694 posts
  • krutikamehta 4w

    Be kind

    Be there for someone when they need you
    You never know how much they've been crying
    Behind that smile..
    Or how far they've come
    For that last extra mile..

    Listen to their silences
    Hear their words, their tone
    For they have nothing else left to say
    Until you hear them long after they're gone..

    Watch their pauses, their texts, their 'hmms'
    For that might not always be their boredom talking
    But a cry for help, for once, just try thinking
    You might just be around a dead person walking..

    Tomorrow you may not have someone to come home to
    Or rant about your crappy day at work
    Maybe today if you brighten that someone's day a little,
    They won't have that self loathing darkness around them to lurk..

    Hold them close while you still can
    Make them feel like they are worth living for
    Kiss their forehead and hold their hand,
    Let the light in, hold open that door..

    Make time for those you love
    Don't wait for them to sob and come to terms with it
    Sometimes , if not always, hold them close
    Listen to what they want to say, that will be your bit..

  • therapisttales 4w


    I don't think I'll be as lucky as a mushroom that clings to life with an ancient experience; I'm just lucky enough to have a love that I want to hold onto for thousands of years.


  • barbietocatwoman 6w

    My first love is someone I never actually loved.

    You're already lost, aren't you? Don't worry. I'll explain as soon as I can. The day I understand myself. Someone who was once the closest I ever let myself get to a person, is now the most distant from me.

    He's the only crush that ever mattered. The love I felt before I knew what love was. But you see, his heart attack at the very thought told me how bad it would be. To fall down that road is to upend everything. And I was too young to make such a tumultuous decision; hence the older I got the more I understood the stance I took, and how it was the right one.

    He was akin to family.

    And uhm....so much more older than me.


    Hey! It's not as bad as you think. I was the pursuer and he, the insect trapped in my weaving. You would find that impossible by normal standards, yes. The truth is, I was not the child you wanted in your head. I was the child that bored into your life and stole your valuables while you weren't "aware". And by the time I was old enough to be with him, I was as interested as a blonde in a chemistry lab.

    And so my first love is the man I never desired.

    Then again, I never said it was that sort of relationship.

    There are many stories before this one; of things that transpired.

    I'm just not too sure about the whole "writing being therapeutic" and "letting go".


  • in_fragments 6w

    When nobody asked me what bravery was, because I have no friends and nobody cares... so I just asked and answered for myself.
    My stupid psychiatrist's name was Dr. Lucky, how ironic hahahahaha.
    P.S. Please ask for help if you need it. Not all psychiatrists will be this careless.
    It just takes time to find the right one.
    #pod #poem #madness #mentalhealth #mentalillness #ptsd #selfcare #therapy #trauma @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Hospitals Have Prison Cells.

    You asked me what true bravery was.
    It's remembering this, every side of it,
    stirring it around, culturing it
    like a germ in a petri dish-
    finding it, like a forgotten toy-
    letting it back in to your body and mind.
    Bravery is remembering this:

    The last hospital stay
    that went right through me;
    back when they moved me
    to the cell block beneath everything-
    the patient overflow basement.
    With a locker for my possessions,
    and an overworked staff with eyes
    like cheap razor blades to cut
    all contact from outside society;
    my new world, for the next 24 hours,
    was four off-white walls
    to further warp my sanity,
    and a heavy brown door
    they would not let me close-
    but there was nothing inside anyway,
    just cement bricks,
    one white and painful slab of pillow,
    a flimsy metal bed on wheels
    that twisted my bones out of my skin.

    Waiting for the therapists
    and doctors to assess me-
    for the first 5 hours, there is hope
    I could go home.
    Hour 6 comes with tears, hot tears,
    the tears that flow because you know
    you're trapped.
    My psychiatrist, a tyrant,
    forced an intake on me,
    seeing nothing but scars and not caring
    for the heart. I was a liability, and so
    she threw me away.
    Is survivorship bias
    what made her so Lucky?

    I was the crazed patient
    who didn't make it,
    the one I had seen in others before,
    the screaming one
    they couldn't let leave,
    the one who caused a ruckus
    for everyone else. We were never crazy.
    We were caged in like animals,
    expecting the trauma not to come.

    After hour 7, quiet crying turns
    to bargaining. I beg the nurses
    to let me out, but they-
    at the mercy of the psychiatrist
    I was unlucky enough to find-
    had no authority to open the door.
    They look at me
    with something like sympathy-
    but this happens all the time,
    the begging, the crying, the screaming-
    and they're waiting hungrily
    to get out of this place, just like us.
    They persist as I weep to them,
    the involuntary wailing, the attack
    of chemical tremors erupting
    within my terrified veins- and still,
    they could only do
    nothing to help.

