Poetry by Jade Melissa Stuart from the book ‘A Wish Upon Words,’ which is available from Amazon –
You can find more of Jade’s poetry here at;
So many tears in grief stricken eyes
So much shame behind the lies
So many scars on such young skin
So much pain lies within
All the pain builds in side
All the tears you try to hide
You know it’s not the right thing to do
But no one seems to understand you
One more cut, not that deep
The blood will finally let you sleep
The calm has come after the storm
You are alive, the blood is warm
You know that now you must hide
And keep the shame you feel inside
You wish there was some other way
You wish you knew the words to say
Fall on deaf ears and unopened eyes
You aren’t proud of what you do
You wish the wispers weren’t about you
Nobody seems to understand
Except the blade you hold in your hand
You need proof that you are alive
Not cold and dead like you feel inside
The hurt is so much and it will not fade
It is your own flesh that has payed
You pay for pain and lies and shame
You feel the guilt when people speak your name
You just want someone to understand
And tell you it will be ok and hold your hand
Not ignore the problem and hope it will pass
Not say its a phase or even a fad
One more scar, there is nothing to lose
You don’t do it for them, you do it for you
Do you still try and hide it or make it known
You live in a glass house, do you cast the first stone
You know that some will call you insane and some will call you even worse
Before all this you were peoples dream
Now you are their curse
You don’t know how long you can hide behind the lies that you tell
Being clumsy may be hard but it hides the truth so well
How else do you explain the cuts, scrapes burns and broken bones
You fell down the stairs, slipped with a knife
And sometimes, you don’t even know
They don’t see what they don’t want to see
And you don’t feel what you don’t want to feel
The pain may subside but it always comes back after the last cut heals
Sometimes you wonder if you will run out of skin before you run out of pain
Or if you will finally be able to stop it all before you go totally insane
You know that you’re not trying to die, you’re actually trying to live
You’re not trying to take your life, it’s life you’re trying to give
You’re trying to make people see the hurt you feel inside
Trying to use your pain to help them open up their eyes
You don’t do this for fun or to try and fit in
You’re making external, the hell within
By Carol Anne, an alter in a did system.
Find more of Carol Anne’s writing here;
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For a while now, I have been haunted by the superfluity of my existence
Of late, my mind has become weary from all the years of displaying resilience
I keep searching and am struggling to find a way out of what feels like a runnel
It is fading, the belief that there is a glimmer of light at the end of this dark tunnel
At this point, I no longer find inspiration in loved ones or ambitions I had
For so long, love received and goals set have worked to keep me motivated
Sadly, that only got me to this place of feeling emotionally depleted
My days seem to have become mere obstacles that must be overcome
The pain – even as I quit smoking – I still do whatever it takes to numb
I pretend to be jovial, I pretend to be interested, I pretend to be present
But, could it be that through all this, I may not be pretending to be “OK” after all?
Could it be I am trying to give myself a break and move away from this dark pall?
I talk openly about my struggles for I don’t want to bottle my pain so dire
I talk because a part of me wishes someone might help me out of this mire
Probably as an effort to help me feel better, I am told that we are all “not OK”
It could be an effort to deter me from burdening others or expecting any aid
As just another solution I’ve thought of, “go for therapy”, some folks have said
Sadly, access to (queer-friendly) mental healthcare services is a privilege
Not many of us seem to understand this as though it were a cryptic adage
Still, some folks understand my pain and that is all I can appreciate
It has taken some time but, now, I embrace the stomach-churning revelation
I ought to be to self the person I hope will offer emotional support and inspiration
Still, I find it all tiring and when night comes, I wish I would sleep everlastingly
I have had to learn to manage panic attacks which often overwhelm me agonizingly
Oftentimes, I find myself convincing self to get out of bed in the morning
On many instances, before leaving the house, I make sure to give myself a pep- talk
Other times, I wait until the coast is clear before, out of my room, I can walk
Through all the struggling, I find myself wondering, what is the point of it all?
What is the point of being alive? On me existential questions as these take their toll
Death does seem like a pacifying escape from what seems to be meaningless
But, before I eventually die, regardless of cause, how I yearn to just live.
– Joyline Maenzanise
Joyline is a contributing writer at On The Line, a South African publication. Some of her published work can be viewed here: Stories by Joyline Maenzanise : Contently
Image by Brian Minear Photography
Mental health poetry submitted by Eric Kramer.
To submit a poem please send your submissions in to firstname.lastname@example.org.
The Manic Years is looking to feature poetry with themes around Mental Health. To contribute, please email email@example.com to submit your poetry, along with your name and a link to your own writing if applicable.
Please submit your own individual works only.
Badgered and bullied
I always felt both sadness and rage
at home and school
just wanted a moment that was mine
where I didn’t feel swept and carried away
by some sea that was not mine,
and my best friend were books
few people seemed to understand me or care
those who did only wanted to use me;
I am putting those years behind me
looking forward to a better future because
I choose to be happy even on my hardest days
won’t let depression or anxiety conquer me
I am so much more than this misery, anger, and pain
that is trying to strangle the life from me.
– By Linda M. Crate.
You can find more of Linda’s words here at https://www.facebook.com/Linda-M-Crate-129813357119547/
Image rights by Pexels stock images.
A tribute to those suffering from schizophrenia:
I wake up in darkness
I feel the eyes looking at me
Others say ignorance is bliss
But they can’t see!
I strap on my knife
They are out to get me
This blade will save my life
Take a toll or three
I argue with my thoughts
Why do I refuse to listen?
Why can’t I see thought’s roots?
Tormented by thoughts of poison
I predict their steps
Wish I knew how I do
They can’t explain this
Nobody has this ability too
My solace doesn’t solve
I feel so tired of the chaos
I plead myself for escape
My skin on myself feels gross
A taste in my mouth lingers
A tap on my shoulder from someone absent
The air entwining my fingers
Death’s sweet scent
You better run, my blade is thirsty
I saw you, you want to get me
I will take you with me!
Then she stops my arm
Looks at me with loving sadness
“You need help I assume”
Her soothing words all bliss
They gave me pills
My world changed
No more of it’s chills
I never knew that I was derranged
I lived with madness so long that I never knew what life truly is… I never saw my own fatal flaw
– By Jeremi.
Stories are still needed!
Do you have a mental health/recovery story of your own that you’d like to reach out and share to others? Whether it be overcoming depression to addiction to eating disorders… no matter what your area, there will be a chance that your experience will touch someone elses life.
Send your story with your name to firstname.lastname@example.org and i’d be happy to publish on The Manic Years.
Sharing saves lives –