Mental Health · Perception · Poetry

Mental Health and Art

My thirty heart yearns for expression,
Burdens of responsibility, stress, and depression,
Cause me to depart,
From the things that hydrate my heart,
Then I am reminded,
Given new sight after being blinded,
By some experience, direct or indirect,
Called back by some effect,
Perhaps some movie on Netflix,
Bring fresh words to my fingers tips.

Balance from chaos through little white pills,
At a great cost because the calling it kills,
I become deaf to its sound,
Staggering around,
Waiting to hear just one word,
A sad film or hormonal flush must be incurred,
To break through the barrier that exists,
Then quickly, I must act in case the feelings do not persist.

Hello, my dear friend,
Like greeting the wind,
Closing slight my blue eyes,
Feeling it deep down inside,
My fingers tap on the keys,
To introduce you to these,
Dormant pieces of me,
Before they again go absentee,
And the world goes back to being painlessly pale.
Wondrously missing the nail,
That the white pills curtail.

The words that are periodically freed,
Are the result of a temporary bleed.

Cover Photo by Nik Shuliahin 💛💙 on Unsplash

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