Mental Health

Slow Down
I know what you're thinking: It's too late, everything eventually stacks up on your plate. Taxes, a stressful job, doctor visits, monthly bills,
By Maddy Newt8 months ago in Poets
On The Rising . Content Warning.
On The Rising In a world where we should be showing kindness We are living in a mental health crisis People’s loved ones are dying
By Zoe Marshall8 months ago in Poets
Two Truths and a Love
--- God is. God was. God always will be. God speaks. God creates. God is not silent. The Father is not an idea. The Son is not a metaphor.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast8 months ago in Poets
Mental Health Poems. Content Warning.
Death Death has never looked so pretty She tempts me with her sweet nothingness Become a member Death waits to greet me
By 143Rosey8 months ago in Poets
The Body Won’t Rise
The Body That Won’t Rise The body doesn’t fall apart down here. It shuts down in slow motion. Not violently. Not dramatically.
By Elisa Wontorcik8 months ago in Poets
The Days That Blur
The Days That Blur The days don’t disappear. They dissolve. One into the next, without edges, without markers, without anything sharp enough to distinguish morning from afternoon or Tuesday from Thursday. Time doesn’t pass down here — it spreads.
By Elisa Wontorcik8 months ago in Poets
You Played Word Games With My Head
You Played Word Games With My Head You said maybe, but your eyes spelled no I traced the letters, slow to know You spoke in riddles, loops, and lies
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 8 months ago in Poets
Questions into silence.
When you look into my eyes, do you see your reflection? When you stare at a mirror, is it man-made perception? Have you felt sorrow not for yourself?
By Latisha Jean8 months ago in Poets
Joy Cometh
It goes away at night because so many hate joy. It cometh in the morning when you learn to create joy. When life looks a mess you gotta focus on the bright side.
By Joe Patterson8 months ago in Poets
Stolen Seasons
I don’t remember last summer clearly just heat on my shoulders And you saying, “Don’t wear that,” like my body was a public argument.
By Milan Milic8 months ago in Poets
Sieving Grief
A fluttering puddle on concrete We draw closer, the pigeon's eyes roll tucked into its neck trapped alive We gawk, grotesque, strolling past
By Michele Nampalli8 months ago in Poets
Developing Complex PTSD
Bottle up feelings instead of sharing, Be the doormat and obsequios person Your narcissist parents or employer wants you to be.
By Sid Aaron Hirji8 months ago in Poets