AP Ottovan

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This poem talks about severe anxiety. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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Sometimes, It Feels Like I'm Drowning

Sometimes, it feels like I’m drowning.

And on this particular sunny day,
I actually was.

I was drowning in the noise from the endless cascades of voices,
Being pulled out further into the sea by the currents of flesh and bone,
Being smothered by scents and colors.

I was drowning in an ocean of teardrops and shame,
Bodies being pushed and pulled,
Wanted to touch something, but never each other.
Wanting to hold on, but always having to let go.

This morning, I was thrown overboard.
No life vest, no arm floaties.
I was left on my own,
Sharks surrounding me
As sorrow choked me and filled my lungs.

This afternoon,
I found some driftwood I could cling to.
But two hours of endless floating,
Salt souring in my mouth,
Birds biting my fingers and fish nipping at my toes,
I let go.

And tonight,
When the only thing around me was inky, unending blackness,
I surfaced to the see the stars.
I saw the Big and Little Dippers,
I spotted Orion’s Belt
I admired the bright North Star,
And it all reminded me of home.

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

As Days Go By

What are we going to do,
On that one cold morning,
The birds in your ears and the sun on your face,
When you decide the rest of your life?

What are we going to do,
When in that hot afternoon,
So completely different from yesterday,
Where you decide where you want to be?

What are we going to do,
On that eerily silent night,
When we’re left alone with our own thoughts,
Here, the only warmth coming from our embrace?

What are we going to do,
When you decide to go our separate ways?
What am I going to do,
When I can’t leave you?

What am I going to do,
In thousands of weeks from now,
Standing over the murky water,
Knowing you’re never coming back?

Cry, probably.

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This poem talks about depression and feeling like you're never good enough. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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I'm Racing At The Speed Of Sound

I’m racing at the speed of sound
Nothing is going to slow me down
I’m gone

Quiet as a whisper, quick as a flash
A flash of lightning
A wisp of light passes me by

No matter what I do someone is better
But I’m still flying
Still running as fast as I can
But it creeps into my mind

I have to go faster
Be the best
If I’m not the best than what am I?

I’m nothing

It used to be don’t be last
and feel bad for the guy that was
But now you have to be first

Be first and you’ll be happy
Be first and you’ll get the job
Get the girl
Get the life

But maybe I don’t want that
“Too bad,”
“It’s dog eat dog”
“If you’re not first, you’re last”

I race at the speed of sound, but somebody is going the speed of light.

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This is a very angry poem that also has topics of depression and what may seem like abuse. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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Please Note:
This is one of my older poems. I don't really feel this way anymore and I've sort of made up with the subject of this poem, so please don't be angry at them on my account. Water under the bridge and what-not.

I Wait For Tomorrow

Before the tears there was something
Before the pain there was something
Before your fighting
Before your curses
Before you

Before you came around the world had light
Before you moved into my life things were finally going right
When you came I died inside
When you kneeled down in front of her I prayed it was a joke
But there you are, standing here
Years later

I wait for it to end
I wait for her to give you up
To finally say she’s had enough
I wait for you to get out of my life
But if I hate you, why am I feeling such strife?

I wait for you to say you’re proud
To say I’m finally good enough
I wait for you to smile at me
To be thankful I’m yours
But I’m scared that’ll never come
So I remember before and I wait for tomorrow

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This poem talks about depression and sickness. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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Which Is Worse?

Cans, bottles, and medicine,
All stacked around me.
One day I won’t be here to write, and contemplate
The things that’ll never come.

A rat in a cage,
A lizard on rope,
A being trapped in restlessness

Sticks, stones, and a corpse,
All things I think about,
All things that seem to be equally damaging.

Throw a stone,
Break my bones,
Throw a stick,
Thoughts are always stuck,
But show me corpse,
And I’ll show you something worse.

Five pink pills,
Half a tablespoon,
And four bottles.
What do they have in common?

They are all the work of someone trying to fix themselves.
But now, they find that hopeless.
One for the suicidal thoughts,
The rest for a stomach ache.

Which is worse?

