"paralyzes" poems
Overthinking
A toxic in me.
Overthinking
It paralyzes me.
Overthinking
Brings nothing but ****
Overthinking
Is a **** thing.
Overthinking
Worse of things.
Overthinking
No good it'll bring.
Overthinking
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
I was drowning.
Underwater.
Fighting for air,
fighting to swim.
Drowning, underwater.
Something held me down,
Something kept me from taking a breath.
Drowning, underwater.
I tried to float, but always sank.
I tried to breathe, but always choked.
Drowning, underwater.
I had no escape.
But you saved me.
You cut me loose.
Taught me how to swim,
taught me I could breathe.
Inhale, exhale.
Taught me I could smile,
taught me I could laugh.
You showed me kindness.
You showed me happiness.
When I found you,
I found me.
You gave me life,
you gave me purpose.
But you changed your mind.
Was I not enough?
not smart enough
not pretty enough
not skinny enough
not **** enough
not happy enough?
Was I too much?
Did I ask too much?
Did I care too much?
Did I love too much?
Did I need too much?
Did I hurt you?
Did I scare you?
Why were you so ******* afraid
Afraid of change
afraid of unknowns
afraid to let me in
afraid to feel what we felt
afraid of distance
afraid of trying
afraid to love me
afraid to let me love you
afraid of the future
afraid of us
afraid of this happiness
afraid it wouldn't last
But I needed you.
Now I'm drowning.
Underwater.
Fighting for air,
fighting to swim.
Drowning, underwater.
You're holding me down,
You're keeping me from taking a breath.
Drowning, underwater.
I'm trying to float, but I'm sinking.
I'm trying to breathe, but I'm choking.
Drowning, underwater.
There is no escape.
But I can't forget you.
Your words grab my ankles,
tying me to the ocean bottom.
I'm kicking and fighting,
but your touch paralyzes me.
I'm crying for help,
but your memory suffocates me.
No one sees me,
no one hears me,
no one saves me.
You don't save me.
Drowning,
Underwater.
But I still love you.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
Across the table
my grandpa asks me why
i don't eat cinnamon toast crunch anymore.
The last time i saw them
i loved it so much
that he tried it, and got hooked
but now i don't touch it.
And i don't know how to tell him
why,
how to tell him
that the thought of all that sugar
paralyzes me.
So i just sit with my corn flakes,
avoid his eyes
and hope he doesn't notice
how desperately i wish i could eat it.
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 11:47 PM UTC
Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.
Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll
Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.
The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.
Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a big black hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.
Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp
Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.
My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.
This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
She’s the type of scary that isn’t in horror movies or Halloween decorations, not the kind that makes you scream or want to run away but the silent sort that paralyzes you and makes you wish you had never, not just lived, but existed at all after witnessing that type of darkness. The kind that instills mind shattering dread in your soul and the desire to simply crumble inwards totally destroyed in a pile of dust so you may never feel again because nothing will ever fix what you saw and felt. The kind of scary that makes you properly comprehend the word’s meaning. I would be wrong, however, if I were to tell you she is the worst kind of scary because the word “worst” means it’s the furthest on the scale and this terror is not on the same scale as any other sort of scary. This broke the scale. This is beyond. This is its own kind of scary. On its own level, in its own dimension, under its own category,
this
....is true scary....
Please comment I'd love to hear any thoughts! This is a description of a free verse poem describing one of the characters I created.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
Your attitude can determine how high you get to the top. Even a pilot needs knowledge to fly, and land in a safe spot.
Being negative paralyzes a man, causing him to stop. It can only burden him down, causing him to drop.
If you plan to get ahead in life, watch those you are hanging around. If you find they're not moving on, don't let them pull you down.
Keep a positive attitude, no matter what is said. Let them see you soar like an Eagle, far above their head.
By, Sandra J. Nailing
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
Dark thoughts come flying in like a storm.
The way the wind takes me away.
The way the lightning paralyzes me.
I watch the darkness crawl into my arms,
knowing that they're only here to bring harm.
I wish I can go back to my happiest days,
when I never felt pain or darkness haunt my dreams or my soul.
Where are the stars that used to guide me?
They used to shine through my eyes,
telling me that I'm never alone.
They seem to move on, forgotten me.
I overthink too much,
that it's the end.