    Hour 8, mom visits after work.
    Tries to get me out, sits with me
    while I sob, makes negotiations
    with the nurses to no avail.
    I was under full control
    of a monster with a medical license,
    and I was not getting out
    until they took me in. Mom,
    she tried her best, but she couldn't
    stay all night, and soon I was alone,
    ensnared in concrete again.

    Hour 12, I tried to sleep.
    I started losing track of the minutes.
    I stared at the walls, it felt like
    all night, with no more crying,
    no more space in my brain
    to process tears, or trauma, or torment.
    I was made of TV static now-
    a dissociated, scheming zombie,
    thinking of ways
    to manipulate my way out
    before I had even gotten in.

    I hardly remember
    the rest of the madness now,
    as if someone else
    had gone through it instead;
    gray matter cloaked in amnesia
    to preserve my body and mind
    from the anguish, protecting me fully
    from someplace inside.

    A bed was finally made for me-
    upstairs, the mental health ward
    was ready to take me in-
    but those 24 hours before assured
    that I would never ask for help again...

    The system is rotten to its core,
    the hospitals have prison cells-
    but bravery is remembering
    all the ways it split your soul, and still
    living for recovery, in spite of it all.

  • in_fragments 6w

    Will I ever not be afraid of my shadow selves? Will they ever not be afraid of me?
    #pod #poem #villanelle #brain #mind #fun #therapy #recovery #dissociation #ptsd @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Childlike Eyes
    Fear Not The Mind's Size

    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes,
    scared of the inward signs for far too long;
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size.

    Like broken toys, I'll repair and analyze
    the fractured memories I always wished were wrong.
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes...

    Those parts hidden away, familiarize
    them with the outside, tell them they belong,
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size-

    and the inner world, where the past is organized;
    instead of busting in, pitchforked and pronged,
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes...

    Once arduous work, now we realize
    the brain's our plaything, although unduly strong;
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size.

    Traumatized, the answers why will surprise
    when I finally learn how to lark along;
    I'll find what I seek through more childlike eyes,
    teach them to play with, fear not the mind's size...

  • devasharmapoems 7w

    I don't yearn for your forgiveness
    I yearn to forgive you

    To forgive for every broken shard
    To forgive for every last cut
    To forgive each and every scar

    To stop your name from cutting me each time it leaves my lips
    To stop your memory from crushing me with it's weight

    I just want to forgive
    So I can breathe again
    So your name doesn't rip me apart each time it leave my lips

  • obscuredwords 7w

    Every smile, every laugh, every happy person has unimaginable pain beneath, just beacuse you cannot see it doesn't mean it does not exist.
    They laugh, loud and hard because they know these moments are rare, just because they have accepted their pain.
    You want them to feel that pain again and again, you become a beautiful reminder of every failure in their life, you question their happiness. You tell them they shouldn't be happy.

    But this is what you don't understand, that they have seen that part of life which was painted black, and now, they see all the colours in the sky.

    #depression #anxiety #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #love #sad #mentalillness #selfcare #ptsd #mentalhealthmatters #selflove #life #therapy #recovery #quotes #depressed #healing #motivation #stress #suicide #health #help #mindfulness #covid #pain #sadness #wellness #trauma #smile

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  • in_fragments 9w

    When the bad thoughts are back but you make them ��✨fantastical���� to cope.
    #pod #poem #mentalhealth #depression #trauma #ptsd #selfcare #therapy #thoughts @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Renaissance Falls
    Part 2

    And that's the beauty of death,
    you see- no more thoughts,
    no more movements,
    no more sentient slaughter
    and cognitive dissonance-
    with the parasites gone, the earth
    can return
    to her most wild and wondrous; vivid,
    vigorous and picturesque,
    re-birthing and healing in every moment.
    Artless and more marvelous
    than anything any human being
    could make; more lush than what we saw
    in picture books and our imaginations
    as children- landscapes of praise
    we're unwittingly conspiring against
    by flood and fire- through corruption
    and stagnation, apathy and bloodshed-
    to make sure we will never
    feel the peace
    and tranquility of nature again.

    The earth will thrive
    once all her oppressors die,
    when there's no one to hurt her
    for their convenience anymore.
    She will have her own
    universal Renaissance,
    the one she has always deserved,
    that we thwarted many centuries ago.
    She cares not for all
    the unsuspecting species
    we will inescapably take with us
    into the realm of extinction;
    she furiously readies herself
    to shake all sycophants off her back,
    while we continue to kill parts of her
    so carelessly- soul murderers
    to the highest degree, and what
    is this all in pursuit of, really?
    This life, these poet's hands, this love
    I have for you- this art, an education,
    this looking forward to a future
    that may or may not exist-
    when the only thing we seem
    to really be moving ourselves
    and the planet towards
    is complete hostility
    and total disintegration?

