#mental illness poetry

[beautifullymacabre]

a tiny creek near the train tracks,

a small pond by a back-hoe stored under a wooden awning,

plants erupting from an old bathtub,

grass white and crispy with frost;

they say the town is haunted,

but maybe its only me

#poetry #original poem #poem #poems and poetry #mental illness poetry #poets on tumblr #mental health poetry #an ode to Pluckley

[doriandistortion]

Why do I feel so dirty?

I can never quite wash off the insanity.

I can never be without this horrifying sickness.

- Dorian 12/02/23 12:34am

#d.distortion #writing #poem #my poem #my writing #man. #gloomy #original writing #spilled writing #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #prose #poems on tumblr #short poem #alt writing #writer blr #unhinged poetry #mental illness #mental illness poetry #new poets society #pinterest #fire #disaster photography #photography #aesthetic #gloom #cold #90s

[knockingfrominside]

I died when I was 16

And no one noticed

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[phantom-heartbeat]

My heartbeat is a phantom

Whatever brain activity is left over and still going is creating ghosts of the symptoms of a living body

There is no circulation in my blood just cold still liquid lacking iron

There is no real heartbeat just a phantom in my chest creating what feels like a pulse

There is no life in this walking corpse, just a vessel barely holding itself together in pins and needles with supplements and braces

There is no strength to my muscles

No warmth to my touch

I'm not a person like the rest

Instead before you is a zombie, a vampire, a ghost

A dead undead thing living with a lack of life

My heartbeat is a phantom

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[tirzahstears]

I used to think that my house was haunted, back when I was a kid. 

I’d put rainbow sticky notes on the walls to see if a ghost would move them as I slept with my head under the covers each night. I didn’t know what a haunting was, but evil had made itself so comfortable in that house that it seeped into the walls like nicotine and fear, poisoning the air supply for generations to come. I live beside a graveyard, after all. Ghosts latch on to vulnerable people. I’m still not quite sure if they ever leave.

Sometimes a ghost will take on a human form. I am possessed by the ghost of my father’s anger, and his father’s anger, and his father’s anger as well. I think that a father is a type of ghost. Having a father is a type of haunting I will never be able to explain on a page. There are no blood curdling screams, no pools of corn-syrup-fake-blood sticking to my bathroom floor. The ghost instead lives in the hole his cellphone made in the living room wall back in 2009. The ghost lives in those green eyes I share with my sister that we’d both do anything to change. The ghost lives inside of me, and I really don’t know how to perform an exorcism on my own flesh and blood.

Apparently, there are no clinical cases of haunting, and it is instead an alphabet soup of diagnoses that make sure I will never have children of my own. The haunting is hereditary, after all. It doesn’t matter where I end up, I will pack the skeletons in my closet into a moving van and cry when I wake and the graves I placed on opposite sides of the house have already been dug up.

I don’t think that I live in a haunted house anymore.

I think that I myself might be the haunted house, with smoke pouring out of the windows and a foundation that is crumbling as we speak. I am haunted by the ghost of my mother’s sadness and her mother’s sadness and her mother’s sadness as well. A mother is a type of ghost that does not wish to be a ghost. If a ghost is meant to be invisible, my mother dedicated her life to fulfilling that prophecy— as if Weight Watchers or the expensive grocery store would reanimate her, as if enough Diet Coke could replace the formaldehyde sitting in her veins. Having a mother is a type of haunting, one that I will never escape. The ghost found me in the form of secret social media accounts and a diary full of calculations when I was twelve years old, in the form of sugar free energy drinks and a near death encounter with hypophosphatemia just a month before my eighteenth birthday. The ghost is in my body still, no matter how hard I try to kill it. It will always live in my kitchen, slamming empty cupboard doors and whispering promises into my ears. My mother will bring this ghost into every kitchen I ever try to relax in. My mother’s kitchen is haunted by her own mother, who’s mother passed this ghost on to her.

The only way to stop being haunted is to become a ghost yourself. I do not like that I may already be someone else’s haunting. In an ideal world, I am invisible— not like a ghost, but like air. I do not want to take up space for anyone. The only way I wouldn’t see blood on my hands would be if nobody were to think of me at all. I hate knowing that I am my brother’s ghost, that I haunt this house just as our parents do. Being alive is a type of haunting, I think. One can be haunted by themself. I think that maybe everyone is.

I will never understand the extent to which this house is haunted. There are ghosts that my parents will never tell me about, ghosts which still possess them in ways too dangerous to share with me. Whether I know their names or not, the ghosts hiding under creaky stairs and bleeding floorboards are family heirlooms I will inherit against my will, no matter how many attempts I make to bury them.

Maybe I do believe in haunted houses.

I’m scared that every house I live in will be haunted. Not haunted by my father, or my mother, or any of the mothers and fathers who came before them, but myself. I am the ghost at the back of my closet, and always will be. I scare myself in the mirror, I thump around in the hallways at hours that make my neighbours despise me. Haunting is what I learned to do best— after all, what better teachers than a pair of ghosts?

I used to think my house was haunted, back when I was a kid.

ghost stories , soleil louise . february 9, 2023

#my writing #my poetry #poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #prose poetry #trauma poetry #eating disorder poetry #mental illness poetry #mental health poetry #on mental illness #on haunting #on ghosts #on trauma #generational trauma

[hotwraithbones]

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#experimental writing #poets on tumblr #experimental #experimental poetry #indie author #indie writer #queer poetry #poetry blog #survival #mental illness poetry #mental illness #pure agony #photographers on tumblr #sunset #sunset pics #sunset photography #california #poetic prose #repetition #vent post #late night #i feel like im suffocating #it's suffocating #art is suffering #writing to heal #shadow work #haunting #vispo #starting again #healing

[laikacore]

i want something i can’t understand

i want something i can’t have

so i keep pushing for the knife

so i keep pushing for it right

somewhere in all this i’ll find the way

somewhere in all this i’ll find myself

but these hollow feelings overcome

but these hollow feelings come undone

i’m going to overflow

there’s a crack in me

i’m going to overflow

untitled by laika wallace

#mental illness poetry #addiction poetry

[hollowsswritingcorner]

Shackled

It's all a dream, it's all a fucking dream

Nothing is as it ever seems

I'm lost and I'm drifting

In my mind slowly shifting

Shackled away from reality

Trapped inside a reverie

Conscious akin to bastille

Wherein nothing is ever real

#hollows writes #original poem #poem #poems on tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #maladaptive daydreaming #actually maladaptive #mental illness #actually mentally ill #mentally ill poetry #mental illness poetry #spilled poetry

[moonlit-borderline]

#actually bpd #bpd poem #dark poem #dark poetry #dark art #actually mentally ill #actually borderline #bpd #borderline pd #being borderline #sorry for being depressing #bpd poetry #poems and poetry #poems on tumblr #poem #poetry #mental illness poetry #dark academia

[sadowlswriting]

The walls got dirty, after witnessing my constant suffering of nearly a decade.

Dirt smudges and dirty fingerprint marks that range from childlike to adult size, scratch marks from short fingernails followed by fading smudges of blood from the constant clawing.

My suffering has decreased. The hatred that ran marathons in my head, has grown exhausted, it has been taking long breaks to rest, and only taking short walks a day once every month.

I get a bucket, fill it with warm water and soap, soak a clean cloth in the water, wring it out so its damp, and wipe down the walls. As I wipe away the stains of memories absorbed in the paint, I apologise to the wall for having to see just what I can do to myself, and I thank it, for not spilling my secrets to anyone that walks past my door.

I can change the paint, I can scrub away the dirt, I can fill the holes in with plaster, I can cover the walls with wallpaper, I can even bleach the walls, but I cannot rid it of the things it's already seen.

-Owl.

#writing #poetry #poem #words #confessional poetry #short poetry #depression poetry #metaphor #mental health poem #mental health poetry #mental illness poetry #mental health

[beautifullymacabre]

Today, for lunch, I ate rocks.

I know, I couldn't believe it myself.

But what other explaination is there?

How else did the rocks find their way into my stomach?

Sitting.

Just sitting.

I'm sorry, but I can't eat another bite.

I filled up on rocks at lunch.

Surely, that's how it happened.

What else could be so heavy?

How else would I find myself unable to swallow my sadness?

And so, I choke.

#mental health poetry #mental illness poetry #poems and poetry #original poem #poem #poets on tumblr #poetry

[pearlmoney]

I Don't Have a Brain - Mason Gilbert

#PearlPoetry #female poets #poem #poetry #original poem #short poem #mental illness poetry #bpd #bpd poem #actually borderline #bpd poetry

[knockingfrominside]

Who am I?

I couldn’t tell you

For I am everything all at once.

I am not one person

But multiple

Stuck inside this body given to us

I am the storms at night

The sunshine in the morning

And the sunsets in the evening

I am every aesthetic

Every music genre

Every book

So when I am asked, who are you?

I never know what to say because I don’t know

All I know is I am a bottle

Full of overflowing emotion

Easily broken

But quickly glued back together

I am just

Me

#bpd #poetry #poets on tumblr #dpd #love #self love #writers #poems #severe depression #triggering words #mental health awareness #manic depressive #manic #depression poetry #mental illness poetry

[agroodolce]

The Corpse

My room smells like mold and rotten flesh, because there’s a corpse inside it. I knew an animal had gotten in,  I could see scratches on my pillows,  poop stains on the floor tiles,  I could feel it’s eyes staring at my sleeping body,  but I could never see it.  I never fed it, hoping it would go away soon,  driven by hunger,  until I woke up with bite marks on my arms.  Somehow, I started sympathizing with it.  Somehow, I thought those bite marks were kisses.  Then, I actually started feeding it. I let it eat me.  Until there was no flesh left on my bones,  and it fleed with the last mouthful. 

#4na #4norexi4 #4nami4 #disordered eating tw #tw ed relapse #ed but not sheeran #mental illness #mental illness poetry #poetry #TW depression #depressing poem #depression #writing

[higherthan-orions-belt]

The Veil

One time, I wandered in the woods of my brain for a living No eating, no sleeping, just a lot of writing and singing

For months I wrote nonsense, I screamed from the top of my lungs It felt like my thoughts could cause the entire planet to blow up

Although it is called bipolar psychosis, I struggle with identifying the line Between delusion and the other side

Reading some of my poetry, though, it becomes quite clear Most of it was psychotic rambling driven by fear

However, a small percentage of it is intricate and profound The sight and sound of Eternity, in The Void I drowned

I saw a couple paintings at the campground that gave me Deja Vu I’ve really been there. Did they see it too?

#julias #psychosis #mental illness poetry #mental illness #bipolar #bipolar disorder #poetry

[words-from-after]

Glow in the dark stars. -bunni

Slats on the underneath of a top bunk,

Horizontal planks of wood,

With a white mattress peeking at me inbetween.

And past that,

On blue walls and ceilings,

Are glow in the dark stars.

I forgot their comfort,

And to them I am sorry,

That I left them after they softened their gaze just for me.

Ignore the blanket,

The themed television,

And look up at the blue with pointed shapes of light green.

Past the bed sheets,

On a sea, an abyss,

Are glow in the dark stars. 

Years pass and I no longer think of them,

I try to move on,

But they make me freeze up.

I see them on a shelf with decorations for a childs room,

I stop responding,

And remember how I left them when they softened their gaze for me.

In a shop,

On a white, empty shelf,

Are glow in the dark stars.

Are you back to comfort me now little stars?

I can't help but look in disdain,

You only helped when it hurt.

I want to forgive you little stars,

But it still hurts now,

And you are simply a reminder.

In my mind,

Within the red,

Are glow in the dark stars. 

#ptsd recovery #poem #original poetry #my poerty #poets on tumblr #poetry #feminist #female poets #mental illness poetry #my poem #mental health #my writing