Speak With Unusual Perception

This is my poetry compilation that I have been working on for a while now. I didn’t know how to post it or where to post it or if I even wanted to post it but I decided the best place for it is on my blog. I have also attached the original document that I send out to publishers because that one is a little more clean cut. 😉 Poem Story Rough I hope you enjoy and stay jolly!


Speak with Unusual Perception

For a Friend

By Colleen Mayer


We are born imperfect.

With bent backs and an unbalanced mind.

Needing the strength of others to hold up our fragile heads

                           And needing the intelligence of others to teach us how to walk.                                                                                              

We are born with a fresh mind, one that may mold over time.

Some mold with an unusual perception.


It was the beginning.

There was a point in time where I remembered how I used to wash my hands over and over.

It was repetitive.

There was a point in time where I remembered that I couldn’t explain my actions and couldn’t comprehend them.

It was a bitter pill.

There was a point in time where I could isolate myself from the negativity of others.

It was healthy.


When you are young your mind is an unwritten script.

Title is undetermined and the pages aren’t brimming.

Each day is a new page and a closer step to your title.

Scents are stapled to it and morals are sometimes crammed in by others

But none the less your mind is still your story.



My script is meager but fulfilling.

Bounded by my aggressive attitude and the pages are collected sloppily.

One page could be one simple emotion and the next could be a cacophony of thoughts.

It is quit burdensome to explain to others but I cope with being able to explain it in a peculiar way.

Toward the middle is where it gets interesting.

Where I find my perceptions to be quiet unusual.


I had come to the realization that it was burdensome to explain my thoughts to others.

Bouncing from one idea to the next and putting certain words before others because they came too early.

I had come to the realization that I shook.

Tapping the tips of my fingers to my thumb and tilting my complexion ever so slightly.

I had come to the realization that moving on was my specialty.

Leaving behind pages that were unfinished and needed more work on.

I had come to the realization that the ways my mind molded were slightly different from others.

Tiny, unfinished building filled my mind ever so slightly.


One day.

One day my body is placid and I can think of the people that keep me that way.

My hands do not fidget and my paths are clear.

I can remember the days before and can keep my voice steady.

It was a good day, a valuable day, and I was a content soul.


Here is something that is uncomforting.

My place of comfort.

When it is tampered with or has a memory of panic it is hard to go back.

I can remember my room. Before it was tampered, before I had a hard time explaining why I didn’t enjoy being in its presence.

My place of comfort had been sprayed with graffiti.

My DNA had been dismissed and someone else had infiltrated.

My place of comfort made me remember other


One day

One day I am a wave.

Starting with a calm flow that ripples into what feels like an everlasting tide.

Forming from something so minuet to something that could kill.

Being engulfed in water and feeling like that last breath may never come back.

One day is the day I fear the most.


Try breathing techniques.

The one thing that people don’t realize is that there is no technique for gasping for air.

Try relaxing.

When your legs tense up and your hands clench naturally it is hard to relax.

Try talking about it.

There is a certain way to talk about it but I have yet to meet anyone that has discovered it.

One day my words will come naturally, not too early, and not after I have gotten over the panic.


When you are constantly trying to listen to others it is difficult to listen to yourself.

There was a point in time where others words were roaring and mine was supple.

This is when my heart sent an SOS to my mind.

Hoping that my lion would find the courage to listen.

Listen to the heart that needed to find warmth,

The mind that needed oiling, and the voice that needed to speak.


One Day

One day I was still in a chair.

My legs were crossed and my feet were tapping the air.

There was comfort and a fidgeting feeling all at one.

I was asked to speak but was not demanded.

I was asked to look beyond but was found at a wall.

And I was told to stay but felt no reason too.



I was a wanderer.

I tended to easily isolate myself from people and I found myself looking at the retrospect.

I was always detoxing my mind, body, and soul.

Relaxing my mind when there was no voices, no wind, and no conflicts.

Remembering the ways that helped me be still.


One day.

One day I will find myself under a tree.

One that brings me so much comfort that I will afloat to the surface of my mind.

One where there is no more tapping, no more wandering, and no more waves.

One that will be there when I need and one that will be my amenity.


I hope this poetry compellation brings comfort to one another. It is for a friend and covers the mind of someone who has anxiety. Through the words of others I made a way to explain their emotions through poetry. Remember to be aware of others and explain your thoughts well. Hope you enjoyed and stay jolly.

Poems by Colleen Mayer

Pictures by Colleen Mayer from the daily Wall Street Journal

Contact Information

Email: mayerc@northwood.edu

Blog: colsworldblog.wordpress.com


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