Mental Health

She is a Rainbow
She is a rainbow- not the aftermath of a storm, but the bold, defiant bridge born within it. She does not wait for the skies to clear-
By Annie Edwards about a year ago in Poets
Polar
🪶One came to heal not just one, but all One came to steal just one, created a pall 🪶One came to help teach him how to sing an old song
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
"When Our Eyes Meet"
I’m afraid to look into his eyes. Because every time they find mine, It feels like they’re speaking— saying something too heavy for words.
By Ellieabout a year ago in Poets
Therapy.
Grief and love have gone to therapy to talk to my heart, and my heart absorbs every word, every emotion. It is a session that never ends, but my heart hangs on; it never gets tired of the way grief shares the memories of you, or the way love speaks of you as if you created the universe itself.
By April Kirby.about a year ago in Poets
Be Unique
“No matter what people think of you, always keep singing your own song” Every one of us is Unique and Special and that is why
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiffabout a year ago in Poets
It's The Little Things
quietly I sit breathing in breathing out as I listen listen as the rain taps the window rhythmically persistently quietly I sit
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Imagination
You walk as if you had a purpose, and speak as if you had a story to tell. You trust enough to slow down; you eat for taste and not aesthetics;
By Teresa Rentonabout a year ago in Poets
Beautiful Memories
“Joy is found in the smallest things — a kind word, a warm hug, a quiet sunrise, or a shared laugh” These may seem small gestures
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiffabout a year ago in Poets
Our Quality Of Life
“The more you focus on the power of positivity, the better your life will become” Focusing on being Positive will really Improve our Lives.
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiffabout a year ago in Poets
I Wrestled The Devil
My body's skin is just a vessel My beauty dwells somewhere below These scars a prize, I wrestled the devil He bares the scars of all the blows
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a year ago in Poets
Journey
The oracle didn't speak. She just raised one eyebrow and handed me a cracked mirror so I would never see myself clearly.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Faithful Patrons
There is great joy in the faithful. Those who bring down their gifts like thunderous rain Humility is their cloak, their ways are always civil,
By Idara Oghogho about a year ago in Poets