    I was the stone queen.
    I watched the world fall to its knees,
    and never said a thing.
    I was weak. I was a villain,
    an ancient, empty goddess,
    an enchantress made of stone,
    finally throwing herself to the ground-
    shattering the life and love and hope
    out of her cracked and weary shell
    while everyone else continues
    to shatter the sanctity of life
    on a global scale.
    I am tombstone now, a hard-hearted
    human no longer. What else was I
    ever supposed to be?

    Does no one seem to see what I see?
    Humanity, and its legacy:
    wreckage, weaponry, zealotry, gluttony,
    agony- it all culminates
    in the stony, splintered remains of me;
    tired of fighting and living just to flee,
    anxiously desiring nature's ire
    to set me aflame, and set me free!

  • save_prakriti 10w

    Therapy is expensive
    So i just look at you


  • the_fragile_broken_and_lost 10w

    My heart my tears go out to each of you, fighting a battle that's hardly ever overcome. No matter the time. No matter the distance.
    May peace be with you.

    #rape #sexualassault #innocent #hell #prison #bars #steelbars #mirakee #Miraquill #writersofmirakee #writeon #writetoheal #therapy

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    Bastardized Animals

    Battles fought silently, I lose them all.
    All the words I have written or spoken are the truth. Sexual assaulted men and women are sometimes afraid of their rapists. I am gonna say a high percentage, of 83%. That's right off top my head. The lucky, and i say lucky victims cuz their worst nightmares are behind bars. Some walk free. Like me or you like they are victims. The ones behind the steel frigid bars, are asked by the prisoner they are bunked with. So, why are you here? Me? Oh, just sum bullshit. I'm Innocent. Some little girl saying I raped her. Oh.... OK yea I'm Innocent too. My DNA was planted at the crime scene gone bad. I'm Innocent.
    There are all Innocent, ain't none of em done a damn thing wrong. Just taking what what his, you know?

    The damages have been done. The girl, boy, man or the woman abused or raped has been scarred. Throughout her entire life now.
    And the man that did so, sitting there pleading their innocence. Trying to convince them, in turn convincing their selves. The woman/girl/ boy/ man has no damn choice innocence is taken now. Envelope sealed, mailed and fukn done.
    There is no returning. Never.

    Maybe these bastardized animals had daughters, as I was. I was raised as his daughter. And ended up being a victim. I don't really think I'm the only one out there. The last thing I would want to do is call any woman out. That's not what I am writing this for. I am writing, in hopes one day you heal. From the inside out. As I have trouble myself. Doing just that.
    I pray for you as I do myself, in silence.
    I cry a million tears for us all.
    I am crying writing this.
    I hope that one day, judgement day comes for each and every bastard.
    Out there. Lying. Saying they ain't do shit.
    I'm fukn Innocent.
    That so called innocence you trying to claim right now, just wait. Your ticket to burn in Hell is being printed and burned in the steel fukn bars your ass deserves to stand behind. Until one day you can't stand, you can crawl to the pits of Hell. As you have claimed yours.

  • alifrey 10w

    Not A Choice

    Wanting to express feelings, hesitate as you speak.
    'fore those around you think they are mild and meek.
    False promises and manipulation happened before.
    Trying now to right your wrongs, excuses no more.
    Accusations come along, you have to take the extra step.
    Picking up the pieces that many have left.
    They did not want to see you destructive and malicious.
    Devil made you take the drink, that was so delicious.
    In the end all you carry are feelings well hidden.
    Family and friends scattered, have said good riddence.
    Now you're begging and pleading for others to see.
    That addiction is not a choice, but a disease.

  • alifrey 10w


    Many just see my curls and eye shadow
    Don't know the demons I carry or tears I've wallow
    Bubbly and elequent is what I portray
    When my feet hit the floor beginning each day.
    Smile and greet all I'm around
    Happiness and grace can always be found
    When the moments are over and the moon comes out
    Start to see what my feelings are really about
    Second guessing and replaying sweeps over my mind
    Wondering if I was too harsh or sometimes too kind
    As my head hits the pillow, I remember karma is true.
    Do good things and good things happen to you.

