you are loved

stay with me.

right here,

right now.

 

it’s so much easier to love you

when you aren’t so far away.

it’s so much easier to hug you

when you aren’t so far away.

 

i love you over here

i love you over there

but most importantly

i love you everywhere.

 


i love you to the moon and back.

back to the moon again

and then far beyond that.

 


you may be asking

who is this for?

i’m not even sure.

 

my love is for everyone

and everything

and everywhere

because nothing

and nobody

deserves to feel unloved.

and i love everyone with passion

 

 

 

Thanks to Rachel for sharing another of her beautiful poems. You can read her previous submission here. Be sure to give her some love in the comments!

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram

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Creative Pieces dear hope

A poetry selection: Ali Zagame Part 1

**Trigger Warning: mentions of self-harm, death, and suicide

 

IMPORTANT THINGS I LEARNED BEFORE I PROBABLY SHOULD’VE BEEN LEARNING THEM

The first thing that I ever learned as an infant was how to keep myself from choking.

Reason being: I refused to eat bite sized pieces of anything. I wanted to rip fruit from the seed with my infantile, underdeveloped teeth and rejected meat unless my mom put the slab of beef, pork, or lamb on my highchair, bone, if applicable, attached. Cheerios? Hell no Give me an adult meal and no fork, thank you. When my grandmother first came to visit me, she was appalled until she watched me slap my own back and continue on eating like I wasn’t a baby, but a competitive eater with sauce or blood dripping down my chin. I loved my food rare or raw, which only made it a tad more gruesome and alarming.

But I never choked.

The next thing I learned was how to save money. I learned that store-brand orange juice is 37 cents cheaper and still just as good. I learned that white lies aren’t so harmful because it’s better not to tell dad that you need new clothes and simply buy them instead, let him explode all at once each month, try to hide the fact that you’re growing, learn not to feel so guilty when mom takes the blame when you know it was you begging for that shirt, learn to love the words “you’ll grow into it,” fall in love with two pairs of sweatpants and trade them off, learn to ignore the comments asking if you own anything else because you don’t need to if it makes dad angry at your mom–it isn’t worth that because a peaceful night is priceless, learn to laugh at the surprise on that one day when you were 13 and wore that old pair of jeans in the back of your closet because mom was sick and couldn’t do laundry.

But I never choked.

I learned my pain is not the worst, and will never be. My hospital visits, my crying on Winnie the Pooh beanbag chairs screaming “Will I always feel like this?,” my sleeping on slanted beds and migraines and my burning throat became a splinter at the sight of her. The girl a couple grades above me. The one with the dark brown hair who lost one and a half lungs to a bad inhaler and sounds like she already met God. I can’t remember her name now but I never felt pain when I saw her in the waiting room.

But I never choked.

I learned from the nice police officer who visited us in middle school that your boyfriend can’t sexually assault you. If you’re dating him, then him stealing first kisses, grabbing you by the waist, and dry humping you in the townhouse basement when you squirmed away to the sound of your friend’s birthday party upstairs is considered dating troubles. I called the “nice” police officer and had to apologize for wasting his time because I didn’t recognize that my relationship was immune to the word “no,” I didn’t realize my willingness to hold his hand gave him permission to struggle with my training bra; I learned what rape did to someone the next school year when a girl in gym class told me the same boy lured her to his home. I learned sympathy doesn’t break popularity ranks when I asked to sit next to her at lunch and was denied. I thought I would never let it happen to me and learned later that it wasn’t going to be a matter of “letting it” because it wasn’t my choice.

But I never choked.

I learned that cutting yourself is difficult with nail clippers when there isn’t anything sharper in reach. I learned that sometimes your blood looks orange when you’re sick, and that missing your period because you starved yourself is not a goal, but an illness. I learned that if your mother finds out, she may force feed you cereal and Bible quotes, trying to fix your stomach, not knowing that it isn’t broken, but simply tired. I learned donuts have never tasted so good until you give up self-loathing.

But I never choked.