If you ask them,
They’d say the nausea.
They’d tell you the thoughts are something that can be tucked away,
Even if they make for restless nights.

The sickness though,
That can’t be ignored.
The endless vomiting is much worse
Than the endless despair.

Ask them which hurts worse,
Thoughts or stones,
And they’d tell you the thoughts.

They’d tell you, no matter how much medicine,
It doesn’t matter if you can’t be fixed.

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

A Blessing

I sit here,
Without clothes,
Without heart,
Without voice.

I sit here waiting for a life
A life that’ll never come.
I sit waiting for rest
That will never bless me with it’s presence.

I sit here,
Back arched in contemplation,
As I listen to the unlabored breathing
Of an animal unknowingly trapped in a cage.

She sneezes,
And the world,
Much like my heart,
Stops.

A blessing,
That’s what she is.
A blessing trapped in a metal frame.
A blessing that will be gone in time.

I sit here,
Writing a paperless book,
Hoping I’ll be tired enough to rest.

My constantly filling mind
Commands me to create.

I read heartfelt words,
Words that meant everything a long time ago.
Words, that have now lost their power,
Just like she lost herself.

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This poem talks about depression. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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Silver-Lining

It’s okay if I die,
Who says I get to live?

You?
You with your insistent I love you’s,
You saying it only to hear me return the favor?

Who says I get to live?
Me, with my pestering thoughts?
My constant, lifelong anxiety?

Who gets to tell me to breathe my next breath,
To say my next word,
To sing my next song?

Who gets to lecture me on how things will be better,
How, even when they get worse,
There’s a silver-lining?

Who gets to speak to me with the wisdom of an unknown God,
Who gets to read me wordless stories,
Who gets to hold me on those cold nights?

No one wipes my tears by myself.
It is my own flesh that is wet with my own sorrow.
It is only me, that drowns in my thoughts.

So who, other than myself,
Gets to dictate my heartbeat?
Who, other than me,
Says I get to live?

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

Warning
This poem talks about depression, suicide, and self-harm. If you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read this.
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I Scratch At My Flesh Out Of Habit

I scratch at my flesh out of habit.
The scar breaks, spilling crimson over my pale skin.
I did it again. I ruined myself, once again.
I watch as the blood drips down my arm, spilling onto the floor.
Another scar to add to the collection.

They tell me it’s okay.
That it’s worth it.
That I’m so lucky I survived.

I don’t think so.

I blink and the blood disappears, the only remnants of my past a long scar from wrist to elbow.

Every day I wish I hadn’t been saved.
Every day I absentmindedly pick at my skin, thinking, “Why?”
Every day I look at my mother, cursing her for picking up the phone.

Why bother saving me? I’m not worth it.

I’m unlovable.
I’m cursed.
I’m despicable.

I deserve to suffer and fade away, unremembered.

Every day I look out my window, thinking about the things I should stay around for.
Every day I run my fingers over my scar, wondering, “Why did I do this to myself?”
Every day I look at my mother, tears forming in my eyes and a thank you on my lips.

They love me regardless of my failures,

My thoughts.
My mistakes.
My sins.

They remind me I deserve happiness and love.

Reading Link

https://youtu.be/UKYHDSD6mQo

Poetry From The Mouths Of Obstreperous Creatures

A collection of poetry from anyone and everyone.

It doesn't have to be traditional poetry either. 'Could be anything you consider to be poetry, whether it's a song, a quote, or a collection of words. It's up to you, not to me or anyone else.

The Meaning Of Obstreperous

Noisy and difficult to control.

--- Synonyms ---
Boisterous
Difficult
Disorderly
Disruptive
Mutinous
Out of control
Rebellious
Refractory
Riotous
Rowdy
Truculent
Turbulent
Uncontrollable
Undisciplined
Unmanagable
Unruly
Uproarious
Wild

Please Note:
It would be appreciated if authors gave a warning if there are any topics that aren't safe for the public eye in their poetry.
Don't want us getting in trouble here.

Something fast. Something fun. Something we've not really done.

Super interested!