Mental Health

Craft over catharsis or catharsis over craft.
I read this article by "Games Mode On", on Vocal. Sorry to (SIOL) say it out loud - but this is kind of how I find it on Vocal and the world in general right now.
By Antoni De'Leonabout a month ago in Poets
I need to find me Haiku
I need to find me Haiku I lost me somewhere Help do you know who I am I need me back now
By Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
Beginning of the Fall
Chapter 7: The Beginning of the Fall The higher you go, the harder you fall. The fall never begins with a crash. It begins with a wobble — a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the internal atmosphere. A moment where the altitude that once felt like freedom suddenly feels unstable. The air thins just a little too much. The light sharpens just a little too far. The speed becomes just a little too fast to sustain.
By Elisa Wontorcikabout a month ago in Poets
The First Hairline Cracks
The first cracks never look like cracks. They don’t arrive with drama or warning. They don’t announce themselves as danger. They hide inside the very things that feel like power — speed, clarity, momentum, capability. That’s why they’re so easy to miss. That’s why they’re so dangerous.
By Elisa Wontorcikabout a month ago in Poets
Spa Day at Outstages Cafe Spa
My work is an exploration of the "ambiguous place between reality and illusion," where digital environments and organic textures merge to create a new, hybrid form of storytelling. I operate at the intersection of technology and tradition, using modern digital tools to amplify the "ancestral echoes" of those who came before me.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a month ago in Poets
“Cupid made me do it”
I sat there for hours. More than four. Festering like an expired jar of jam forgotten in the fridge, undesired for too long.
By Natasha Collazoabout a month ago in Poets
Whispering Voices In My Ears
Whispering Voices In My Ears Whispering voices in my ears, soft as breath against the skin, they speak of moments I once lived,
By Marie381Uk about a month ago in Poets
The Covert Narcissist
"Come look, come look! She's actually doing chores! Are you sick or do you need money? Why else would you be doing this for?"
By CT Idlehouseabout a month ago in Poets
Borrowed Light
I used to dim my laughter on purpose, like turning the stove down so it won’t hiss. You said I was “too much,” But you kept eating from my warmth anyway.
By Milan Milicabout a month ago in Poets
Guilty of Rest
Feel guilty for not writing Feel guilty for not reading Feel guilty for sleeping all day Feel guilty for not getting out of bed
By L.I.Eabout a month ago in Poets
Dealing with Angst. Honorable Mention in Instructions for a Feeling Challenge.
There – there it is. That meek, tiny whimper, Pitifully demanding attention Above all other priorities. And for what?
By Dana Crandellabout a month ago in Poets
Your Voice Echoes
I hear you in the kettle first, that thin whistle trying to be brave. The kitchen tiles are cold, and my sock has a hole that keeps finding me.
By Milan Milicabout a month ago in Poets