I learned the only way to get over your father calling you “worthless” and meaning it is when he apologizes for it on a hospital bed after having a stroke, and even then, it may take some time. I learned the only teacher you have that is going to make an attempt to understand why your homework is overdue is the one in the wheelchair because he wasn’t always in that seat and he knows what it’s like to feel unable to stand. He knows the difference between you passing out in the corner of the classroom after driving your father to the ER to cough up blood and the student with the Blink-182 tattoo sleeping after watching Adult Swim down the hall from his healthy parents last night.

But I never choked

I learned the difference between walking and marching for change; I learned that Title IX is a fancy way of saying fuck your trauma. I learned that PTSD isn’t just for soldiers and even if I never saw war to get it, that doesn’t mean I’m not fighting. I learned how to swallow worry and drink it down with cold sweats. I learned what the fuck a cold sweat was. I learned how to lie to a psychiatrist and pretend so well you almost believe you’re healing yourself until you look in the mirror and realize how fake it all is. I would wonder why my hair wasn’t greyer and how I still had all my teeth. I learned how to live.

But I never choked.

 

~

 

SCARS

Brandi was the last resort friend with a reputation preceded by the tears in her jeans that ran just an inch too high up her thigh, shirts that pushed dress code buttons and left gaps in the ones straining to keep the tissues of her push-up bra in place. Brandi taught me biting is fair game when you’re fighting, and not to trust the friend that bites you. Brandi drew my blood, but left scars in less easily healed places. She drew blood with what came out of her mouth, rather than the skin her teeth latched to.

The first time I cut, Brandi told me that I couldn’t be serious about hurting myself until the scars were vertical.

That’s how you know someone’s in trouble: when the lines on their wrist are less like morbid bracelets and more like a parody of veins.

The second time I hurt myself I whispered “don’t be a pussy about it,” and made sure that shit was a vertical line. “You don’t cut yourself to feel the pain,” I said. “I cut to die.”

I wanted someone to know what I was capable of; I didn’t even wear those gothic fingerless gloves that made me feel like I was hiding something. I tucked my hair behind my ear when it was already resting there; I pretended to look embarrassed. I held that wrist with my other hand. I raised my left hand when the teacher called on me that day because I wanted the world to know I was serious.

In making my statement that I wasn’t doing this for attention, I begged for attention.

My neon pants said “notice me.” The downward gaze said “but don’t talk to me unless you’re actually going to help.” I was motherfucking sick of youth group leaders and homeschooled snobs saying they’d “pray for me,” washing their hands clean with the smile: problem solved. Maybe I was dirty to them, but you have to get your hands dirty to help someone who has spent the days wading through bullshit.

My large, broken-heart choker necklace shouted that I was already halfway to strangling myself. My attitude became the stereotype for the quiet girl in the movies that is screaming internally for human interaction. Prove her wrong that you’re just another “friend” that hates the sound of rain when it sleeps. You won’t stay for the bad weather, so why bother? In my town, it is flooding.

You do not cut to see the blood, to feel the pain, the force that cry upward. You cut to die. I cut to die.

I wish I knew then that it was okay to ask for help.

But more importantly, I wish I knew then that it was okay if someone refuses help.

It’s not okay that they leave you drowning. It’s not okay that they don’t give a reason and expect you to know why the relationship you grew died. It’s not okay when they’ll teach you the difference between laughing with and laughing at by accusing and pointing fingers. It’s not okay that they say, “You’ll go to hell.” It’s not okay when they wish you there. It’s not okay that they tell you to speed up the process and cut a little deeper.

But it’s okay, because you’ll be okay.

 

Ali Zagame, the author

 

This is part 1 of 2 in a poetry selection written by the extremely talented Ali Zagame. You can find more poetry (and some music!) from Ali on her website, Facebook, and Bandcamp. Be sure to check in next week for part 2, and give lots of love to Ali in the comments!

