Mental Health

Was It All Just a Dream, My Former Self?
Last night, a flood of memories washed over me, and I found myself missing my old self profoundly. Looking back, I see the path I've walked, the hardships I've endured, the injustices I've suffered, and the tears I've shed. Unknowingly, I've carried so much grievance and unwillingness.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
The Mirror Only Broke When It Seen Your Face
The Mirror Only Broke When It Seen Your Face It sat on the wall like it always had, plain silver frame, a little bit sad corner chipped from a fall last spring
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Tree he killed us with
The Tree he killed us with He didn’t just carve our names on it he buried my broken heart in the severed roots and in the silence I rot
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Silence Wore My Name
I spoke But no one heard My words Fell like shadows In empty rooms Silence Took my name Wrapped it tight In darkness And locked it away I screamed Inside my mind Where echoes Are the only reply People pass by Ignoring the ghost Who walks But never speaks My pain Was invisible Like a wound Beneath skin No tears No cries Just quiet And a heart That shattered In silence
By Hazrat Usman Usmanabout a year ago in Poets
POEM - The Gardeners of Conscience
Beneath the vault where silent stars convene, And seasons turn with purpose, sharp and keen, There lies a plot no earthly deed can claim,
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
Pillars of Salt
I sprinkled cinnamon outside my door, whispered to the frames, "only let in warmth, keep their laughter outside in the cold, where all things mournful
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
The Nights You Don’t Talk About
There are nights you don’t talk about— The ones where sleep feels like betrayal. When silence screams in forgotten tones,
By Umar Aminabout a year ago in Poets
The Window She Never Closed
She sat by the window where silence had a name. Not hers. Not his. But a third one — formed by the space he left. The tea on her table
By Mahmood Afridiabout a year ago in Poets
How You Master the Art of Disappearing . Content Warning.
Step 1: if you manage to do this successfully, you’ll need to move on no further: Headphones, a real banger tune, volume signals “you’re going to blow your ear drums out” notification.
By Emy Braccoabout a year ago in Poets
The Bogie Man Under My Bed
The Bogie Man Under My Bed He don’t rattle chains or howl at the moon he sits in the still, where the dark grows soon his breath smells of soil, old damp and dread
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Viola's Purple Veil. Top Story - August 2025. Content Warning.
This was created by Vicki, me. I am no longer producing a paranormal channel with my friend. It is all about Trusselli Art, music, art, film, and progressive politics. I like to create art reflecting truth, fantasy, metaphors, innuendos and manifestations of art and dreams. I bring my dreams to life through my art. I want to share, be cool, creative, paranormal, and be in a paint bucket of life.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
Consent Form
Content Warning: This poem contains references to sexual assault, medical trauma, and institutional violence. She signed the line they traced across her thigh
By Fatal Serendipityabout a year ago in Poets