Mental Health

The Day the Chains Remembered
“They gave us liberty, then sold us a dream— With sugar-coated shackles and democratic steam.” —from The Day the Chains Remembered
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Poets
The Impossibilities
The surface crumbles, My world quakes, The tension thickens, The air unbreathable, My muscles strain, My body shakes,
By Hailey M8 months ago in Poets
A Fake Connection
Not disciplined enough to protect themselves Control by imaginative thoughts and emotions Feelings aren't reciprocated nor received
By L.I.E8 months ago in Poets
My Sensitivity Is My Superpower
My sensitivity is my superpower. I used to hate it. I used to hate feeling different. Seeing things different. It always felt like such a burden. Sometimes it made me feel like I was crazy. For a long time I felt like something was terribly wrong with me.
By Ashley Antunes8 months ago in Poets
Pleasant Thoughts on a Weeknight
1. The hate feels good: father, work life, ambition... Gifts for a writer? * 2. The night feels close: life goes on (but what remains
By Kendall Defoe 8 months ago in Poets
(how to) wither away. Content Warning.
fly away on a one-way ticket into the unknown and land amongst "friends" in an utopian mirage -perfectly sunny and the rain falls so gently
By Alexandria Stanwyck8 months ago in Poets
The Sound of Forgotten Things
The laughter that once filled the air, Now just a whisper, faint and rare, A voice that lingers, soft and low, Like evening’s hush on melting snow.
By Just One of Those Things8 months ago in Poets
The Smallest Scratch. Content Warning.
There is a fear of living That no one else can see. There is a sickness to breath, I don’t know if it’s felt by anyone but me.
By Hannah Kawira Hartwell8 months ago in Poets
Can I rewrite the stars?. Content Warning.
I am a writer, I spend my days creating stories of peoples lives but never once have I written mine. I make notes of course but that's where it ends.
By Jen Phillips8 months ago in Poets
The Human Condition
Not much else to do when you've grown old but seethe about the bridges you've been sold: Trickle down, buy and hold,
By Chris Z8 months ago in Poets
A Mother without a Name
Sun kissed skin and dirty knees Take me back when I was free The way my mom was always home To help push me, to help me grow
By Amy8 months ago in Poets
Forgotten Thoughts...
The room is too bright, The light slightly harsh. I'm quiet a little more than normal. I'm strong most days. But not today.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️8 months ago in Poets