Mental Health

Steel and Saturdays
Here is a poem I wrote for mother's day. __________________________________ By day, she signed papers in a crisp blouse and quiet heels,
By ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTYabout a year ago in Poets
The Self-Critic
My work here is done! only lasts for a mo, as the mind starts to groan under weights of its own How could anyone read such a nonsense as mine;
By Simon Aylwardabout a year ago in Poets
Memories Last till Death!
Memories—a tiny word, yet it makes us cry, They hold tales, both low and high. But whenever they come, they bring regret,
By The Mysterious Duoabout a year ago in Poets
The World!
Whatever I desired was always far, This cruel world snatched all I loved so far. Lost in her dreams, she found her way, Promised to stay, yet walked away.
By The Mysterious Duoabout a year ago in Poets
The room without windows
There’s a room where the silence is heavier than sound, Where the clock ticks slow but never seems to count. Light knocks, but the curtains never draw—
By Im lil jim bobabout a year ago in Poets
Darkened Grief.
No one ever truly heals from grief. It’s a forever thing. We might go on smiling, laughing, and enjoying the sun on our skin, but inside, there’s a darkness that even the brightest light can’t reach. Grief is a constant—like a dark cloud swirling inside us, always waiting to strike. It’s like lightning, or a snake hidden in the bushes—silent, patient. Grief waits for the perfect moment to knock us off our feet.
By April Kirby.about a year ago in Poets
The Strength Behind the Silence
If I told you I was hurting, Would you turn your face away? Or would you sit beside my silence And let your presence stay?
By Nihal Khanabout a year ago in Poets
Embrace Life, Let Go.
There is a way of life called "take things as they come"; there is a way of life called "go with the flow"; there is an emotion called "cherish every moment"; for life, nothing is insurmountable, so don't always be hard on yourself.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Ink Beneath the Skin
I found the book by accident, a thrift store corner, dust and quiet, wedged between a haunted novel and casseroles from 1983.
By Nihal Khanabout a year ago in Poets
"The Eyes That See"
I sit at my desk, lost in thought, eyes blurred with quiet tears. Why is it that I can see the pain in others— no matter who they are?
By Ellieabout a year ago in Poets
Seren
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seren means "star" in Welsh. ... A curled shell of thought Unfurling with the weight of things Ghosts in my head
By Elle Schillereffabout a year ago in Poets
Don’t Be Sad
Don’t be sad, the sky still turns, The stars still shine, the fire still burns. Even on days the light feels small, The sun remembers, after all.
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Poets