I don't know why I let it dig into me.
Small things become big things.
I always hoped that one day someone will embrace me into their loving arms.
Understand every dark thought coursing through my mind.
Feel my heart through their ears.
Face the reality that I'm not perfect.
I'm not a robot built through metal.
I sometimes bottle up myself,
I sometimes smile like I'm okay, but sometimes I'm not.
I can feel weak, but I know I'm strong.
I fought through the storm before,
I know what it feels like to want to give up.
It's such a strong urge, but I don't give in.
Because I have people counting on me, looking up at me, admire me of who I am.
I'm a good person for helping others.
I let them know that their not alone,
They let me know that I'm not alone.
Sticks and stones won't break our bones.
We are headstrong!
~Niko
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
no mean feat to reestablish,
palpitating those few seconds
when arms-in-motion wave frantic,
in desperation,
in fall-prevention mode,
comical and tragical,
a salty suite,
and the semi-familiar
taste of fall/failing
the freshest fear,
jalapeño hot on the tongue
some months ago,
the thinnest tightrope,
not an obstacle feared,
what I lacked for,
I could not say or now recall
the kindness of calm prevailed
now tension lines drawn,
under the feet,
around the neck,
high voltage wires that
no artist-survivor-breadwinner
can walk without trepidation
though you don't see my arms flailing,
there are faint marks on my soles,
parallelograms on my throat,
where fear has tested
the prowess of its equipment
my life retrospected,
have miracles
made and gained,
given and taken
nine lives used up so many times,
thought my allotment was
nine X nine to the power of nine,
stupid-stopped looking over my shoulder
the poems came so easy,
every phrase overheard was a
story explicated, and the insights slid
from throat to paper so fast
I did not count myself blessed,
just merely fortunate
well fortunes veer,
turn left bad right,
no direction home,
and what was easy,
now impossible
how the story final beds,
will keep you posted,
right now all I can predict
with 100% surety,
the fall is surely coming
for the summer-man
the sun cannot burn off
the fog that paralyzes his
ship to shore,
invisible the safety of port,
the horn sound more of a croak,
his voice, ashamed of failing,
has this man both
landlocked
and lost at sea
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
She breaths octane
gas polluting my heart,
and paralyzes my emotions,
love straining to restart.
Blue blistering toes,
pneumonia-driven prose,
she aches the bone inside of me
delivering a cold.
Moving towards
my aching soul,
she finds my
emptiness, tenfold.
Gaseous toxic dust
confides within my lungs,
her selfish evil breath fills me,
permanent distrust.
She drinks blood through
my straw-thin veins,
detracts my serenity;
swallows it all the same.
Disfigured masterpiece discharged
and broken on a hospital cart,
you're jealousy tears me apart,
I wait for the autopsy chart...
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 8:53 PM UTC
When my guilt paralyzes me,
when my shame makes me cower
under the piercing lights of discovery,
my shoulders melt.
Bone becomes fluid, leaks into cavities,
pools around my organs in puddles:
puddles that fill crevices, then freeze.
Molecules grow closer, fit to form,
cementing my fears together
like negative space on a statue.
My guilt and shame were read to me
like bedtime stories every night at nine.
My quilt was littered with secret hurts
to cover with shrugs and a stoic face.
I wasn't just taught to take the blame
and accept responsibility for that which I can't control:
I was taught how to bury it in the backyard,
how to papier-mache a mask
over my reddening cheeks,
to soak up my salty woes
and further solidify the facade.
As the years passed and practice made perfect,
my entire body became encapsulated in fear and pride.
Independence burned bright in my self-descriptions,
but all I truly had to offer was an island,
desolation built upon an inevitability.
I was taught to hold secrets like water,
a never-ending flood of pieces of myself.
My reflection once told me to stop:
there was so much debris, I was manic static
over a vital broadcast.
That hunger took hold,
ripped the pain right out of my lungs
like warm breath on a chilly morning.
But self-awareness dissipated just as quickly.
Acclimation; Stockholm syndrome.
I came to covet the shell,
unbreakable like the vice over your heart.
I was taught not to burden;
I was taught not to trust.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Today, like so many other days
my ipod shuffles (luna)
and lands on
a picture of you and me
your hand alongside my face
your eyes holding a depth
indescribable
having the kind of love
even tears cannot show.
