Long Introverts Poems
Long Introverts Poems. Below are the most popular long Introverts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Introverts poems by poem length and keyword.
Me and the wall
Like an imaginary friend when we were a child.
My thoughts bounce off the wall and then get filed.
Mrs. Beasley, Shilo, and Winnie the Pooh.
No matter what you said, they believed it was true.
My wall let's me figure it out with me and God.
And it's funny, but I never end up feeling odd.
And as I sit here amidst all the reflections.
Somewhere inside I'm ok with the recollections.
Having thoughts that no one else interrupts.
Allows time and space where nothing corrupts.
And in the process of sorting through the muck.
Insight and common sense prevails with any luck.
Introverts and extroverts and everything between.
Hopefully, you mean what you say, when you say what you mean.
Cause when this world get's it's way and in your head.
Sometimes, come what may, it's their thoughts instead.
So, hello old friend, it's you and me till the end.
We've travelled many avenues and around the bend.
Somehow I'm ok with the way things turned out.
Reflective perspective has removed most of the doubt.
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
sick of writing with poetic structure exposing no ones who stand posing their perfection and sick of handing out attention to those whom attention heads in the opposite direction, attacking introverts who pervert the course of knowledge with freshly polished forests energised by subconscious convictions of my victory they squash solid in denial which forms a viciously vile subtly stealth style of fibs and negativity masked by self promoting shows wanting all the best for me as they inevitably up level me only out to better me needing this tactic as they'll never be, I don't have such jealousy, bitter friends become enemies who forever endeavour to spread whatever they care to dare to swear is mine and their reality a structure tale that says I fail and need help as a casualty, all my life I failed to see it, my character caused them unease, my endowment needs devouring they hate it overpowering, all 5 foot whilst I stand at 6, as I was wanted they threw fits, hardly noticed and feeling hopeless whilst doors would open and I would progress, lending my hand to help others focus as ex-friends relished joking grotesque, enjoying every moment they feel best, a vultures scavenge is his challenge, the only time his skill's apparent, kick 'em when they're falling down to get above and stay no doubt, and they can keep the simple people who believe their words and see me evil after all it's what they seek for, I don't judge myself how I'm judged by people, a need they need I have no need for,
Setting limits --
a wonderful idea
for small children
Limit their exposure to languages
One language is confusing enough
Limit their exposure to computers
They'll turn into anti-social introverts
Limit their exposure to the natural world
So much dirt and disease out there now
Limit their exposure to family finances
They'll have time for that later in life
Limit their exposure to fun and frivolity
Life is so serious these days
Limit their exposure to people different from them
They need to build a solid foundation first
And do not do what the Romans once did
Do not toss them on the side of a mountain
to see if they survive ~
Limit their exposure to sides of mountains...
1/
Sounding too easy
And too dangerous!
What by one leap of faith
Was proven; that's all.
'To live free is to live up
To one's potential'.
Self talk, encouraged
A world of doubt, by.
And a fear-world's. Your worst foe!
Friend, play deaf to it.
This air, so denied of, is
Death to one's spirit.
2/
As night succumbs to its fate
Heart, re-born, the day is come
To sing of your own in
A changeable faced world's bright,
Benevolent turning.
Fear alone made it ugly!
Now this ghoulishness has cleared.
With that fog of despair.
Ere looms as a haunting thought
Forgot as a nightmare.
Loners choose lonely corners,
unexplainable are their moods;
they are the introverts we misunderstand,
if loneliness increases so do their woes...
and sorting out their thoughts,
they accept their fate and meet their end.
Doesn't solitude inflict pain?
How miserable and empty days
are for the ones not loving anyone!
What keeps one happy and sane?
Deprivation of anything is the reason
for heartbreaks and endless regrets!
Loners seem happy and undisturbed by sound,
they seek that serenity they never found
and what the hurt is replaced with the illusion
that once the heart is wounded no infusion
can heal what was broken by harmful words,
and living alone they're poked by their own thorns.
Doesn't solitude inflict pain?
Who chooses loneliness is surely to abstain
from the joys love gives to heart and brain;
doesn't solitude inflict pain?
Are loners tired of living in the fast lane?
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
I have seen eyes turn cold
Eyebrows shoot up
And sarcastic glances exchanged
Merely because of my detached nature
Merely because of I choose to keep to myself
Merely because I prefer my own company
Merely because I try hard
To give not the impression
That I am in fact
An introvert!
