Mental Poems - Poems about Mental

From ashes and scars, she rises high, A heart once broken, now touches the sky. Each pain a lesson, each tear a flame, Fuel to the fire, igniting her name. A mask she wears, but her eyes reveal, The storm within that’s learning to heal. Bravery blooms where fear once lied, Now wings of a phoenix, she spreads open wide. Alone but fierce,...

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There’s something good about having this brain. I like having a stain. Sunday closes a lot of things. As if businesses have wings. There’s no such thing as a twenty dollar bill. There’s no chatter on that window sill. Laughing is all I wish to do. You can’t shatter all my glue. They gave me...

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Like a can of pop overflowing, Pent up emotions in me overtaking, Old feelings saturating the newest feeling, Afraid of when the table will start turning. Like the cola soda covering A table in which I am patiently waiting, I am as usual finding my feelings confusing, This metaphor is staining my well-being. Like the cold hard thin metal lining, I am lost again...

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Unsure just which of these deep desires of mine is stronger: My desire to belong to someone who's wonderfully mature Or my desire to entertain many like a wildfire....

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This entropy, it's endless. I'm captive in your void of sleep. My eyes are strung open, My hands clung to you But I'm drifting off, I'm drifting far away, Away from here, and as hard as I grasp onto you, I know I won't be back. Every time it happens. I can't think straight, I am so far off, And if I can't be me, I can't...

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A fixture of grief, anchored where memory splits. The quest unfolds in fog— no path, just pulses of unease mimicking direction. Every thought incurs penalty. Fear taxes breath. Dread rewrites the map before the journey begins. An unseen impact knocks the axis off center— consciousness spirals, fractured, repeating. Focus becomes a casualty. There are voices, but they speak only in sanctions. No comment. No deviation. No witness. Even breath becomes strategic— withheld, rationed, used to mask...

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#Fallen_out_of_love Yes it's true, I have left the station where our hearts first met, that garden our heart used to shower it's flowers with love, has now turned to a desert,its flowers blossoms nomore. You said I was your forever and I told my heart and soul that I was now and official citizen in your our...

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ChatGPT You said: What type of writing is false ad False Advertising No judgment... My truth… Makeup is to enhance, not to mask or even obliterate the existing canvas… Padded bras and body shapers are body makeup… Plastic surgery is inside out false advertising… Masks represent unease to shame… I know… I used to represent and resemble masks… Comfortable with and...

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Race Track Thinking I didn't choose an ADHD brain. At times a random whispered thought, barely connected, pops in uninvited, insistent to be acknowledged and immediately included in my conversation… Most of the time it's a detour, with minimal disruption. Thoughts drift, barely nudges the adjacent car, and our cars wobble… we stay on course…...

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I. The Hour of Approach The poem I was writing refused to end— it kept writing me. Blood didn't ink these lines— the ink bled me. Each stanza a hidden-hematoma across the white of nothingness. Somewhere, midnight faltered, and I was no longer alone. II. Visitation: Sylvia Plath Sivvy came barefoot, bees orbiting...

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Good Enough Cry Ugly’s shame lost its power. I took back my power… no longer relying on external validation of my worth… Unflinching reflection revealed that cry ugly's self-imposed shame was bone deep regret… I am the only one responsible for buying into the malicious judgment of a few, that I wasn't good enough… Judged by their bias, without...

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Origins Of Over Nurturing My need to protect others began during my turbulent adolescence. It started out as the need to protect others from me. This morphed into over nurturing everyone around me. Sometimes I felt like there were two of me residing together… similar to The Cherokee parable of The Two Wolves… vying for...

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He loved me before I broke. Back when he could hold me and my shattered pieces would remain whole, instead of slipping through his fingers like weightless sand. He loved me. But his hands were the orifice of the hourglass, and when the last grain of my sanity fell to his feet, he knew— our time was up. ...

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Before the light could find my frame, A breath of blue became the air. I waited—not for hope or name— But for a silence I could bear. The self withdrew, then disappeared, No shelter left for soul to keep. All colors fell, as time grew smeared; Just blue remained—too vast, too deep. What burned was not a mortal flame, But thought encased in frost...

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For me life is suppose to be a fight between you and yourself. A fight to the death, were you’re supposed to push for success. Only after when you came face to face with your greatest enemy, Which in this case, the greatest enemy of yourself is yourself. Sky is the limit only applies to those who are ready...

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