"stuckness" poems - Hello Poetry

My room, the suite, seemed too small. I felt like I’d been in my room forever. I’d developed a scratchy sense of stuckness and a fresh, itchy awareness of dust particles floating in the stifling, still air that made me want to stop breathing in so much. But I didn’t, categorically, have the energy to get up and focusing seemed like a lot of effort. I had a big midterm test, first thing this morning and it laid me to waste, mentally. I think I did well but it was a feat. Whenever I feel lifeless and weak, I start to fear I’m coming down with something. But then, everyone’s tired. The suite seems unnaturally quiet, as if no one even has the energy to command our ever-listening AI to play a playlist, so silence ruled by exhausted default. It’s as if a low-pressure area had descended to hold off a brush of refreshing ozone and rain. Could I rouse my posse of symbiotic sort-of siblings for an outing somewhere - like Toad’s bar - just across the street? My door was open, so I called out, rather weakly, “Let’s go out!” Someone, (Lisa sprawled out on the red corduroy couch?) groaned listlessly from the common area. “My treat!” I updogged. Five minutes later, it was showers all around. I love a good shower. A shower’s where I ponder over the big questions, because answers seem to come quickly there. I imagine I’d be wise beyond words if I had a house with a waterfall running through it, like one of those amazing, Frank Loid Wright masterpieces. . . Songs for this: The Duke Is Gone by Chuck Senrick Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre

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Oct 26, 2024

Oct 26, 2024 at 11:27 PM UTC

anaisvionet

showers

My room, the suite, seemed too small. I felt like I’d been in my room forever. I’d developed a scratchy sense of stuckness and a fresh, itchy awareness of dust particles floating in the stifling, still air that made me want to stop breathing in so much. But I didn’t, categorically, have the energy to get up and focusing seemed like a lot of effort. I had a big midterm test, first thing this morning and it laid me to waste, mentally. I think I did well but it was a feat. Whenever I feel lifeless and weak, I start to fear I’m coming down with something. But then, everyone’s tired. The suite seems unnaturally quiet, as if no one even has the energy to command our ever-listening AI to play a playlist, so silence ruled by exhausted default. It’s as if a low-pressure area had descended to hold off a brush of refreshing ozone and rain. Could I rouse my posse of symbiotic sort-of siblings for an outing somewhere - like Toad’s bar - just across the street? My door was open, so I called out, rather weakly, “Let’s go out!” Someone, (Lisa sprawled out on the red corduroy couch?) groaned listlessly from the common area. “My treat!” I updogged. Five minutes later, it was showers all around. I love a good shower. A shower’s where I ponder over the big questions, because answers seem to come quickly there. I imagine I’d be wise beyond words if I had a house with a waterfall running through it, like one of those amazing, Frank Loid Wright masterpieces. . . Songs for this: The Duke Is Gone by Chuck Senrick Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre

32

Weaving a web—yet fragile, entrapment unseen, a delight. Mystic dots connect the void, a shadowed feminine archetype. So, dark, entangled in instincts and desire, it walks through living illusions, performing the ritual. A silk gift of flies, a vibrating dance, the abdomen’s pulse but what she truly wants? It's you! The beloved offering! The black widow presence, a thirst that devours itself. No web remains to protect only the surreal subconscious, the stuckness of web-death. Fatal union: to consume—or be consumed.

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Sep 27, 2025

Sep 27, 2025 at 3:39 AM UTC

urvashi-1

🕷️Web of Silken Death 🕸️

Weaving a web—yet fragile, entrapment unseen, a delight. Mystic dots connect the void, a shadowed feminine archetype. So, dark, entangled in instincts and desire, it walks through living illusions, performing the ritual. A silk gift of flies, a vibrating dance, the abdomen’s pulse but what she truly wants? It's you! The beloved offering! The black widow presence, a thirst that devours itself. No web remains to protect only the surreal subconscious, the stuckness of web-death. Fatal union: to consume—or be consumed.

19

Sometimes the weight of waiting Overwhelms me down to despair When the world is moving so fast My waiting feels like wasting time When the winter season lingers long When dry, decay, death dance dread My soul becomes weary wanting out When questions remain unanswered Inviting more pain, doubt, desolations Waiting feels like a slow stuckness When I turn my eyes toward my heart I notice the yeast rising in the darkness Slowly, unhurried, directed by stillness Time is transformed becoming a midwife No longer the hurried fast train conductor I settle slowly into an unfamiliar rhythm Into a divine soul adjusted time Inviting me to come in step by step Deeper deeper into the dark night Only when I surrender to waiting Only then I see the distant light

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Sep 17, 2020

Sep 17, 2020 at 7:50 AM UTC

stanley-arumugam

Weight of Waiting

Sometimes the weight of waiting Overwhelms me down to despair When the world is moving so fast My waiting feels like wasting time When the winter season lingers long When dry, decay, death dance dread My soul becomes weary wanting out When questions remain unanswered Inviting more pain, doubt, desolations Waiting feels like a slow stuckness When I turn my eyes toward my heart I notice the yeast rising in the darkness Slowly, unhurried, directed by stillness Time is transformed becoming a midwife No longer the hurried fast train conductor I settle slowly into an unfamiliar rhythm Into a divine soul adjusted time Inviting me to come in step by step Deeper deeper into the dark night Only when I surrender to waiting Only then I see the distant light

21

Float me away On a pile of flying leaches Dissolve my edges With acid made of clouds The stuckness of my heart Pulls on my veins Pumping black tar around my bones The crickets in my ears Never shut up Static attacks my cells Happiness is just a game.

0

Nov 6, 2020

Nov 6, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC

Amyspill134

Fuzz

Float me away On a pile of flying leaches Dissolve my edges With acid made of clouds The stuckness of my heart Pulls on my veins Pumping black tar around my bones The crickets in my ears Never shut up Static attacks my cells Happiness is just a game.

11