I Was Seven, But I Didn't Remember It Until I Was 13. It Was Almost A Blessing That My Mind Hid It From

I try to write something, anything, but the words are only clear when I feel them press against my heart and mind. They become muffled when hands reach for them, they loose their shape.

Does anyone else feel a bit overwhelmed when a post u make gets more notes than your used to, like there's hundreds of people just suddenly in your room looking over your shoulder at your Mediocr post and by exstention you.

I saw @two-bees-poetry lady macbeth/macbeth poem 🌷and became inspired to try this format called (an okayish first attempt but a fun challenge) contrepulate poetry.

I've always been comfortable alone. Too comfortable. I'm afraid one day I'll find that the comfort, the years alone scrolling on my phone was slowing rotting me from the inside the whole time. I'll be left with a hollow centre and an empty life. If anything I need to be reminded to be present, to be pushed and pulled into things, otherwise I just wouldn't feel the urge to bother. I need to need people, need to experience the world, because the fact that I don't will leave me unhappy in the end. I just need to practice leaving my house. Or my bed.

Hollow eyes watching the crowd

it's mid day, It's busy

People rush to stores like beds of fish

Fish with magpie eyes looking for shiny things to take back to their home

The figure watching, Is ignored

To look at those hollow eyes would mean to look at their own magpies ones

To confront the misery and their lack of it

So instead they talk louder as they walk past, they drown out a defeated "excuse m–

Or they become silent, their steps quick and their eyes down as they click and swipe

As the figure with hollow eyes watches you pretend to type.

Let's be honest.

Let's be truthful.

When you meet your own eyes in the mirror

Can you recognise or a least reconsider

The apathy

That you let cling to thee

It's carefully downing you

It feels a secure embrace

But you're afloat

You've lost the boat, to passion, to joy, to meaning

It's calling out

ahoy

Where did you go

I see your eyes meet mine in the mirror

I see what once was starting to flicker

Are you but a ghost

A lost dream turning thinner.

An incoming phone call you say

And I freeze like a deer in headlights

Have I been hit, I feel blooding rushing past my ear drums

My heart is beating quick

then quicker, a fast rapid flicker

it's trying to run away, but my body won't move

Instead my body stands shock still and I watch locked in, but so far removed

I'm dizzy spinning around and round in my amygdala, a ringing is pulsing against the outside walls of it

trying to get inside

I cannot hide

Then the ringing just stops

it's stops

Incoming call is dropped and rational thinking has lost.

I haven't really got much outside of this, and this is just me speaking to everyone and no one all at once, it feels shallow. I was going to say I felt just as shallow, almost empty but that's not really true, if anything I feel like I'm about to burst, I'm filled with so much longing and hope and just want, I just want so badly. For more laughter, more connection, just more. There really is nothing like the small moments you share with your loved ones, those inside jokes that leave you folded over and cackling loudly, while strangers judge you at the social absurdity, but it only makes you laugh harder. Or those times at school you'd ask me to draw on your hand because you liked the sensation and then you'd play with my hair, you'd braid it. I feel ravenous for those moments. So maybe what I really feel is hunger.

Sometimes this comfort rots. Sometimes this resting mocks me (about the life I want to live).