Pray, when I choose to pretend
That I am not bothered
It is merely because I am scared
Of the effects that my reaction will have
After all, introverts do open up to people
Only when they've grown familiar to them!
When I choose to be engaged in my own company
Nose buried in my diary
Or my book
Or in my mobile
It is because interacting is real harsh for me
Pray, I prefer to listen to the wind
Singing songs made of poetic hues
Yes, I prefer to close in on myself
And watch clouds acting up in the blue sky
Making a film based on their own existence
An existence, definitely related to mine own!
Why, I've seen eyes turn cold
I've seen eyebrows shoot up
And sarcastic glances exchanged
But then, I've told myself to let it be
Someday, those same eyes will turn warm
Those same eyebrows will furrow into each other
Dying out of laughter
And those sarcastic glances
Will turn into melted ones!
Yes,
I choose to let it be
Relationships; whether friendly or romantic;
Do take time to build
I shall surely open up
And give the world
A display of the cosmic dance
That goes on in me
I shall fret not
For life knows how to thrust in our way
The paths on which we are to tread!
3 August 2017
butterflies form a kaleidoscope of myths
boon or bad luck, depends on your own pick
their metamorphosis from crawlers to flyers
may be magical; each stage giving us a trick.
caterpillars seem to be crooked creatures,
busy measuring branches with their hairy legs
seemingly plotting, trying to cheat poachers
while eating and nibbling at the leaf pegs.
cocoons portray a ‘potential’ to transform
despite being introverts and kept in hiding
they also symbolize strength and protection
and butterflies glorify earth’s fertility tiding.
arousing jealousy of the goddess Venus
Psyche, a beauty, a butterfly, a fairy soul
romanced the god Eros in a valley of flowers
and underwent pain before achieving her goal.
a night butterfly attracted by the flame
has to get burnt in it to become immortal
reflecting on the trials that must be endured
before knowing the joys of crossing the portal.
a butterfly seen as an emblem of soul
is closely related to the Morning Star
whose existence in the day symbolizes
life of soul even after death without a scar.
hordes of southward migrating butterflies
signal that cold weather is fast approaching
a butterfly is also seen to be a messenger of rain
helps nature’s beauty in spreading and broaching.
Date:18.5.2016
I feel cooped up with silly string in my hair.
I think introverts are an astral projection.
Winter is a balled up stocking.
Even with silly string strung up in me.
I take a crack at the astral plane under my bed.
I feel slobbered on when I order pizza for myself.
I feel cooped up with a few of these friends.
Attached like a bottle cap.
Popped it off and poured that old “how are you?” out onto the floor.
Being an introvert and my mind is unsound.
It’s like the mattress tag says something crazy but no one would read it anyway.
I talk with my left tooth splayed out.
I think introverts are an astral projection of extroverts.
We are only real because we are each other’s carpet fibers in the same crime scene.
Or maybe I’m just some awkward friend who dropped the last chicken wing and you hated me forever.
Everyone is a blended mixture of
Elementals made up of
Oxygen, carbon,
Hydrogen, nitrogen,
Calcium, phosphorus, and…
Trace elements
A divine recipe, perhaps?
Some are yet to be born
Some are young,
Some are old.
Some are people of color,
Some are people who lack color.
Some speak one language
Some speak many tongues.
Some are social
Some are antisocial.
Some are healthy
Some are sick.
But what am I?
Some are poor
Some are middle-class
Some are rich.
Some believe in God
Some sense a higher design
Some aren’t sure
Some are atheists.
Some are extroverts
Some are introverts.
Who am I?
Some live on farms
Some live in suburban communities
Some live in towns and cities.
Some live off the grid
Some are liberal
Some are moderate
Some are conservative.
How shall I live?
Some are loving
Some are joy-filled
Some are hate-filled.
Some want peace
Some want a cause
Some want war.
Some want to destroy
Some want to mend
Some want to kill
Some want to heal.
Should I matter?
Should I not?
What are my choices?
Everybody dies…
But do I truly live?
In this vast simplexity of humanity
Or am I more than the sum of the parts?
Or am I just a glitch of stardust
Or a spark of the divine?
Momentarily aware
Yet, unaware
Forever in BlueJeans…
Forever questioning?