And later, dashing about
my computer you are
there
like a surprise visitor who
suddenly entered the room
part angel, part ghost
and I catch my breath
my stomach and heart fight
for my throat.
Love so broken and neither
of us know how to fix it.
Both of us still
feel our Pisces
tails tied together
still dream of how it
should
have been.
(3-7, 7lbs, 14 oz, blue eyed me,
brown eyed you)
Your beauty paralyzes me.
I think I will cry over you for
the rest of my life.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Guilt can become a habit
Cold comfort
Familiar
And safe
Whether it is from what you did
Or didn’t do
Intended
Or didn’t intend
Whatever the source
The guilt implies
That it was in your power
To change the outcome
Control the impact
When often the things we feel most guilty about
Are the things we have least control over
Guilt can be used to control
“This is all your fault”
Masking the fact
That fault can always
Be spread around
By changing your perspective
Or it can be the excuse we give ourselves
To not try again
To let a relationship fade
“It’s for their own good, I’m the problem”
Instead of
Seeking forgiveness
Asking for change
Of ourselves
Of others
Guilt paralyzes
Trapping us in the past
Saping strength we need
To move on
Make change
Seek resolution
Guilt can sometimes be a valuable teacher
Calling our attention to times when we made mistakes
Hurt others
Hurt ourselves
You can use these lessons to inform
What you do
How you think
How you interact
In the future
Concentrate on these lessons
But let go of the guilt
It benefits no one
Changes nothing
Beware the trap
Of believing you always have control
Even if that belief comes in the form of guilt that you failed
To do
Or not to do
When other peoples’
Actions
Intentions
Responses
Motivations
Are in the mix
No one person can control the outcome
Or the impact
All that any of us can really control is
Our actions
Our intentions
Our responses
Our motivations
moving forward
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 8:09 PM UTC
Get off my mind
I can't sleep at night
I've been staring into Space that reach as far as the constellations
only seeing you.
My imagination is playing tricks on me
running scene after scene of what could be.
Conscious or subconscious, your beauty
paralyzes whatever rationale part of my being is left.
We still have a long way to go...
Please, don't leave
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
I am paralyzed.
My body will not move.
It's locked here, in this exact position,
Fixated on you,
resting on you but not dependent on you.
Simply… fixated.
Juxtaposed to where your limbs fit perfectly around mine and mine within yours into this perfect state of paralysis.
Paralyzed by you.
Stopped dead in moving existence and forced to cease all other activity
at that exact moment
so that all my body knows how to do is breathe in,
out,
breathe you in and out.
Taking in every second of this moment with or without choice, regardless, reduced to this state of complete paralysis.
Although everything inside stirs, warms, and moves I am still paralyzed by you.
I am restless and excited, aching to touch you and pull you even closer, but still it’s impossible for me to move.
To shake this hold that stops me and paralyzes me.
Caused by your touch, gaze, eyes, breath, beauty, lips,
absolute perfection that paralyzes those who it touches.
I, too, have been paralyzed by every ounce of you.
Your presence in this room
the image of you in my mind.
It forces the world to stop so that in my paralysis, all that matters is you,
and you here with me.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 10:36 PM UTC
I am a bird on the margin of the abyss
This bird lost its voice to sing and its will to fly
Looking up at how other birds vanish into the clouds
All I can do is be on the edge.
The beautiful wings that once felt the breeze
Are now ashamed to pick up and take flight
The fear of falling in to the pit misfortunes.
The darkness start to come up
The fear paralyzes me
I will not fly
Let it swallow me.
I am bird on the margin of the abyss
The bird who was the one they looked up to and could never capture
I was the one whom you could barely get a glimpse of
Leaving others behind
The beautiful wings do not move
My beak going straight in to the unknown
All I can do is close my eyes
Memories flash on the days when I sang
The warmth of the June sun is just an idea left behind
I no longer try to dash the autumn leaves
I open my eyes
The darkness is clearing
I hear a melody
Smooth and gentle like the spring breeze
But whose is it
My beak is open
I am a bird on the margin of the abyss
My past is something I don't like to recall
But that is all the song brings
The notes keep pouring out of my open beak
I close my eyes
The tune more beautiful and soothing
Why am I giving up?