  • wifey_suicide 11w

    Taking Medicine

    Taking medicine is always sad
    You can become very addicted or very sad
    You are either happy or you want to knot the rope
    Either way it's sad unless you take it like a vitamin
    At least you're trying very hard
    Asking for help and seeking for hope
    While the scars on your wrist are the ways you cope
    You remember the day when the police were in your yard
    Straight jackets and neighbors watching the racket
    As you pack everything and go away
    It's like jail, but only for a few months
    If you don't get better then you stay longer
    You just become a stray
    You start pulling little stunts
    At least you're becoming stronger
    Put your demons away
    Taking medicine will make things okay

    Taking medicine is always sad
    You can become very addicted or very sad

  • devasharmapoems 11w

    The wound is the place where the Light enters you.

    Maybe that's why you cut me so deep?
    Maybe that's why it won't stop its bleed?
    Maybe that's why I can never seem to sleep?

    Or maybe I needed a lot of light?
    Or maybe I needed a constant reminder?
    Or maybe I needed to lay awake and think?

    The wound will heal, the light will stay entrapped.

  • saverahota 13w

    A R T I S T H E R A P Y

    I see the paint on my fingers,
    Soon, a happy memory lingers.

    The calming soft strokes,
    Of every hue the canvas soaks
    Satisfies every sense of mine
    Making everything feel perfectly fine.


  • furqanahmed 14w

    What comes into my heart is a promise so that I can liberate your heart.


  • in_fragments 15w

    "I am more than the things that I eat,
    I am more than the number on my scale-
    I am not giving up control
    by feeding my body what it needs.
    I am gaining it.

    I am not a failure
    for eating anything,
    because my existence on this earth
    is so much more than calorie counting,
    more than good or bad foods to avoid,
    more than obsessively
    checking my body in mirrors,
    more than starving to obtain beauty
    that no one else will ever see,
    because I will collapse if I walk
    a block out from my door.
    It is more than skipping meals
    and staying under a certain amount,
    living with this sick kind of "budget"
    that only pertains to me,
    destroying my body to look attractive
    for no one in particular,
    not even for myself.
    Food is not food anymore.
    It is only numbers, numbers that I
    can't afford to consume. But I want to.

    There is more to life than this disease.
    I want to see it all.

    I am more than the things that I eat,
    I am more than the number on my scale,
    more than losing friends
    and refusing food
    to keep some arbitrary self-control,
    more than a body for excessive exercise.
    I will not remain a slave to it.
    I am here to be more
    than simply "beautiful,"
    more than merely "thin."
    I am here to experience passion,
    develop hobbies and ideas,
    build up communities and contribute
    with love and creativity-
    my values, my influences,
    the things I leave behind
    that don't reflect my size at all.

    Truthfully, out of my element
    to be anything else-
    I have lived in dark tunnel vision
    for so long, that I've lost count
    of all the things I used to have,
    all the things I let fall away from me
    in the name of allowing anorexia
    to beat me.

    Every single day is a battle,
    a neverending fight
    to reclaim my body and mind,
    to make myself stronger
    than I thought was possible yesterday.
    Sometimes I am going to lose,
    sometimes the eating is too hard to do.
    Most of the time there is suffering-
    remission, relapsing, weeping, repeating.

    It's a long way to claw out
    of the hole I created myself,
    but I must remember what matters most-
    health, compassion, support,
    and acceptance of self.
    I must constantly challenge
    the lies my disorder hisses at me.
    I am more than the skin and bones
    it reduces me to. It does not matter
    if my collarbones hold water,
    it does not matter
    that my body looks so fragile
    it might break in half if you hold me,
    or if every finger wraps fully
    around my wrist.
    I have to remember
    that I do not really want these things.
    I am more than a body,
    even as the sickness takes over my mind.

    I am more than a body. I am fire.
    I am here to be a flame,
    to set the world ablaze,
    become a torrid catalyst for change-
    even if it's only in
    a single person's thoughts.

    We are here to be more than
    agreeable bodies.
    We are all here to live,
    not to become beautiful corpses.

    There is more to life than
    what this disorder says. You are a flame,
    and you need a lot of energy
    to remain bright and burning
    through stress and hardship,
    to stay the same person
    they all fell in love with,
    to become someone you'll
    fall deeply in love with as well.

    You've become a shell
    of who you used to be.
    Give yourself the gift of strength today,
    the nutrition to move forward;
    even if it's just a bite,
    even if it's just a step,
    your body is going to thank you
    for loving it enough to feed it
    in spite of the mental anguish and pain.
    Life is more than this disease,
    and the sickest among us know
    that alas, the only way out of it
    is through."

    I ate two of my fear foods yesterday, a veggie burger and fries and I thought I was gonna die but I didn't, and neither will you. ������
    #pod #poem #eatingdisorder #mentalhealth #selfcare #healing #recovery #thoughts #therapy @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    More Than a Body

    I am more than a body. I am fire.
    I am here to be a flame,
    to set the world ablaze,
    become a torrid catalyst for change...

