Mental Health
I am deeply sad, and honestly, I feel like my fight is dying.
I am deeply sad, and honestly, I feel like my fight is dying. I am depressed by the lack of help from Vocal. I have been trying to sort this Stripe problem for what feels like forever. Stripe say I have used Stripe all along. I have the verified tick. Stripe say there is no problem at their end and that I am verified. So I need Vocal to help me.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 4 months ago in Poets
I Miss the Molecular, Cellular Ions of the Ocean
I Miss the Molecular, Cellular Ions of the Ocean I miss the molecular, Cellular ions of the ocean. I miss living by the water where my hair stays soft instead of dry and kinky, Where the sand slid between my toes And the ocean spray kissed my skin As I waded out to my waist‑deep adventure. I miss the sunlight, the waves, The way the sand held my body’s heat and the salt water Pulled inflammation from my bones. The ocean wasn’t a vacation. It was medicine, the kind that works on the nervous system, The kind that remembers you. The sand embodied my molecules as I walked the shoreline, Each step is a conversation between earth and skin. Now I live in a desert of possibilities, Grateful to be alive, But aware of the difference aware of How my body once breathed in rhythm with the tide. And still, the ocean lives in me. Cellular. Molecular. All the molecular ions of the ocean depth, Breathing life into cellular, molecules of me, Of Human life. I remember with every breath.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
Unquietude
There is a room inside my mind Where all my worries stay, They gather dust from yesterday And borrow from tomorrow’s day. There is a shadow on the wall That grows when lights grow dim, It knows the songs I used to sing And every doubt within. It tells me I am falling short, That I am running late, That every door I knock upon Was never meant to wait. It counts the words I never spoke, The chances I let pass, It holds a mirror to my face And makes the cracks look vast. It whispers, “Stay where you are, The world is far too wide.” And slowly builds a little cage I decorate inside. But somewhere underneath the noise, Beyond the fear and pain, A small and stubborn piece of me Still rises up again. It does not shout. It does not fight. It does not need to prove. It simply takes one step ahead And remembers how to move. So let the voice inside me speak, Let it predict my fall. I have survived its darkest nights— I am still here after all.
By Aarsh Malik4 months ago in Poets
Ledger
It's not my job or my commission to make you feel at ease when you turn the page in my ledger R. A. P. I. D Slow E X p l I cate this then If you can butwheye No handholding or making things eas I E R C O N T R O L (Confined) Exhibit a: confirmed Distract from disaster Distater from scandal Scandal for scandal H E L P [Trapped] 10safety10 Six denotes Pleisure S T A B.u.t. it's not my job to make sure you're okay L A I S Escher Please a M.inutes C.ilence Don't you feel tired like Ytniatrec Is tyred?
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
The Last Round. Content Warning.
It lies in my hand, cold as the unseen hand that clutches my heart. I swing out the cylinder. This is the last round. I raise my glass to the imagined friends, and they cheer. “Enjoy,” I tell them, This is the last round.” The drink burns. I relish the sensation one last time. The fight has been brutal. This is the last round.
By Dana Crandell4 months ago in Poets
