
Stalky presentations mask what is meant
Overthought, underappreciated.
Expecting the praise, knowing the torment
Embarrassment.
I want the spaces.
**** the lines.
A blank page says more than a thousand full.
No thoughts, shot spark
Tired form, ugly flow.
She has no shame,
Takes no judgment
Jealous gawk,
Rooted fears,
Expression is the enemy
Lack of substance drives the ghost.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 3:12 AM UTC
I look in the mirror, the subject framed--
A monster-- scarred with decades of conflicts,
But others see a youth perpetually tamed.
The battle fought was all within, only to me explicit.
Strifes with friends all in my mind
Overthought words clog reason. Reserved, but virtuous,
Always expecting the golden rule to apply, though none are kind.
The problem's within me
I am too nice, the other's aren't contemptuous.
I must work to elevate my mind, resent less.
Not my neighbors-- my thought; the catalyst of my growth.
An arduous journey, efforts must remain relentless,
But less rest makes me regress, the ebb and flow,
The didactic struggle of history, in a microcosm so small.
The flight of the mind anchored by the burden of guilt
Each new break through shows a hole in the wall
of yesterday's beliefs towards good,
now a window to a grander one built.
Does every soul struggle with this Hell?
The will to do good not nurtured by nature.
I hope for the best, will good will come? Will time tell?
First my soul must work to mature--
No hatred, love only, for all, no exclusions
For He would do the same, forgive forever.
Each hurtful word said is a soul's laceration.
The ire over, but there's scar tissue--Past's physical identification.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Sounds, spoken of my mind,
Impulsive,
Yet, still overthought.
I never know what to say,
But always know just how to say it.
I'm quite skilled,
In the art of scaring you away,
With the words I didn't know how to say.
Stuck in this space of mind,
That hides me from the correct answer,
Forced to find the long way around.
For the sake to not make a fool of myself,
I just have to remember...
I Have the Write to Remain Silent
~Robert van Lingen
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
some days walk past me like shoes in a lost costco
wake up late, it's 9 AM somewhere so it's not like you slept in.
beauty in the backwards dance of corrugated cardboard contact lenses
seeing what I see like I see see see, for Godsakes all I need to do is see.
once.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
Perfectionism's fine dancer
I am no more
That is not what I was put on this earth for
I am not here
to ace every test,
to always get 100,
to always be the best.
I am here to experience
Life's ups and downs
To fall flat on my face
To fall hard on the ground
To make mistakes
But still learn
To discover who I really am
For that I truly yearn
Life is not linear
It should not be overthought
Trying to perfect it
Your brain starts to rot
Depression sinks in
Lose yourself in a fog
Lose joy, lose yourself
in a suffocating smog.
Alas I surrender
I shall fight no more
A world with so much to find
So much more to explore.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
overcast life not worth the open eyes
i need to rise above these clouds and lies
its overgrown and overdone
this way we go about
with chapels and tradition
rituals and true religion
why do we not fear these things?
tornadoes in the making
tsunami waves breaking
is it ever worth it all
overload
God wouldn't want this
God would'nt want this
God woul'dnt want this
God wou'ldnt want this
hideous mistakes and earthquakes
man has made a mess
blood and broken glass
and crusaders in the rain
overthrow the superficial
revolt yourself from overlords
floods in the making
covenants breaking
why do we not fear these things?
is it ever worth it all
overthought
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 6:18 PM UTC
“La vérité vaut bien qu'on passe quelques années sans la trouver.”
Truth is more valuable if it takes you a few years to find it.
Renard
If only I could touch
The way your words flow
The way your lips glide
The way December drives my unmoved nose into a crooked mess
When will you place your lovely hands
On the doorknob
Opening you up to a heavenly world
You never knew existed
Seeing it like I do
Why don’t you go outside
Silence
So you can hear the call of the landscape
And the rush of the heavens
Upon you
Quidni, inquit, meminerim
People will always forget what you did
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME
They will always remember
The feelings you graced them with
Your presence
The overpowering scent
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME
Time moves slowly
But passes rapidly
The days start to feel like months
Maybe it doesn’t matter if
My life is overthought away
Maybe the wonder of what if
Will make today what is
Are you sure?
Are you sure about that?
My life is as I want it to be
But I-
I don’t understand
Life isn’t always about understanding
Photographs tell the story of my grandfather
In the old country
Before he had to fight with every inch of his body
Just to stay alive
Photographs tell the story of me
With a mind
That didn’t treat me how I wanted to be treated
Just look up at the moon
I see it too
Its glistening radiance
Reflecting back on my sunglasses
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME
My soup is getting cold
The Anemoi are blowing wind toward you
Tell them to stop
I can’t
Why not
Because Zeus was angry
Casting Typhoeus into Tartaos
And with that the wind was born
Am I really the only person who tastes her soup when it’s too hot?
It just bubbles and boils forever
Yet
It tastes so good
Nice and hot
Like the summer day where the umbrella
High in the sky
Shades us
Like trees in the forrest
Or the buildings that crashed
9/11 came like its planes that flew too fast
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
The ineffable satisfaction
To say it's all my fault
The sad joy I sense
Dreaming about my vault
I feel so full of thoughts
I let only a few in
If I'm willing to comfort others
I can't appreciate me, myself, my own skin.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
One minute we were sitting down
The next our bodies were entwined
I rested my head on your chest
And I listened to your heartbeat
It was so fast...
And, in that moment,
I wanted to kiss you
I probably should have
But I thought that you didn't
Until you kissed my cheek
And my head spun and I blushed
And I didn't know what it meant
You said that you like what I don't
About myself, about my body
Complimenting my love handles
As you handled them yourself
You stroked my hair, gently
Exploring my broken body's pathway
But I overthought the situation
Concluding that it was platonic
Alas, looking back on it now
I was somewhat mistaken
I misread your not-so-subtlety
Even when you kissed my raw neck
I jumped away and told you off
I had to explain it all to you
I'd forgotten that you don't know me
As well as the others
But you are learning with every
Hold of my hand, stroke of my hair
You don't know what I did last week
And yet, I like it that way
You don't have to know it all
You'll know me in time, if you please
You tell me that I have soft lips
"So I've been told," I laugh it off
I don't often kiss bearded folk
But your moustache is not harsh
We joke about it further
And I kiss you again, goodbye
And I will not apologise
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:25 AM UTC
In my desperation
for a story that I could tell
I found myself divided into three
the girl out of time
the girl who never slept
the girl made of symbols
one is for the past
when I could see what others could not
and others could not see me
I saw light shadows earth and air
and found my place among them
but assumption and apathy
ignorance and monotony
lured me into false independance
and I simply disappeared
faded to a wisp of self
faded to transparency
one is for the present
when time and dread and overthought
drove me to restless places
I stole my being from moments of calm
and tore it limb from limb
by day I fell ill with stillness of mind
through self-inflicted turmoil and disorder
I found my comfort in the lull of night
I was accustomed to dawn
and the correspondence of birds
insomnia thrived before softly lit grace
one is for the future
when I've found patience and comprehension
long lost in angst and exhaustion
presence and mind in translation
I will live by the stories under my skin
I will become ink, I will become words
I will become the doctrine by which I am governed
I will belong to ideas
I will become a story
I will be forever speaking
however silent
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
I search and search for something to define this emotion i'm living with.
Type and write to sort out my racing mind,
never to find the answers.
It's frustrating of course,
but also beautiful.
To feel something so unreal it makes you transparent,
vulnerable to the person making you feel this way.
It's love you may say,
but much more than that.
~
The lips that dance with mine,
breathe air into my lungs,
giving me life.
The words that are whispered into my ears,
are fuel to my heart,
making it speed.
The arms wrapped around me,
send me to palces unimaginable.
Lands of being safe and total trust.
Worlds of comfort and warmth.
I finally know why things never worked out with anyone else, because this is the person that takes me to new heights and gets everthing just right.
I guess you can call this love,
love from a poets soul is different
than everyday people.
artistic and twisted, overthought and true.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
So many written down and erased captions,
And recanted decisions to leave as is,
And multiple distractions,
Contemplations,
Platitudes and words of gratitude
All written down only to be erased again
And finally an overthought decision
To settle for a hashtag
All for an online post.
...
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 4:11 PM UTC
Disdain is developing for these boxes
Where interaction is eased but distanced and disconnected
Losing context and adding overthought
The to and fro becomes unhealthy in its uneven pacing, where our own little bubbles manifest in useless and counterproductive day dreams
This text technology isn't without its merits, if we need someone we can get hold of them quickly, if we need information we are well supplied
But for some, or.. to be frank, for me, the information overload is deconstructing my confidence and pressurising my sense of self
A battle I fight against with fresh air, exercise and my continued relationship with pleasure
As well as the projects and positions that I pursue, the passions and paychecks, an effort about to hit full force now I'm graduating into the hostile capitalist way of things
I worry what this overdose of gratification does to me, but those that aren't self conscious of themselves under the techno-pressure worry me more
Because they are caught, fulfilled by a mundane medium that the screens provide, some adding the taste of green to exacerbate their passivity
While their lives aren't my problem, I feel for idiots, and count myself among them to whatever extent
Again I am reminded though, as my words spread naturally and find intellectual soil to dig down towards
As confident as I am of my optimism and the direction it describes
I am so very ******* fallable, and these screens and trying to connect with people through them is a process that doesn't quite seem right
That's not to say I won't be surrounded by the deceptive ******* tomorrow, in that mundane medium of 'social' existence
But it'll be the boxes of text that bug my sense of tangibility
and the efforts to shake off the cabin fever that will be most rewarding
These moans culminate in that simple little appreciation of those old norms
That no matter how incredibly interconnected our technology allows us to be
Those piles of text are a poor ******* substitute for the eye contact and the smile
So make sure you go out and find some
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
The old me is buried deep inside.