  • in_fragments 17w

    To the smug and self-satisfied adult I once thought I had to be:
    They're just stuffed animals ��‍♀️ There's no reason to get bothered when you see adults happily owning them! If you need to have- or not have- something just to "feel" like a "real adult", then you aren't a real adult yet. Even if you're 65. So no matter how old you are, no matter how long it's been, it's never too late to grow up and buy a plushie!! ����
    #pod #poem #cat #lamb #animals #thoughts #therapy #trauma #childhood #mentalhealth #mentalillness #selfcare #recovery @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Ode to Stuffed Animals

    An ode to a childhood friend;
    stuffed kitty, pearly white and fluffy,
    with hazel beads for irises
    and a pink nose that fell off long ago-
    on account of decades in my arms
    and decades spinning around
    inside the washing machine,
    removing my tears and drool
    and snot and vomit
    from the surface of his fur-
    unlike a fickle and combative human,
    who will push every struggle under the rug,
    he never seemed to mind at all.
    He was my knight, protecting me
    from anything, carrying me
    through everything, pushing
    to keep me safe and warm every night.
    I lost him once when I was young,
    in an experience I don't remember-
    but when I found him soon after
    in my mother's trunk, in a box
    to be donated and sent away into time,
    I took him back as I recalled who he was,
    I never wanted to lose him again.
    So he's stayed with me since;
    through class graduations, years
    of therapy, hospitalizations,
    and months-long rehab stints;
    through moments of mourning
    and quiet contentment,
    through times of trauma and dissociation,
    abuse and excitement and euphoria,
    explosive anger and fiery sadness,
    dysfunction and love- the greatest man
    to go with me through it all
    was a simple kitty, made of stuffing-
    my beacon of sanity through the good,
    the bad, and the growing up.

    He was worn down and tired
    by the time I was older; fur matted,
    body stretched and flattened,
    stuffing leaking out of holes
    in his back like puncture wounds.
    I tried to keep him in my arms at night,
    but it would never be the same again.
    He was weary and could no longer provide
    the same comfort he brought
    when I was small, and I
    could never recapture what I once had,
    the childhood that time forgot-
    the one I missed out on
    before I even noticed it was over.

    There's a crack in my head, bore early on,
    and all attempts to revive what once was
    are futile. I feel as stuck
    as this empty, old cat; frozen in time,
    rotting inside of myself as well.
    The morning always keeps on moving,
    with us or without us,
    no matter how hard we struggle
    to slow it down.
    Why are we born just to decay,
    and to witness the deaths
    of everything we ever cherished?

    It's getting harder to survive, but I try
    by retiring my old knight and
    finding a new one- a pretty pink lamb,
    bringing back sweetness and solace
    for the inner child
    that still needs it, as childhood
    lingers in places we forgot existed,
    and it holds ancient wisdom
    that adults will never listen to.
    My old kitty watches from
    the shelf now; he's seen so much of me,
    witnessed so many mysterious things
    that I could never throw him out completely.
    As a little girl I was embarrassed
    of my attachments to stuffed animals-
    but now, as a grown woman,
    I am allowed to keep as many
    as I want, as many as it takes
    to keep me cozy and secure-
    as many as it takes
    to alleviate the agony of being alive
    and getting older.
    It is not childish to want these things.

    It is not childish to want to feel childish;
    it is, in fact, the first mark
    of healing, a crucial step
    on the rocky journey back to yourself;
    for allowing all the parts inside you
    to release, breathe, and no longer be
    condemned to their old, aching grief-
    opens up the secret portals
    to myriad lost memories...

  • neethi_athi 17w

    ജീവിതത്തിൽ വല്ലാതെ പ്രയാസപ്പെടുന്നതായി തോന്നുന്നുണ്ടോ?
    ഉടനടി പരിഹാരം,
    ചങ്കിനെ വിളിക്കൂ, ഇറിറ്റേറ്റ് ചെയ്യൂ
    ആശ്വാസ് കണ്ടെത്തൂ.
    പണചെലവില്ലാത്ത തെറാപ്പി,

    No therapist can replace your best friend,
    No medicine can cure you better than their scolds,
    Vent, vent and vent
    Till you feel better
    (വ്യവസ്ഥകൾക്ക് വിധേയം )

  • benny_lambchop 18w

    Fire Brain

    I hate when I can't relax
    Body shaking
    Soul attempting escape
    Brain stuttering
    I can't even think
    Electrical pulses
    Taking over
    Disabling ambition
    I am freezing
    Trapped inside