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram

dear hope poetry Thoughts An Anonymous Diary: Poems Prose Lyrics and More

A poetry selection: Mouse

**Trigger Warning: suicide, self-harm

 

do you

do you know what its like to always wonder
to always worry
to always fear
to always second guess
to always wander in your mind
do you know what its like to cry because you have
no one
or what its like to want to die because you have
no one
and do you ever wish you had someone
but all you do is avoid everyone

 

 

the note

i didnt realize how bad id gotten
sitting in my car
1:23 am
tears running down my face
like an infinite waterfall
sending silent prayers to anything out there
deciding i wanted it all over
i needed it to stop
while everyone fantasized about their future
i fantasized about my ending
rope
blade
pill
bleach
anything sounded fine
1:37 am
running bath water
writing a note
i find one already written
1:41 am
draining bath water

 

 

Big thanks to Mouse for sharing her work with us. We love being able to share such vulnerable, beautiful poetry like this. Be sure to live some love to Mouse in the comments.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram

dear hope poetry Thoughts An Anonymous Diary: Poems Prose Lyrics and More

A selection of poetry: Aisha Arif

Wounds

Just another wound

broken men soldier through life

picking up scars

from broken pasts and broken hearts

but they can’t cry

or speak

society does not permit

gravity to touch their tears

it makes them weak

so they sit mute

fading yet failing to disappear

persist in their hollow drama

whispering their pain to the back of their eyes

their dry eyes

and boiling temper

I look at you confused

my broken man

wondering why you won’t release your stress

and trust the security I offer you

Another wound

my broken man soldiers through life

deeper scars

from a broken past and a broken heart

-a.K.a-

 

 

 

Stay Close

The silence was engulfing, as the people rushed to euphoria-

The blindfold came off, and she saw the fire she was in.

But the sudden realisation as tears streamed down her rosé cheeks

Was one so clear even though her vision was dim

Her mind opened up in that hour of desperation-

She clung to the sheets on the side of the bed

Because the people had left, but she was still under the influence.

A hazy monster inside her head

And in that hour of need when she felt shaken

Suddenly a presence so close she stopped.

In that hour of need it was so blatant

A God existed, he had not forgot

He had not abandoned her even though she had Him

In fact He was there when she was in pain

And in that hour of need it was clear for her to see

What it means that He is closer to you than your jugular vein

-a.K.a-

 

 

Purgatory

It is difficult

To find a place of warmth and coolness

To find a place of no extremes

Of balance

Of joy and sadness

Of constraint and release

It is hard

To become a person stuck in two emotions

Confused and determined

Slow yet fast

But I am that person

Who sleeps whilst awake

Who shouts whilst whispering

But the tears are not seen

And the cries are not heard

So the help does not come

One carries on in this purgatory

-a.K.a-

 

 

Alone.

Watching the world go by through the holy stained glasses

clouded overtime from the mist left by the believing sinners

Alone

Yet reminded that God is ever watching

Ever near

Yet I can’t shake this feeling of being

Alone.

Witnessing happiness

Feigning joy but in seclusion self-mutilating

Resisting urges to give it all in

Give it all up

To Be Alone.

Telling myself I can’t fight anymore

I can’t pretend

Telling myself you can

One step at a time

But telling no-one else

Alone.

Then waking in the early hours of dawn

To confess the sins of the night to the Lord

So close.

-a.K.a-

 

 

Without Sound

Times changed

Days’ turned into months’

Holy times came and persisted.

Then they also came to pass,

but the sadness drenched the soul

deeper and deeper.

What is the use in screaming

when no-one is alive themselves?

Yet a war raged on inside

The battles were long and fierce

but the battles were prohibited from leaving scars.

Sometimes people cannot hear your screams

but they’ll see them etched into you and pretend they were listening all along.

How wrong they are.

Faith remains loyal- even when it dwindles, the spark never truly fades

Even when it rains hard there remains a flicker of honesty

A fire of resilience.

And we hold on

Stuck in this dreary place

Moving with time

-a.K.a-

 

Lightbulb

It is a myth you see

-unattainable here

This notion of so-called peace

Because as I sit here

rocking back and forth

It feels like an abattoir, not ease

The windows are blinded

just like our minds

It’s incredible we all cannot see

The blindfolds are binding

it’s hard to describe it

but the metal shines as it is released

It’s obvious now

as I float to the clouds

back to where it is all started

That it’s a myth you see

-unattainable here

not a world for the fainthearted

-a.K.a-

 

 

Big thanks to Aisha K. Arif for submitting these beautiful poems. For social media, you can find Aisha on Instagram and Twitter. You can also find her on WordPress and MyTrendingStories. Give some love to Aisha in the comments!

All the links to the poetry featured in this post are as follows:
Wounds ; Stay Close ; Purgatory ; Alone. ; Without Sound ; Lightbulb

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

dear hope Thoughts An Anonymous Diary: Poems Prose Lyrics and More

To My Ninth Grade Self

To My Ninth Grade Self

I’m so glad you didn’t do it
Let the world drag you down
I know your heart was hurting
Your emotions whirling round

But you made it through
And here we both are
You looking from back then
Me looking from afar

Let me tell you why I’m glad
You sought help when you did
Because you had the strength to fight
When you could’ve cried and hid

Our life right now is great
We’ve gotten our degree
We moved and got a full-time job
I wish that you could see

So thank you for not doing it
Ending it then and their
We would’ve missed out on the summer night
The wind blowing through our hair

And all the different memories
The good ones and the bad
If it had ended then
They’re times we never would’ve had

So one final thanks
From older me to you
I’m glad that you were resilient
I’m glad that we got through

 

This beautiful, reflective poem comes from Becca W., and we are so happy to share it with you all. Please give some love to Becca in the comments!

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

dear hope Thoughts An Anonymous Diary: Poems Prose Lyrics and More

A poetry selection

Bleeding Art

I need to visit Darkness
and feel insane
To feel the sadness
and blame
I need to spend my age
In a painful world
To fill my pages
With words
Make me sink Sweetheart
and let me bleed art
Make me feel wrong or
right
Then leave me with something
to write.

 

 

Too Dark For You

Sorry
I’ve never been enough
I’m too dark for you
I’m too hard to be understood
I never should have told you
I never should have let you see inside

You always shine
So brightly
With your beautiful
Smile.

Just like the Sun

But I’m always alone
So sad
With my ugly
Sadness

Just drowning in the Dark.

 

 

Addiction

I remember once
You said “I can’t live without you”
That’s funny how it changed to
“I really want to leave you”
But don’t be sad my love
You will find someone better
And pain is watching me from above
ready to jump on me like an animal
But don’t take it seriously
It’s natural
and sadness became a part of me
like an endless need
like an addiction
But my heart will always bleed
Without your affection.

 

 

Cure

Darling, I’ve never loved solitude
Honestly no one does

So please allow me to serve you
Or set me free

Please
Break these chains of loneliness
I’m tired of slowly sinking alone

Splash new colors on my life
I’m tired of black

Make me feel new feelings
I’m tired of my emptiness

Show me how to spread my wings
I’m tired of running away from my demons

Take my hand and show me how to write
New words, words that I’ve never written

Show me new sounds that I’ve never heard
I’ve been a deaf for a long time

Show me how to open these doors
I really tried but I couldn’t

Please
Be my flower and I will be your Bee
I will get my resources from you

Be my sun and make me forget
The taste of Darkness

But do I deserve your cure?

 

 

This selection of poetry was written by Mashiro, a talented poet who we feel so lucky to feature on our site. You can find some more from Mashiro on his Tumblr and his Deviant Art. Feel free to give some love to Mashiro in the comments!

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

dear hope poetry Thoughts An Anonymous Diary: Poems Prose Lyrics and More

Familiarity

Familiarity

 

sadness is like a cold hug.

familiar,

yet uncomfortable.

 

it is tears running down your face

and you haven’t been able to smile in 24 hours.

 

it is laying in bed until you have to get out

and even then,

maybe you don’t get up.

 

it is wearing sweatpants because you don’t care enough

to look nicer.

 

it is listening to sad music on repeat

it is the only thing you can relate to.

 

it is feeling like you are alone

in a room full of people who love you

 

it is feeling lonely

at 10:30 in the morning

because the only thing that has hugged you in the past 24 hours

is your blanket.

 

R.E.

 

 

Thank you to community member R.E. for sharing poetry with us once again. You can read R.E.’s previous piece here. You can also find R.E. on Tumblr.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

Sandra

 

Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com

Follow us for more posts, inspiration and art on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

 

 

Creative Pieces dear hope