Mental Health

>Because.You.Are. Traumatized.<
Neuroanthropological Traumas. In need of positive reassimilations, More than standard treatments. More than standard diagnosis. More than standard medications.
By ROMEOabout a year ago in Poets
The Skin Remembers
I was not born into softness. I grew up learning to hide pain in laughter, to turn "I’m fine" into a survival skill. No bedtime stories.
By Z'rox Nøørabout a year ago in Poets
Lotus Pond
A serene pond of lotus— I sit near, gaze, and immerse, I feel a plunge in my stress. Note: Nature is the greatest healer. It is full of amazing spectacles. We just need to mindfully observe them.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
Fame-Shame-Blame game
They want to bask in fame, and sweep away the shame, so, they indulge in blame game. Note: Humans are emotional and mortal beings. We want to leave a legacy before vanishing—so we seek fame. We fear shame and suppress it by any means necessary. To escape shame, some won’t hesitate to dive in resort to blame game. They will make others scapegoats and play the victim to protect their image.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
It Came Back
It came back. This time as a tide; a slow rise of cold water snuffing out each flame I held close. Each ember dripping with doubt and diffidence.
By Molly Finchabout a year ago in Poets
Radio Free Kleptocracy
I got ghosts in my blood And demons in my bones People think the worm in my brain makes me insane But I say vaccines are to blame
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
-For You-
Too yourself. Desperately, Fiercely. Exploit these tense words. You have heard, moving along. Haven’t you? Desperately, Fiercely, Invite Changes.
By ROMEOabout a year ago in Poets
I Said NO
I Said NO Hello, emergency service, which do you require police ambulance or fire? I couldn’t answer, he’s raped me I said.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Green Skies
What will you do then? When the sky turns green and the wind starts howlin' 'cause a storm's rollin' in? - And what will you do
By Sara Wynnabout a year ago in Poets
where the hell is your sense of self?
your confident and easy mind? you’re so crippled by your carelessness, sat benignly in the bylines. does your effort have to be maximum, ‘most’,
By Ameliaabout a year ago in Poets
To Suffer Does Not Art
We both know, don't we, we've been told and shared, considered and debated, but came to the same conclusion, that sometimes it's impossible
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
I Am Not A Thing
So you cut me and I screamed. You blamed me for the bleeding. You judged me for the screaming. Call me crazy. Your hands are bloody.
By Sara Wynnabout a year ago in Poets