Best Mental Health Poems
Life is not as sweet as a bowl of golden glace cherries,
nor is there a golden illuminated future for a fruitless mind.
Trembling hands and gritted teeth disguise my disorderly brain,
feeling lost in the mist,
surrounded by drowned out voices.
Deceptive chanting charms plant everyday confusion,
with stalking emotions running through my mind's corridors,
carrying a voice that gives birth to eerie echoing funnels,
pumping frustrating thoughts deep into the depths of phobias.
My demeanour hides behind a canvass of mysteries.
a pure transfiguration, where compulsive obsession
takes possession of stalking my vulnerable affections.
There's too much repetition in the fluidity of periods and seasons,
as I lose this battle to control my will's strength of life.
I constantly wonder if the only place of victory,
to find peace,
is to slay silent intoxicating depths,
which desire to explore me.
But in reality despise me with conflicting contradictions unable
to stop my puzzled conscious suffocating from over analysing,
enslaving excessive dwellings from every aspect of my existence.
Life is not a jigsaw,
I do not have the energy to find every piece.
My soul's fine heaven is rimming with untold tales of nature,
but misjudged precious intentions result in distracted actions.
An angst which has no remedy as all scars remains unseen.
But my Fears are made into gems,
when alone with my nemesis,
an unwanted life long partner
feeding upon deranged dilemmas,
which keep my mind,
spiralling in circles of uncertainties.
My mind is a puzzle of cryptic metaphors.
whilst searching for my sanity,
I've become my own worst enemy.
In this cauldron of despair,
time is like sand in my hand -
an oxymoron poetic
paradox of cruel compassion.
Sadistic green eyes bring my demise,
as my sighs are captured by the wind,
slowly morphed into madness and travesty.
I sit alone on the throne of midnight illusions,
cursed by dark imaginations
lingering like mouldy air,
as vivid flashing images
engrave inkstained imprints.
Dripping lament from a
palette of black and white,
colouring in the emptiness of my sensitive soul.
In echoing whispers of weeping violins,
whimsical vibratos from wooden wind-chimes,
steadily orchestrate instrumental sonatas,
ringing through my strained metallic heart,
whilst I try to strum strangled strings,
harmonizing an inconsistent symphony of a tragedy.
Fate has me stranded within a monotonous loop of uncertainties,
for when twilight’s last breath piercingly eclipsed over
lyrical edges of my insomniac shadow,
it awoke restless beasts of nocturnal nights -
in nightmares I wondered does no one hear my screams?
i can see dazzling dusts of black diamonds,
drizzle manuscripts of maniac irony
translating dialects hidden behind unshed tears
that gleam like shooting stars,
as i sing mystical moonbeams,
sewn with silver sequins of euphonious memories on refrain,
chorused from nameless tunes of timeless tomorrows,
as the magic of the maestro,
residing in the highest bridge of sanguine skies,
guides these electric fears, trapped between
synchronized layers of my unsettled skin.
I'm tired from intangible tears in the mirror,
slowly sinking me in swirls of sorrow,
like a bruised creature
seeking shelter in a silk cocoon,
so this aurora's smile is no longer a masquerade.
I hunger for rays of sunlight to paint my skin
in a plethora of pastels,
so this golden bronze queen,
can once again glitter
in a crown of illuminating heartbeats.
nothing spoils this surface view ~ see me
crave attention, gift empty touch
tonal mask veils flaws and vices
face alter ego and kneel
to feed the shallow shadow that circles
~ around gossamer tears of the grieving moon,
as silenced streaks of tongue-twisted lines,
undress a puddle of poisoned stars
pull force imperceptible, attraction
lost in blissful contemplation
comatose until that last equation
gravitational persuasion creating longing
but will the lake that flows with fears
thaw words tangled in golden chains?
for I’ve drowned in liquified lies,
drawing perfection from imperfect reflections
delve to the depths of my spun world
peripheral interference dissipates in darkness
only requirement is carved version of self
that steadies my hand and drags me in
sinking beneath Narcissus's polluted undertow
tainted oxygen leaves my expanding lungs
hitting jagged rocks, spoiled skin shreds,
exposing a forgotten empath ~ salvation rises
My mental health is complicated
Now euphoric, next sedated
Nightmares daily duplicated
All my friends are alienated
Happy times? They're confiscated
Mental health is complicated
My mental health is temperamental
One day strong, the next I tremble
Demon thoughts in turn assemble
Scars you see? Not accidental!
Happy/sad so incidental
Mental health is temperamental
My mental health is so unstable
Able battles with Unable
Joy is nothing but a fable
Traumas each a different label
Hide then dance up on the table
Mental health is so unstable
My mental health is oscillating
Praising now, then deprecating
Morbid days turn scintillating
Love now, hate now: aggravating
Soothing words are non-placating
Mental health is oscillating
My mental health is so confusing
Flattering and then accusing
Comforting when not abusing
All my sanity consuming
"End it now" my life pursuing
Mental health is so confusing
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
Fight or flight mode always on
Can't explain to anyone
what is going on in life
Internal/External strife
"Take a breath; you'll be alright"
Set a match to dynamite
World without is going mad
World within is getting sad
Cortisol spikes all the time
Rarely am I doing fine
"Wake up! Someone's calling you!"
"Look around! There's much to do!"
Balance work and what's at home
You're fenced in, not free roam
Danger's waiting; don't go far
Bombs disfigure, leave a scar
"Caregiver" your major role
Try to keep it in control
Energy is on the wane
Losing marbles, can't stay sane
On decline is mental health
Send out feelers on the stealth
Do they know I'm on the edge?
Can't hold on to "live life" pledge
Eulogies their time to speak
During life, played hide and seek
No one came to find me here
Though they knew my life was drear
Fight or flight mode, cortisal
Will make sure I take the fall
When I'm laid there in the ground
Please, say silent! Not a sound!
Don't be sad; no, do not cry!
Don't you try to fathom why!
All is well; I am at peace
The fires in my life now cease
I'll enjoy a nice long sleep
Eyes all dry, for I'll not weep
Hope I'll hear that trumpet blast
Rise up and reach home at last
There in heaven all is well
Thankfully, I've skipped on hell
Here is only harmony
Fight or flight is history!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
OCTOBER 19, 2024
Beirut, Lebanon
I emerged / born with a silver pen in hand
…and a tempest raging within.
Words writhe, a serpent's coil
…tightening their grip
A soul adrift in a sea of
…self-made iniquity.
I buried my daddy
…in the black shoe
…by the Yew tree
Yes, I, the beekeeper’s daughter
…bearing the weight of hexagonal cells
A hive of memories
…buzzing with secrets.
The bell jar shattered
….a fractured hive.
Its glass walls no longer a prison
…but a shattered cocoon
……a metamorphous!
Pain and disdain drip like honey
…a bittersweet nectar of survival.
He, a poet
…crowned in the harsh light of fame
Bound in chains of duty and shame
His words
…a romance of lure and alarm.
Echoing the sirens' song
…enticing and harmful.
Yet, his tongue
…a viper’s forked lie.
Whispers truths and half-truths
…conjuring illusions to die.
Wandering the maze of being
A little fugue of
…fractured fairytales.
Each note a fleeting glimpse of clarity
Lost in the discordant
…cacophony of life's emptiness.
Like my "Little Fugue" a dance of shadows
A journey through the corridors of the mind
Seeking answers in the interplay of light and dark
Striving for harmony amidst the chaos
Parchment of blood and ink I leave
A riddle of life and death's plea
Maniacal madness with visions slight
A macabre dance upon the night.
Ariel, brings lightning and fire!
With heavy heart
…I sealed my children's room.
Softly kissed them farewell
……Extinguishing the final flame within.
Enveloped in oblivion's velvet veil
………Yielding to the oven’s cold caress.
…………No, more morning songs...
Inscribed a cryptic goodbye
Breathed in the silent slayer.
For, I Lady Lazarus
…Dying is an art
……Faded into the ether…
Her blacks crackle and drag, a fire of new birth
Flames licking at the borders of life
Consumed by oblivion's greedy blaze
Lost in the vast cosmic ray.
The embers die
…a fleeting spark gone
No masterpiece
…….just dust reclaimed
A silent echo in the void unstained.
A mystery lost
………never quite explained.
Yet, God's Lioness
...Fierce and Untamed
Roaring her defiance
…Covered in darkness…
----
Underneath the star-strewn skies
A fleeting passing note.
Lost in the vast expanse
Living on the edge
For, I am but a speck of dust.
I leave the sun-dappled autumn sidewalk, entering the office
The empty chair there lingers.
dark tendrils coiling in my mind—
my blind rage pleading for quiet healing.
flashbacks clash like striking thunder
opening buried treasures of truth.
and in that final brand searing cry
My heart reborn, mindlessly adrift in spectral mist.
I gladly depart as sleet glazes, streets so slick…..
Someone near and dear to me
Has a child with Downs Syndrome,
Who, more often than not
Is beyond difficult to control.
The little boy is six years old
But acts as if he’s two,
He can’t speak at all, just yells a lot
Throwing wild tantrums until he’s blue.
He likes throwing things around
As if everything’s a toy,
And has difficulty distinguishing
Between bad behavior and pure, ecstatic joy.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
always picking up after the boy).
His fingers are his eyes at times
As textures are his friends,
If he doesn’t like the way it feels
He won’t go there again.
And he likes to lay down on the ground
Balling up like a boulder,
Until someone comes to pick him up
While he gives them his cold shoulder.
It’s difficult to fully describe
All the nuances of this child,
The range of his emotions
From anger and sadness to his beautiful, blissful smile.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
walking many lonely miles).
They wonder about his future
And those around him always near,
And wonder how much happiness
Will follow him through the years.
Will he learn to play an instrument
Or dance and sing a song,
Is it possible he will marry someday
Will true love come along?
Will he find friends who will love him
And treat him sweet and kind,
Or only those who will shun him
And close him off like blinds.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
And losing her own mind.
His mother is a nervous wreck
And loves him
All the time).
© Terrell Martin, 02/26/2025
We Are All the Same
Listen to the reeds as they sway apart;
Hear them speak of lost friends.
At birth, you were cut from your bed,
Crying and grasping in separation.
Everyone listens, knowing your song.
You yearn for others who know your name,
And the words to your lament.
We are all the same, all the same,
Longing to find our way back;
Back to the one, back to the only one.
Rumi
When songs are sung in tandem
Ambience of speech is smooth
Devoted eyes dote your voice
Obsessed puppy love
When words echo tender tones
Glowing like sapphire gemstones
Not veiled behind metaphors
Tranquil tongue sounds calm
As triggers summon demons
Vivid verses turn vicious
Rage screams like a million crows
Heart shudders with fear
Soul struggles to beat and breathe
Pain feels like paper in rain
Silence is your only guide
Lonely sepulchre
Eruptions begin to ease
An anthem of angels chant
Rainbows colour fading greys
Lovebirds serenade
Line of enquiry:
“God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste”
When ego controls a soul's mortal direction,
some remain asleep without a spiritual connection.
I count my blessings upon dawn's resurrection,
as an orchestra of robins compose with affection.
But curse of Seasonal Affective Disorder infliction
leaves a heart feeling melancholic in rejection.
Pills can take time to ease hormonal dejection,
so a tongue is mute when mirrors show dull reflection.
Some turn to the universe in times of retrospection.
Some prostrate in faith through silent genuflection
Some seek nature or vitamins to aid meditation.
Some clear angst through powers of intellection.
There's a sacred solace in morning contemplation,
soothed through the aroma of dark elixir elation.
Intense notes with sweet tones to relax abjection.
Each sip of potion is a symphony of perfection.
A clay chalice acting as a vessel for protection,
holding liquid nectar of your desired selection.
Awakening senses to transmute a mind's complexion,
igniting your spirit with wings of phoenix projection.
Toxic thoughts plagued from internal interjection,
now flow in smooth positive harmonic introspection.
In a brief existence a heart struggles from imperfection.
Brewed philosophies are a bridge to divine intervention.
Lost -
Through an Eagle's eye
Over Fields of plenty
Where rivers and creeks
Never run dry
But I can't feel it
Mountains rising up
Touching the pink, blue,
And rustic orange skies.
I just don't know why
… I just can't feel it
I am a lost page within the novel
No one knows my inner battles
Entering another day
Of constant trials and prattles
Lost –
Through the ears
Of a Great Horned Owl
Where life's creation falls silent
Scurrying about
But I can't feel it
Forests of trees where an
Acappella choir resounds
Magically starting the day
Reverberating all around.
I just can't feel it
And the sea sprites dance
To a rhythm of time
Reaching out to my soul
Touching my heart
Seeking to free and unbind…
I cry, for I can't feel it
No, I just can't feel it
For morning becomes noon
Noon becomes day
For everything has its place
With a time to work
And a time to play
I give up, for I can't feel it
I will never feel it
I look to the four corners
Seeking answers,
But the wind is motionless
And the world, unfeeling
For such are the plans
I never made
So I turn the page….
Belief is the nemesis of uncertainty,
in times of torment we keep faith
in God's gift of blessings bestowed upon us.
In a world without morals
Children of summer seek refuge
in colder climates; leaving behind
loved ones in the care of the almighty.
In days of Devilish darkness,
sad stars hibernate like somber souls.
Upon the return of solitude,
whilst shaping strings of silence,
a troubled tongue becomes a soundless voice.
Reminiscing unredeemed memories,
heartbeats echo gently at nightfall,
as a black blanket covers indigo horizons.
Shrouded shadows in manipulative mirrors,
shield the sensitivity of sincere speech.
Without words, embodied emotions,
integrate into invisible inflictions.
Perpetual pain from a poisonous past,
repeats in an unrhymed repetitive rhythm,
as fragile fingers trigger hidden trauma.
There are secrets in suppression,
with so much lost in a suicide of expression.
Spiteful spirits reappear, reflecting like
neoteric neon drops on midnight shores,
washing away forlorn forgotten footsteps.
Trials of time leave behind trails of truth,
as facts of fate fail in this false fairground.
Reflections of regret resonate a reality,
where the world is working on its own worries.
In hollow nothingness, no one offers holy hope -
only silence remains.
As snow covers frozen shores,
hearts look to horizons of higher powers.
Hope for a prospect of principles
from our creator, creates
realms of reverie offering refuge.
Lost in a moonlight dream world,
dormancy evokes pale hued horizons.
A serene scene of saffron, scarlet shades,
glowing gloriously in a devotional dawn.
After an advent of adversity,
ascending in adornment of appreciation -
born again blooms blossom to butterfly breaths.
"When pain, rage and screams buried in the asylum of your heart start to poison your heart slowly and surreptitiously, you become a living ghost." - Anne Winter
Last night I had a dream,
I was a ghost in an asylum,
So many unheard screams,
Intelligence turned into something dumb and numb.
I looked at me,
Her hair frizzy and frazzled,
The ghost looked back at me,
My hair, soft like silk and dazzled.
My eyes, brimming full of life,
Her hollowness of face,
Her eyes dry like a dull knife,
Just like my hollow heart days.
“What did you do”she screamed,
Glass shattered and clattered at my feet,
Her crumpled ghastly face, tears gleamed,
My lips sealed, my heart scared to beat.
Should I tell her it's not her fault,
But my throat is closed and tight,
“It is”said the tears soaked in salt,
My eyes shrilled “Look for the light”.
She was about to throw glass shards at me,
I woke up before she could do it,
I apologise I couldn't set her free,
My room and bones, dimly lit.
Taste of my tears opened my eyes,
Self neglected, broken one always dies,
Fair or unfair,
It was just a nightmare.
I couldn't understand her, I'm not that deep,
Maybe Sylvia could understand the girl in my sleep,
All I could do was weep,
I couldn't fill the gaps so steep.
The ghost left me howling
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry”,
My heart sinking and drowning,
Her eyes, dull and starry.
My existence seems like a timeless tragedy,
ticking away in the harmony of misophonia and me.
I've been reluctantly raised in the arms of trauma,
hiding from the darkness looking over my shoulder.
I place a metaphorical knife under my pillow,
as I fear the biggest bully in my mind's playground.
Sound is like a sadistic samurai slashing at my sanity,
as innocent echoes become the euphonious chant of despondency.
An eldritch echo of anguish triggering anxiety,
a constant conflict between the shadows and the soul,
narrating a sorrowful story in each tear I shed,
but I'm shouting into the void of ignorance,
no one understands why I've bled.
Each breath is like a riddle,
each munch and crunch tasting like monotonous moments of meaningless screeching,
erupting into an earthquake of emotions.
Nobody understands the chaos from within,
thinking I'm a little bit crazy.
I search for a sanctuary where peace meets me at sunrise,
where screams of a sonorous mind are not shattered in fragments of estrangement,
portrayed through the plentiful imagery of pain.
I yearn to live a life mocking butterflies,
to flutter in the flakes of eternal slumber.
begging to lose the blessings of perception,
as all I hear is evil voices chattering from within.
Silence is a poison I'm willing to take,
yet I'm cursed by misophonian lullabies.
I wish to remain isolated within mental muteness,
as I know you will live forever in me.