It sends me into a spiral,
Them not replying,
It can plant a seed,
In this little head of mine,
It's the principle, you know?
What else are they doing?
It’s only a message,
But why won't they respond?
It starts with a quick end
To a normal conversation,
But now I think,
Am I boring?
It’s the little things,
The gentle snubs,
The drooping looks,
They subtly cut,
These seeds can grow,
They can flower into doubt,
A lack of attention
And now I’m wilting
They were my water,
But now there’s a drought.
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Comments2
This poem is absolutely beautiful in that your feelings came through perfectly. It's as if I'm looking right at you, while you're looking down at your feet, with words tumbling out slowly . . . wtf, I don't even understand what I'm saying. Great poem, dude.
Pure poetic genius!
'in my humble opinion'
what you've achieved is immeasurable
in empathetic, value!
distilling, unfurling - and wording accessible
such complex, incoherent - torrents
of emotions and self-warped, interpretations
of minutia details, in our everyday
that collate over time
to make-up, those entrenched
anxieties and
'invisible, pebbles in shoes': discomfort
in our skins
we find so hard, to rid ourselves - of...
(thank you for choosing to share
your poetic genius with us, dear Poet
I hope you share this work, far and wide
for within it you've imbued, a camaraderie
and consoling, relatability
that can heal a lot of wounded, souls
I wish you, every success in all your endeavours)
these lines, in particular floored me:
'It’s the little things,
The gentle snubs,
The drooping looks,
They subtly cut,
These seeds can grow,
They can flower into doubt,
A lack of attention
And now I’m wilting
They were my water,
But now there’s a drought.'
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