Flap
I open my eyes
My beak now going for the clouds
The darkness behind
I don't want the fear to control me
I will fly higher the ever
Spit me out
I am a bird who never touches the ground
Whose melody is mellow like the falling snow
Yet so warm like the summer
Talking about new beginnings
I am a bird
By Claudia Ramirez
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
In the breath,
of Winter’s first kiss,
my mind freezes,
racing with thoughts,
as the wind caresses,
my cheeks,
coloring them,
in a shade of pink.
A night of preparation,
for this worker bee,
attempting to preserve,
my miniscule piece,
of a gargantuan world.
In the beauty,
of the night,
I transform,
from a worker bee,
into a queen,
unconventional,
yet lovely adorned,
in originality.
I catch your gaze,
dark and mysterious,
as I enter into the room,
trying to hide my longing,
for the splendor,
of your handsome figure,
intriguing my interest.
I am fond,
of your dark attire,
your lean,
yet rough exterior,
that moves in the form,
of a gentleman.
A stranger with a fedora,
draped upon his head,
leaving my eyes to glance,
down to his eyes,
lingering upon me,
as though only I exist,
in the vividly embellished ballroom.
Fear paralyzes us,
leaving neither you nor I,
to move forward,
to dance,
into the ambiguity,
of emotions,
confessing the attraction,
compelling us to submit,
to the arrow of Aphrodite,
thrusting us to surrender,
to the yearning of our hearts,
to express adoration,
for each other.
I place a bead,
from the necklace,
dangling upon my neck,
into your hand,
allowing you to remember me,
hoping you would return,
after this enchanting encounter.
I observe your hesitance,
in response as you contemplate,
praying your aspiration,
corresponds to my wishes,
fighting my temptations.
I stand in silence,
reflecting upon your,
captivating charisma,
as you body moves,
elegant in manner,
to be closer to mine,
embracing me,
in a modest act of simplicity,
I shall never relinquish,
from my memory.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
I weighed it. Took measure, found the fears
separate, but equally crushing.
This is my fault.
This is the only love
I'm worthy of
My vacancy
would destroy him
This is all
my fault
Bitterness
already stains us all
And my inaction
paralyzes any hope of redemption
My child will learn
lies.
Instead of love.
Her hatred of me
will grow.
And it will all
be my fault.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
Bipolar love
sings dreams and
nightmares to me,
It coaxes me into
awakeness,
and paralyzes
me into sleep.
It becomes it,
because I fear it--
Becomes unspoken
and ignites an anger
so vulnerable I melt
into cursed tears.
It swallows me whole,
uses me and spits
me out~ empty is
how I feel,
I wonder,
Ever so often,
How it was I
drifted into this
endless sleep.
I faintly hear
a click,
like a bullet
leaving a pistol.
I wonder who it
hit.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
I am the moon
Illuminating the darkness which paralyzes my trust.
At night is when I feel both familiar and yet not at all--
I could disappear. Evaporate.
I could Exhale slowly and become a living eclipse.
Am I the moon?
I am the owl
Sighing into the breeze with a long, aged heaviness.
Do you know how many lives I’ve lived?
I exist beyond illusion. Wait for me on the other side.
Tree limbs like train stations. Infinite platforms.
Am I the owl?
I am the farmhouse
Staring into the cul-de-sac with calm, focused intent.
Memories of nothing and pictures of no one come very strangely to mind.
I miss standing here alone. I miss the apathetic.
I used to feel only me.
Am I the farmhouse?
I am the wooden spoon
Stirring the *** filled with ancestor’s palates.
An unforgivable connection found deep in salt and simmer,
I taste a feeling I cannot find in another.
I wonder if I could hold a house together.
Am I the wooden spoon?
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
The old bench creaked underneath her as she sat down, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it. She looked aged, although she wasn't more than twenty-two. Beneath her thin legs, the bench felt like the sandpaper carpet she had sat on for hours in astonished silence. Her eyes shut tightly, trying not to envision that room, trying not remember the sound of heart beating angrily.