The bubbly, hyper, carefree parts of me have faded and disappeared.
Replaced by a demon whispering in my ear.
No longer can I look at food without calculating if it's safe to eat
My mind may tell me to not have it, but I have to accept it's okay to have a treat.
I no longer crave candy, chocolate or chips
The taste of anything too sweet is like poison on my lips.
"Don't think about it"
Excellent advice
If I could turn that voice off
That would be quite nice.
You cannot choose how your mind thinks
How it initially reacts
How in the mirror all I can see
Is layers of never ending fat
How others see the good in me
But I can only perceive my flaws
No matter how well I've done
It just doesn't seem good enough
Each activity I partake in is well overthought
Should I go out tonight? I have to study.
Productivity ties me in a knot.
There's always something I could be doing
Guilt consumes me if I'm not doing it.
But where to draw the line you see
When others have a similar, but not disordered, mindset.
Balance?
What is balance?
Others do it so naturally.
I have to schedule "fun time" and "time for me"
But the monsters of guilt taunt me
Along with Mr. Anxiety
Perfectionism erodes me
Being alive is tough you see.
I fight.
You do not see my battles.
Yet I fight every single day.
Some are better than others,
Some days the voices aren't quite as loud.
I'm never fine
Or truly okay
But I'm learning to accept that.
I can't let these things define my day.
I think I'm learning how to handle them.
So I'm sorry if my perfect exterior has been crumbled.
Or if you feel sorry for me.
But the last thing I want to be is a burden.
The more I learn
The more I can thrive.
So I can feel like I'm truly alive.
For I can't be fixed by a magic pill
Or immediately stop the voices out of pure will.
But I am strong.
I am persevering.
I hope through my struggle
I can help others
Gain vitality
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
Overthink
Overthought
What am I
To get over?
She is the real Durden
Everything that I am not
But an apple turnover,
Spickle and spackle
Listen to the crinkle
And the crackle,
What plays the mind
If the records
No longer spin,
Retreat retreat retreat
On repeat
No baffle
To this wiffle
Waffles in the AM,
Pockets empty
There is nothing to collect
Unemployed dreams
I question the sparkle,
The sweet of the sprinkles
This life long ago wrecked...
APAD16 - 006 © okpoet
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Where were these feelings of peace when
I was younger. Back when I overthought
everything and strove too hard for more
than merely enough.
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
I stared to think what I'd been doing that was so wrong. Thinking of ways to improve myself to get her attention in order to make me happy.
Trying not to be myself.
What a ******* idiot I was, thinking that myself was incorrect, just because I wasn't "right" for whom I desired.
I wish I could control what I desire, or change what you desire, but if I had those abilities then I guess I wouldn't be writing this.
I spiraled into a wormhole of overthought and got spat out at the bottom of an ocean. I thought about drowning for a second. My body had to battle my psyche before forcing it grant my legs the power to kick towards the surface.
I don't know exactly how to wrap this up but by having to escape from my thoughts in order to breathe I realized that trying not to be exactly who i was so i could find happiness was a ******* contradiction, because it distracted me from everything else that made my cheeks touch my eyes before. Content when i was simply just being myself.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
when something that I used to adore
love
like
enjoy
doesn't become those things anymore
what does it become?
good memories?
something else?
everything enjoyable has to be broken into parts and made complex
and overthought
and competitive
and it makes me tense
it's not fun anymore
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
One. We started as complete strangers, meeting for the first time. I hadn't met an actual complete stranger for the first time in months.
Two. That night, I told you a story and you listened. A story about not being able to use the school computers because they were all taken. It was the stupidest story I had ever told. You listened anyway.
Three. Nobody ever listens to me anymore.
Four. I'm not done meeting you yet and I love that. We don't know much about each other, but we piece together a little more of the puzzle every day.
Five. My friends adore you this time. I can spend my Friday nights with both you and them. I don't need to choose.
Six. You call me kiddo, just like he did, but yours is different. He was condescending. You treat me like I'm worth just as much as you.
Seven. I'm not worth just as much as you. You're a lot better than me.
Eight. You're unbelievably sweet, even to the girl that nobody else talks to. If they aren't ignoring her, they're mocking her. Even I ignored her.
Nine. I don't have to try for you. Nothing is forced, nothing is overthought, nothing is poised or staged or planned. I could tell you anything in the world and not be worried about how you'd react.
Ten. I've known you for a month. It feels like my whole life.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
slap my *** - - then wonder if
there truly is a lag between the
'slap' and when you hear it.
science says there is. does it
matter? sleep now, before the
slap of my *** rings through
the hallow enclave of your
overthought.
slap my *** forget
the question. slap
my ***
again.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC