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Sit me down on a couch covered in plush cushions Ask me my name Ask me my age Ask me why im here
Remember how when you were little you would scrape your knee How you would run to mommy crying How she would kiss your “boo-boo,” put a bandaid on it and it would be all better?
I wish you would just hit me But you got inside my bones and split me from the inside. I hate that I’m that girl who writes poetry about a boy to feel human again. But you’re not a boy,
Lost. Scared. I didn't dare. Helped. Hopeful. Light as air. Now. Forward. To somewhere.
*INHALE* I sit in plush chairs and anxiety. The room is filled with inspirational posters and I can smell the last persons cigarette cough. I do not want to be here.
Sweep to the center of the room, My brain, the state I live in, All the junk; collect it in a pile, And sweep it out the front door.
Waiting. Waiting for a sign, Broken, damaged, lost, Crying for help, Screaming into the void, ‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
Our world, separated by darkness and light, Roughly advances, more difficult to fight; People will struggle in order to thrive, Though many just struggle to stay alive;
What did your uncle say? (Or another man-to-man…): When you become a man, You’ll understand life more than a boy can, Don’t live in the past or you’ll get left behind, Life is what you make it, except make it rewind,
How are you doing?I guess I'm okayNo, you're notI'm not okayYou're still aliveI guess I amYou're still in painOf course I am
Lying awake at night, I start to wonder how to make it right My thoughts take me to a place A place I do not want to be A place where cruel faces mock me
It is two am- the limbo between morning and night- and I have to be up in 5 hours max. Can't sleep. All I can think about is time travel 'cause I just watched a movie where they played with time
My oh my, what is this deadly sensation? A sickening feeling, oh how I detest it. Like a chemical reaction, I feel the explosion Of a million thoughts, the mind's at the limit.
“It gets better” A phrase i heard a lot From people who didn’t know what else to say Or who haven’t the experience for advice. A phrase that felt like an excuse
How to thank someone to whom I owe everything? The silent struggle with this new stranger unable to trust my heart crying, “danger”. The silence stretched in a power struggle while I stared at the wall not moving a muscle.
Black Birds As she flicked the rubber against her wrist her eyes linger into nature’s abyss undressing the land with her eyes
I was raised to keep my issues bottled I live with a family where communication is a problem Introverted pacifist, avoiding all confrontation When I try to speak, I stutter, failing all articulation
It’s nice to feel listened to It’s nice to feel you’re heard. And with the art of poetry, My paper hears every word. This art of mine, uses lines To illuminate emotions.
Eyes that fall upon me- Their weight pushing me to the ground Eyes becoming steely hands, now tightening their grip around my neck. Stolen breath, I can't make a sound. I'm here for my appointment; yet, nowhere am I found.
Dear Mother, Hello, I just wanted to say you aren't a mother. I mean a mother couldnt do what you did to me could she? You left me in the streets so you can get high.
"Suicide is not an option" I hear my therapist say, She smiles wryly And I want to scream. "Suicide is a coward's way out" She continues, I do not understand She thinks this is a fact?
Frost invites my fingertips; it beckons my graspEach flake kisses my lids, and paints my lashes to frostMy palms are graced by the snow, a bliss without costI lift my lids, while each step is answered by the snow’s raspEach eye of ebon sueded is
"Counselor" by Zarinah Alarcon I’m that girl that sits up late at night with thoughts constantly running through my head.
Building up fire and ragethe past few daysfelt like a dragon trappedin a too small cagein and out of realityI phasewith an acquired tastefor doing dopetill im damn near comatose
All the noise in my headseems like only a few pills will stop it deadthey`ll kill that shitbut send me right back to the skidswhere your clothes, shoes and skin dont fit
Old soul Young bones Turmoil and pure insanity- This time last year I was really feeling the shit hit the fan, man And I mean, really
"And how would you describe the pain?",she asked me Her kind voice holding an edge of caution Like she was afraid of me Like somehow my mental pain is something contagious A disease you can catch
january, noah's funeral. february, this shouldn't have happened. march, it's all my fault. april, i should have talked to him more. may, take a deep breath. june, i miss him.
A blade seems friendly It is anything but A manipulating tool And in my head it now haunts. It once kicked away the Numbness That stalked my daily life And locked away Anxiety
This is a poem for the unbeliever The unbeliever’s name is me. // You are broken. Broken heart, broken faith, broken head. It’s okay to be broken. You are a keeper of trauma.
Why is it that the more recovered I think I am, The happier I seem, The more I smile, The more open I am... Why is it that, inside, things might just be getting worse? It's a trick,
It was what nobody suspect, And denial begins, Because how could a girl like me Who has everything Fall into this pit of darkness? Is it really my fault That I may be depressed?
Image: Les bons et les mauvais jours by Magnetic
I give my love my everything: The nooks and crannies of my soul. His mask then fell, unveiled a liar, Spilled every secret: none untold. Friends come, they go, all while they know
Dear Self, When you were 6 You yelled and yelled and your heart felt sad and confused because that boy embarresed you at school So Self, when you were 10 you hit a wall
I am a tsunami. The water waxes and wanes at my will, Captivating and crucifying the shoreline. You are a wildfire. Endowed with incalculable miles, Extinguished by the hands of others.
Way back Way way back In the darkest of times In the dark In the night Of my mind In the screams In the terror I found a pen And paper Wrote down my feelings About
Just like drugs and alcohol You pulled me in with a promise to feel better. You brought me into a world of feelings Made me addicted I'm so hooked it's become mylife. I do it in the world
It is you with whom I speak, when the pen becomes my voice.When the cell bars of this prison-like mind slide open,you are the haven I seek under the full moon at 3 a.m.
In what I've learned as a human, Although it's nothing at all, We all need a therapist who will let us drain it all. I want to be a therapist, only that who works with arts.
We are just kids who can't stop the voices of our demons. Too tired from trying to keep ourselves sane, we are out on the edge not caring if we fall, we are heroes
To get and grasp separation of paths is difficult sometimes how do I accept chaotic intersections that are not mine? So emotions keep fumbling over, but the top's still on
Day zero: You are in a warm bathtub, and you are drunk. Your girlfriend just broke up with you. You are texting your friends that you are worthless, That you are tired,
I’m happy my counselor is an incompetent piece of shit because it means she doesn’t, ask the real questions, tiptoes over my glass shards and scars hoping not the strum the wrong cord. It’s been a months and we still refer to my eating disorder
Depression is staring up at the ceiling
My life if full of awe Never would I think to withdrawl.
Sandy feet, light brown ocean, and a vast open sky. My week before this was stressful, burdensome and I thought I was going to die. It was hour after hour of work. It was draining; tearing at my soul.
One-on-one, or two?,
Intimacy not pornography,
when people ask me who I am, i always give tHem the correct answer. the filtered Answer: ~i am ambiTious "i work hard to bE a leader" ~i am honesT "no lies from tHis gal."
I'm Seventeen. I talked to my counselor today. The school won’t let me back to class without a note from a therapist;
Smile. Smile because you're loved, you're fortunate, you've got no reason to be sad. Smile because everyone around you passes by without a second glance, a second thought, a second word.
The truest pain is the one you don't initially feel Question, what happened? and was it even real?
My soul bleeds onto the paper with each word released from the pen in my hand. In a dark room. An empty room. Only me and the voice inside my head—or is it the voice inside my heart?
Let the asystole Voice the matter at hand The mind of she who wishes To broadcast her innermost thoughts Her suppressed desires Goals, methods, plans But fear the shatter
I cry from time to time I don't let myself have these feelings until I'm alone
A life full of regret is the wrong attitude The remorse, the emptiness, the solitude. Dont crater, don't break You are made to bend Just continue to smile, my love to you I send
Have you ever reached out to touch the heaven in her bones Have you ever reached out and brushed the hell that well all know Her mind bleeds power and I intend to know it
The therapy didn't put things in perspective and the pills don't make me happy The pain still hurts and the tears still come I'm broken inside and I can't find all the pieces
Hey. It's me again. Twiddling thumbs in your office. I think, it's clear again, I cannot shake off all of this. I recognize this bag of flesh, It's even been given a name.
We enter this world ready to learn and grow, Each of us vulnerable to information we do not yet know. While some are blessed with strong bonds and foundations from the start,
clickclickclickclick goes the key board as i sip my morning tea. Spiling, gushing ,spewng my deepest trauma and heatache. My therapy, your guilty pleasure. The best job, if you ask me, is that of a writer.
Patient #: Mr./Mrs. Wants-To-Recover ID #: 02012544...No longer wishes to suffer Diagnosis: Part of me torn asunder due to one silly little blunder Physical Therapist: Nathan D. Optimist
Marriage and Family Therapists
I once was A girl caged in lonliness; living nightmare The devil on my back Crawled in my head
Seeing things in different ways, is giving life a perspective. You don't have to be blind, if you can't see them.. Maybe you just couldn't find the right perspective? Questions last forever, but lying by answering doesn't...
To hear, if only I could hear. To hear those words so soft and fruitful. To hears suchwords when I am youthful. Time goes by and so does this rhyme, but riddle me this,
I’m not good enough Comparing myself to others always Look at the negative side Thoughts run through my mind as I walked through the hallways I’m not good enough Everyone is smarter, more talented, and cool
I push myself beyond all limits, laugh doubters in the face, nothing and no one can keep me from reaching,touching, breathing you. My oath is to pursue you everyday and never tire of being by your side.
If I may only have my hands for companions And must live my days On a bed in the darkest hole Then let me have a pen Let my eyes grow weary from squinting Let my fingers cramp
i inhale. knots. there are knots in my Chest. tension runs through my veins, snApping at each curve. my bones, oh, how They scream so loudly! i will quiver. seizing limbs,
Alone in a room a broken girl lays. Eyes once so brown now have gone grey. In the flesh of her arm is a quote scarred in ink. It reads, "Don't follow others if they contrast your beliefs."
I used to be sad. I used to feel depressed. I used to think that my life was so much worse than the rest. OCD and anxiety had control of me. The frustration was overwhelming, it was taking over my body.
I could lie down on a small black couch to fill the air with all my petty cares. Or keep it bottled up inside and let smolder, until my face is lined, grey, and older. Instead I use a pen, blank paper
I write because I'm inspired by my real life's story. Because from my point of veiw it makes 'regular' seem less boring. Ans at the tip of my pencil's point, trust me theres no graphite.
Art, mind, body, soul. All are connected. Poetry, theatre, dance, sing. All are therapy. With therapy we join. With therapy we live.
I am a writer. A passion within, Emotional release starts with paper and a pen. My heart starts to flutter, My knees are weak, Just at the sight of a blank sheet. How a spirit can feel
What would I do Without my pen Where would I turn? When life comes at me tumultuously And makes my stomach churn
I refuse to inflict pain, But I simply want to feel. I want the hurt to end, But the pain comes back again. There are healthy ways to deal, I know. But the temptation is so strong.