tick, tick, ticking echoes through
the mind i call my own
so incredibly loud
My pathetic state
my pathetic jokes
my pathetic whining
facade never falling
not being pretty
when i’m crying
undesirably moody
when not trying
heart clenching at every passing
second
Or third
what it was the fourth?
can’t
Remember
can’t feel which one
all i know is the last two were not surprises
and the latest
i barely felt
numb
it’s too much
oh, the pity
my condolences
i’m so sorry
it’s okay
but it’s not
i’m not
nothing is
but it will be
when?
perhaps once the clock
Stops ticking…
About the Creator
Reader insights
Good effort
You have potential. Keep practicing and don’t give up!
Top insight
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Glass Shards and writers in Poets and other communities.
Me vs. My Body
I became unbearably insecure as a child due to my peers and family’s constant comments on my weight and looks. As simple as it is, it managed to carry on with me all this time, even though I have been trying to overcome it for an immeasurable amount of time, half successfully. I never had the ideal weight or body type, thus I became the butt of the joke for many people in my life. An odd sense of melancholy beats in my heart for my younger self as I’m remembering what that small child had to worry about at such a young age. The bullying never was extreme, however it definitely made my younger self reevaluate my worth as a human being. The idea that if I lost weight, I would be accepted by everyone and all of my problems would be gone sparked in my mess of a brain like a lightbulb and suddenly weight loss became my top priority for many years to come. However, The effort was not there and I continued to severely struggle until I was about 13 years old. My mother put me on diets, gave me ‘pretty pills’ and my entire family excitedly commented on what I ate and how I look. Despite their outspoken opinions, they encouraged my binge eating and continued to provide me with food which I should not have been consuming based on their ideals. I was confused by these contradicting actions and never understood why they, specifically my mother, cared as much as they seemingly did. That was until one morning, my grandmother brought me my usual calorie-packed greasy breakfast. My mother snapped and—if my mind recollects correctly—she shouted at me, blaming me for eating the breakfast I was given. I then finally understood why she was doing this in the first place. She was embarrassed of me and this was not just an assumption manifested by my self-conscious self. I could hear her voice loud and clear as the pieces were finally put together. Her self-projecting, however, clicked later which brings me the simple feeling of sadness, but the shame I felt during that encounter still sits in my memory clear as a summer spring.
By Glass Shards2 years ago in Psyche
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team6 days ago in Resources
Comments (5)
So Fantastic Oh My God❤️Brilliant & Mind Blowing Your Story, Please Read My Stories and Subscribe Me
Ohhh… I feel this! Nice job!
I was reading a mind related article inside this poem. Well done!
Chilling stuff, amazing poem
I am aeound always for chats and stuff 🤍