Category Archives: mental health

me and alllllllllll of my sad walk into the poetry event

convinced nobody wants either of us to be there. we’ve heard we’re articulate in front of an audience but now we get stage fright just walking up to a circle of people that love us because how could they love both of us? love me and all of my ugly? in a conversation, we’re figuringContinue reading “me and alllllllllll of my sad walk into the poetry event”

I want to write a poem that makes my other poems shy.

Make them whisper to each other, ‘just who is that new girl?’ Turn their knowing eyes into awescapes like children eating their first bit of ____(your favorite childhood nostalgia treat goes here)____. I want to talk to our inner children the way we should’ve always been spoken to. our feelings given acres to run andContinue reading “I want to write a poem that makes my other poems shy.”

the first person in the bloodline to analyze their trauma does so after causing their weight in it.

for years I became the shape of my anguish. I wasn’t just hurt. I was the hurt. when you are the wound and the salt you would do anything to stop the hellfire you have become but not before you enact the pain, make it reverberate into someone else’s lap say heavy say here sayContinue reading “the first person in the bloodline to analyze their trauma does so after causing their weight in it.”

My least favorite thing about being an artist is continually convincing myself I am not one.

Imposter syndrome taunts in a voice that sounds exactly like mine. Anxiety hands it a microphone. ADHD plays 52 card pick up with my thoughts- hyperfixates on negativity. Invisible illness renders me too damn tired to fight back. Capitalism builds an entire amphitheater for the performance finds a way to fill the seats and profitContinue reading “My least favorite thing about being an artist is continually convincing myself I am not one.”

There is a certain kind of tired that only comes from arguing with your own body continuously

please open the jar don’t sit down yet just don’t call off again this week I am thirty-four and I have the hand strength of a fifty-three year old. I am thirty-four and age means nothing in the face of chronic illnesses. When my DNA was coded, my connective tissue was made too loose. NowContinue reading “There is a certain kind of tired that only comes from arguing with your own body continuously”

 My shame is a mold that only grows in the parts of me I refuse to shed light on

refuse to talk about. I need a better flashlight a braver mouth a new dictionary to find fresh words to form familiar sounds in new ways. I write a lot of poems about growth but have you ever loved something so much you didn’t notice it never loved you back? sometimes, I’m so focused onContinue reading ” My shame is a mold that only grows in the parts of me I refuse to shed light on”

Mental illness is like your shitty college roommate.

It kind of does whatever the fuck it wants whenever the fuck it wants. It speaks as loudly as it wishes, whenever it wishes. It keeps going on and on well after your bed time & after you asked it politely to stop. It ate your cereal again. (Oops.) When was the last time itContinue reading “Mental illness is like your shitty college roommate.”

This week, my body releases less-

less Christmas light, less cotton candy chemicals, less whatever science calls the shit makes me smile an hour wide for two weeks until there is nothing but now. There is nothing now, my lips, a tightrope, so good at their job- they never bow. This is my personal science. It doesn’t feel good so IContinue reading “This week, my body releases less-“

So I heard that poets are attention seeking: 

Of freaking course I’m attention seeking. I exist, don’t I? Sometimes I need reminders I exist, don’t I? Look, I’m not mirage nor magician but I sure am real great at disappearing. At moving in minimize- at speaking in silence, in cemetery because I long ago buried my voice every time my mother spoke overContinue reading “So I heard that poets are attention seeking: “