Muffled screams that, if they weren't absorbed into his unyielding hand, would have filled the house and escaped the windows with anguish. Thrashing, thirty-seven minutes of useless thrashing against rough arms and legs, their massive power pinning her to the mattress. Crying. More thrashing. More attempted screaming. Thirty-seven minutes of the kind of fear that paralyzes a person. He removed his hand from its cover over mouth and stood. The room remained dark until he reached the door, one long, violent arm reaching back to flick the lights on, then the door was shut. Footsteps descending the staircase, a mockingly gentle shutting of the front door, then the house was still.
Her hands shook with anxiety, panic tracing every fiber of her being. She could remember only the white room with coarse carpet and a single queen-sized mattress. Nothing else. She recalled how the mint green sheet looked so new, but there was no blanket, how the spider she saw tiptoeing on the walls didn't frighten her like it usually would, how the light on the ceiling shone too brightly.
Forcing her eyes open, she escaped the room and returned to the present. The cigarette she forgot to smoke was burning filter, so she stubbed it out on the faded, wooden bench, retied the white apron around her waist and slipped in through the back door of her mama's restaurant. The fear slowly subsided as she talked to faceless customers, building in the back of her mind until it decided to return again.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
.*a viable compensation... males ought to stop being such ***** romantics... how my father plays the Chamberlain to my mother ****** me... and a woman? please... let's just get it over with, castrate me... i have no existential imperative... i am,. the sort of fascist you're supposed t fear... i actually endorse their ideology... i can't sway the opinions of western women... **** 'em... to be honest, the most ****** eruptions i've felt were for Kenyan ivory beauties... ivory? the teeth... skin like molten chocolate... rare for a white man to desire black women...never experienced the Asian fetish... first time in Africa and i recognized in her eyes: we weren't a pair of the ugly people... while shy smoked marijuana on the stealth... god... liquorice in caramel... coconut oil smeared all over her... my one time in Kenya... and i'm looking for a shade... and i also fall in love... and i recognize the eyes that fall love... and everywhere i go... i fall in love... but never stay... a death, the blues, and what comes after: the everyday noose... just prior... come sleep.*
********** i too, am,
bewildered at not
finding my ego...
or rather... pretending
to leave with a hard-on...
what's wrong with me?
or... rather...
what's wrong with you?
blame games can
only go so far....
i can only pretend to
give a ****
having listened to
enough chris isaak songs...
after a while...
i'm "thinking"....
if this doesn't have rooney
mara to compensate with...
**** you...
i'll eat the cauliflower...
point break ***** of the 21st century...
i'll scratch my beard
and pretend to shave... o.k.?!
hard-on, no ego...
ego, no hard-on...
i guess thinking's
side-effect is that that...
thinking... sometimes paralyzes....
good to know-ro-ro-robot-good-to-go.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
messing with perfection,
you critique yourself,
why do it yet again,
a single choice, *******
yet every time them words,
penetrate, they instigate,
and you want to let~vent,
burst busting out in glory
bible student, we both. so
understand that titled reference
instantly, the secondary hid, secreted
a hurting with hallelujah familiarity
I weep. missing the singer,
his poetry delights, paralyzes with
a *********** indescribable, ecstaticly
indebted to him, his chosen words
he chose, I chose,
this decision to accept,
the need to expiate, explain, to better
understand our whys,
therby grasp our wherefores,
to give ourselves up entire,
thereby making, giving and even
t a k i n g,
the very chore so human to accept,
that surrendering,
f o r g i v i n g, one
accomplishes a chance to uncover the godliness within
that sparks
our frail humanity
to blossom to fruition, that our
fragility is the thinnest tissue of
diamond iron strength
encasing and encoding us unique
but yet united by
a single commonality,
that we are holy,
born to be
to be celebrated
and to share our voices
so differing
in an
unceasing
harmony
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 9:11 AM UTC
Of course, you have never considered yourself to be edible! You are probably the most valid being in that tree; not a single one of those thousands feel it like you do. And why do you feel pleased at them? Is it uncontrollable attraction or perhaps profound admiration?
You don’t understand how this vast community shields you, enabling you to pursue your purpose.
Eating, breeding and avoiding inevitabilities. Do you even belief in death? Usually, it’s sudden in the moment when terror paralyzes you. And what does one feel at that moment; Fear, regret? Rarely peace.
Perverted isn't it? How grief will consume them when you do not return home. Will they search for you periodically? Before continuing to eat, breed and avoid being eaten; repressing their deep sadness forever. What can one do but slowly decay?
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC