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Em Quinn Jan 2018
sometimes,
i smile at the mirror,
to remind myself that i can.
because i've forgotten what it feels like.

sometimes,
i spend hours repeating the same phrase in my head,
just to make sure it sounds right.
"hi... could i please have the-"
it never does.

sometimes,
i stare at the crimson lines on my wrists,
and try to convince myself that they're beautiful.
no one else thinks that though,
so why should i?

sometimes,
i check my pulse,
because i need to know that life is temporary.
i need to know that one day it'll be over.

sometimes,
i stare at my reflection,
but i don't recognize the girl looking back at me.
why is she so broken?
she follows me like a ghost.

sometimes,
the time passes so slow,
that a minute feels like a day,
and i wonder if it'll ever end.
will it ever end?

sometimes,
i wake up with tear stains on my pillow,
blood soaked sheets.
i don't remember though.
regret is not an easy feeling to deal with.

sometimes,
i watch mouths move in front of me,
but the screams in my head take up too much space.
so i hear nothing.
"can you repeat that please?"
"sorry."

sometimes,
my hands are raw and tired, scratched away to nothingness.
"how'd you get that burn?'
all i can say is that it was an accident.
was it?

sometimes...
sometimes a lot of things.
sometimes i wish i wasn't here.
sometimes my body doesn't feel like mine.
sometimes i want to cut the pain out of my body.
is that possible?
sometimes.
hi so I haven't been on here in quite a while and i just rediscovered it so here i am once again! this is about my struggles with mental health, and it means a lot to me to be honest. i still struggle every day, but i'm trying my best and i think that's what matters.
Garrett Burger Jan 2018
I sailed to the ocean today
Across the landscapes
Of many
Amongst the roughest
Of rocks
Sailed through life
And the valley
Only to find an empty ship
To top

I sailed with no sail
I sang with no voice
The holes in this ship
Did not matter
Because it doesn't leave shore

Alone in the gardens
I rowed in dirt ruts

The sun dried up the fantasy
Arriving in the solitude
That I hadn't left

I'll use the pieces of this ship
To build a new one
One without holes
One that doesn't need a fantasy to be reality
But reality to be the fantasy
Holland Jan 2018
Silly string.
Overly colorful crazy silly string.
It clings to everything.
Hair, clothes, carpet.
And my mind.

Messy thoughts.
Cloaked in vibrant worms.
Endless reminders .
High definition bookmarks
3D in your face announcements

Desperate words
Hands grip limbs
Teeth nip  flesh
Cold water on skin
But nothing hinders them.


It causes
Seconds of concentration,
Minutes of begging,
hours of pure white pain,
And years of endless regret

How the **** can I get that **** out of this fabric.
it's a poem about a compulsive disorder causing intrusive thoughts
Lydia Jan 2018
I found my boots where I discarded them five hours ago when I left for work
I shouldn't have been surprised- I knew I had put them there
I just usually don't

My boss was still around when I got there
He put me on an hour earlier for Fridays, so I suppose I'll see him every once in awhile now
When it's just a little too early for him to go home

I hate leaving for seven am in the dark with my hair wet
Distant shuffling noises, echoed ghosts of late last night
Shadows I can't understand
Only cut through by kind people who make breakfast when I can't pull myself together

Our habitat is warm- it surrounds me like a rainforest exhibit in a museum
Somehow not unfamiliar, or exotic,
Exactly like you expected,
Exactly like the pictures

I fell asleep at noon when I got home
Late nights to early mornings to interviews for a real job
Late nights to early mornings to nursing classes
So it goes

I don't remember when my socks came off
When I crawled into bed
When I woke up half alive
I wouldn't have remembered to leave for work at all if I hadn't set an alarm late last night when I got home

"I can't believe I'm doing this."
No time at home, just notes and then more notes and then
Sleep, I guess
Sleep and work and sleep at work as long as I'm on break
Not breaking focus, eyes on some sort of goal I can't quite see yet
But it's there, I know it's there, I've heard it, like a rumor spread so many **** times you can't help but believe it like the most obvious fact
So I'm here, straight as an arrow
Shorts on, notebook out, letting my tea seep into my spirit and fill in all the cracks before I start over
First of all, can anyone guess my current (part time, think high school/college student) job? Tomorrow I submit my application for a nursing assistant program. I have had OCD since I was ten, causing me to fear contamination more than anything. It is also an extra month of trying to save money from work and balanxe classes at the same time. So I'm laying here in bed and could finally finish this poem with the added inspiration, "I can't believe I'm doing this." Please comment! :)
little lion Jan 2018
i am not the kind of sick
that leaves the body flushed
at 104 degrees
in the middle of the winter.

                                                               ­                  i am not the kind of sick
                                                            ­                         that causes every breath
                                                          ­          to force
                                                           ­         its way

                                                               ­    back up

                                                             yo­ur throat
                                                          ­             while dragging razor blades
along the inside of your neck.

                       i am not even the kind of sick
                       that comes with a vaccination
                                  or an antibiotic
                            that will chase it away.
no.
                                                                ­                          i am the kind of sick
that leaves you locked in
the bathroom during class
because you can't seem to stop the
             flow of tears
                       running
                               down
                                     your face.

i am the kind of sick
that leaves your hands
sweating
and your voice
shaking
when it's your turn to order dinner
at the diner you've been to
a thousand times.
                                            
                                             i am the kind of sick
                                         that leaves you feeling

l o n e l y
                                              in a crowded room
                                           filled with the people you've
                                           known your whole life.

i am the kind of sick                                                                  ­                                that nobody sees
                                        because it's all in my head
                                      and cannot be cured.
mental health is just as important as physical health. take care of yourself.
Parker Jan 2018
Sometimes I just feel like I'm crazy.  I get these thoughts that come through my head that feel alien, foreign.  They don't come from the me I want to be they come from the me that I'm constantly running from.  The me that hides behind the sweet smile and kind gestures.  This me is not pretty, she is not smart, she is not kind.  This me is a monster, who wants nothing more than carnage.  Nothing can stay perfect too long, and I am spiraling into the me that I don't want to be.
Happy New Year,

From the old me.
s.s.
Stay lovely <3
Garrett Burger Jan 2018
As a minimalist, fearing art
Something so dear to my soul
My heart
The beauty, the expression
Became a material
And that, was not necessary

The pondering of question
"..Is this necessary"
Clouded and filled my canvas
The materials to paint with
The ink to write
Drowning again, it seems

Life free from attachment should liberate us
Not condemn us.
Not restrict us, though free us
Allowing us so much more, by having less

Art is necessary, even to the minamilist,
Of minimalist
Art is a tool of expression
Not an attatchement

I'm not attached to these paints anymore than
The clothes I wear
I feel just as much with these paintings on the wall
As I could if they weren't there

Minimalism is knowing that we still have
These memories, thoughts and emotions
Even when the objects aren't there to promote them

If I'm out of paints, I'll write in pen
If I'm out of paper, I'll go to the walls
If all else is gone, I'll sing the words

Free from attachment,
I still am able to enjoy these tools to use
And just as happily
Would give them to you

Materials do not truly give us anything,
And certainly should not take anything away, either
imperfectwords Jan 2018
When strangers look at me,
they see a girl who seems
crazy.
I understand that
they might not get why.
It's hard to explain and
difficult to fully comprehend,
but it's okay.
How can I expect people
to commiserate, when they see me
obsessively counting steps,
perpetually cleaning surfaces,
constantly washing hands,
regularly checking locked doors,
randomly tapping everything,
and always
repeating?
The answer is:
I can't.
But it's okay.
It's okay because I know I'm
different.
I know I have odd routines
and strange rituals.
I know my fears aren't rational,
and my compulsions aren't
logical.
I know I look crazy to those
who don't know me,
who don't understand that there's
a constant battle in my
mind.
At the end of each day,
what really matters is not the
looks or degrading questions I
receive.
What matters is
how
I
see
myself.
Caitlyn Emilie Jan 2018
infinite
infinite black
infinite red

red seeping from the wound that covers my skin

my heart beats to the lifeless sting

sting
hurt
sad

you left me

nothing
betrayal
regret

infinite and nothing
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