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

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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

I grew in the most unexpected of places

I grew in the most unexpected of places,
In the winter,
Underneath the silky frost,
Or at the bottom of black oceans,
I grew amongst the side of freeways,
Underneath headlights,
I grew amongst blood splatters,
that ran like oil paint,
I grew in tired houses,
And on pieces of paper,
Under a 2am moon,
That cast down a spotlight,
I grew in elastic thunder,
In midnight-coloured nights,
And starving deserts,
You see,
No matter where your fist sprinkles my seeds,
My crumbs,
My leftovers,
I will still
Bloom,
Like bruised freesias,
maybe I’m not the prettiest bouquet you’ve ever clapped your eyes on,
But I’m indefinitely,
The most durable.
// TPT

This poem was submitted by the wonderful Skye, also known as The Paper Trail (TPT). You can find more of Skye’s work on her Tumblr and her Instagram. Give Skye 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

Creative Pieces dear hope poetry

Questions as Daggers, Questions as Saviors

But you seem fine.
You look like you’ve been doing well!
You don’t seem depressed on social media.
Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad?

Don’t assume. You know what they say. I’ve gotten so good at hiding how I feel, shoving the emotions down so far I seem to misplace them altogether, that even those closest to me don’t see a thing.

I’m sneaky. I’m clever. I know the right things to say and do and wear. I know how to hide the scars, internal and external, and pretend like they’re not even there (are they even there?)

I’m sneaky. I’m clever. This gets me in trouble.
I’m often in trouble.

I don’t want you to take it personally. Really, I don’t. It’s not you, it’s me (really, it is).

The facade I maintain is one I’ve been perfecting for years, my fears of vulnerability stemming from a long list of disappointments and misplaced trust.

I don’t like to worry anyone,
don’t like to be the center of attention,
don’t like to be the one to drag the party down.

So, if I ask you for help, know that it’s taking every ounce of me to do so,
every last fiber of my being to muster up the courage to let my guard down and stand before you with my heart in a box of doubt, tied together neatly with my greatest insecurities and nightmare-inducing thoughts.

And I’m sorry if I haven’t.
Don’t be offended if I never do.

But you have a great life.
People have it much worse than you do.

I know. Really, I do. Guilt is my middle name. It seeps into my bones and erodes my body from the inside out. What’s left is nothing more than a pile of skin cells and disappointment.

People are starving.
Homeless.
Sick.
Dying (why do I wish I was dying?).

I’m sorry. I am. That’s all I can say (that’s all I know how to say).
I’m sorry I feel this way.

I wish I could change it. I wish I could fix the world’s problems with a swish of a wand, with a big bandaid stuck across its oceans and continents, one that heals the hurt across the globe.

I wish I could do the same for my own mind, for my own heart,
for the hurt I endlessly feel as the days stretch on and the months stretch on and this life stretches on and on
and on
and on
and on.

I wish I could fix my problems as easily as magic or medicine.

Maybe that’s selfish.

Maybe that’s survival.

You can’t love anyone else until you learn to love yourself.

But you see, I don’t think I’ll ever really,
truly,
honestly,
love myself.

I don’t think I know how (do I know how?).

Will I ever really learn, as easily as I learned how to write my name or tie my shoes or ride my bike across the pavement?

Will I get an eviction notice plastered to the door of my heart, a “Do Not Enter” sign stapled to the aorta?

Will it whisper softly,
“Beware,
Beware,
Beware,”
As it beats,
beats,
beats
to keep me alive?

Will I just be lonely forever?

Why are you on so many medications?
Why don’t you try exercising or eating healthier?
What about deep breathing or meditation?

You see, I know all of that, too. I lose track of the pills in my medicine cabinet,
all the dosages and names and bottles,
all of it blurring in my vision as I count the tiny circles and oblong ovals in my palm each morning and afternoon and night.

But, you see, it’s taken two years to figure out just the right combination of ovals to make the dark things less dark, the bad thoughts less bad.

Two years is a long time and sometimes I worry if it was time wasted (I worry that most of my time is wasted).

And sometimes the dark things are just as dark, the bad thoughts just as bad, anyway.

Sometimes my only exercise for the day is running away from my problems. This kind of running allows me to stay under the covers. Most days dragging myself out of bed feels like a marathon.

Panicking makes breathing difficult. Meditation seems unrealistic for my clouded mind.

I appreciate the advice, really, but I can’t emphasize enough how difficult it is to hear all of it day in and day out,
and day in and day out,
and day in and day out,
always constructing some combination of excuses to make them stop talking at me like I am a child.

It’s just not that simple, as much as I wish it was (I wish it was).

It’s not that big of a deal.
Stop overreacting.
You’re being dramatic.

But, you see, it is that big of a deal. Making mountains out of mole hills is my specialty and crying over spilled milk is part of my morning routine.

I know I’m overreacting. Trust me, I do. I know more than anyone that my thoughts are out of control and my actions are beyond what they should be. I know.

I know.

I know.

Dramatic used to have a positive connotation for me. I put my extroverted personality onto the stage rather than in my personal life, but here I am panicking under the showerhead because I’ve got six assignments due at the end of the week and my friend hasn’t replied to my text in two hours and 13 minutes but they’ve already opened my SnapChat and I watched a group of girls walk by me and laugh and I’m positive it was because I didn’t wear makeup that morning because it took me over an hour to convince myself to get out of bed and I ran out of time after pulling my limbs into the shower and I nearly died walking to class because I didn’t look both ways before I crossed the street and I haven’t told anyone that I did it on purpose (I did it on purpose).

That stage is now my life and I am constantly putting on a show where people leave at intermission.

Maybe it’s not that big of a deal.
Maybe I’m overreacting.
Maybe I’m being dramatic.

Maybe I’m me.

Maybe I don’t like any of those things (I don’t).

Are you okay?
How are you doing?
Do you need to talk?

Keep asking. Keep asking.
Keep asking.
Keep asking.

Because I may say,
“Yes, I’m okay.”
“I’m good, how are you?”
“No, I don’t need to, thanks.”
And I just might be lying to you (I am probably lying to you).

But one day I may get the courage to say,
“No, I’m not.”
“Not so good, actually.”
“Yes, I do, please.”

One day I might find the courage to ask for help even though it’s taking every ounce of effort not to run the other way,
not to shove the feelings down like I’ve done so many times before,
not to plaster that signature smile across my face like wallpaper, a sickening slap of paste across my lips that seals the sadness in tight.

So don’t be offended if I lie. It’s not you, it’s me (really, I mean it).

So keep asking. Keep asking.
Keep asking.
Keep asking.
Please keep asking.
Please don’t stop asking.


This piece comes from our community member Sandra Mercer. You can find her other powerful entry in our Coping series here.

Image-7

Feel free to leave a comment for Sandra below.

Always remember you are not alone.

You are loved.

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