Anxiety, Poetry by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway?

Genre: Mental Health, Anxiety, Depression, People

Anxiety  by Shellie Palmer

Every breath I ever take those moments my hands
tremble and shake. I can’t control it, want to lose it all, then
reminded of my faith. The Lord steers the way.
I will never control my inner self, it just
doesn’t work that way. Anxiety, what’s it all about anyway? It’s a
normal kind of life. I have my happy place and along the way there
is grace. I get the poor pitiful you, nope!, not with me I’m better
off independently free. Anxiety won’t ever take hold of me. I’m gonna
have those day with a cloud over my head. I push it far far away the
light is just up ahead. Anxiety, don’t let it be. It’s nothing more than
uncontrolled feelings. In my heart I see nothing less the Lord gave
me a voice to be there. Together we’ll stand strong, we will just be.
We know what it’s like to have anxiety.
@7:21 pm
Tuesday, Jan. 26,2016

 

 

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red wrists, Poetry by Sanchana Krishnan

we’re the cool girls of this generation,
the ones with the words ‘i .cannot. give. a. shit’
slashed across us in bold red,
the little lies we tell ourselves to go to bed,
instead of spending midnight hours strung on the edge
unable to seek behind or storm ahead.

Genres: Realism, Modern Day, Spoken Word, Self Harm, Depression, Strength, Recovery, Generation Y.

red wrists by Sanchana Krishnan

we’re the cool girls of this generation,
the ones with the words ‘i .cannot. give. a. shit
slashed across us in bold red,
the little lies we tell ourselves to go to bed,
instead of spending midnight hours strung on the edge
unable to seek behind or storm ahead.
the ones who fell asleep
to the sound of constant yelling, artillery shelling; bitter bullets exploding
into ugly bruises splattered across still skinny limbs,
shifting stories of anger and frustration, guilt and regret
expressed across inches of innocent skin;
the ones whose clothes were just a little bit frayed on the edges
the wear and tear of secret battles
fought behind sunset alleys, behind midnight tea stalls
or on bright Sunday afternoons
at the bus stand,
desperately fighting hungry eyes and hungrier hands.
we’re the cool girls of this generation –
the ones with the
red tips red lips 
red ribs red wrists.
we’re the cool girls of this generation –
the ones that house boys in our hearts and
smoke in our lungs,
the ones who spend way too much time inside their own head,
asking a hundred questions before every step in this game of wizarding chess that
never seems to slow down –
we’re the ones that can be found
wandering insomniac across sulphur-sodden streets,
wisps of distant wishes
settling into the foggy vestiges
of a high mind longing to soar higher.
we’re the cool girls of this generation
the one that are still allowed just the right rationing of
action emotion expression complication communication
while wearing a constant resting not-so-bitch face
head sorting information in a frenzied daze,
heart swinging between your fingers and a suitcase –
the ones with one foot in the present and
other parts traversing through parallel dimensions,
searching for a back up plan if your hearts refuse to allow us home;
the ones whose mouths became graveyards
for all the words that went unsaid,
for all the words to which we came undone,
for all times your eyes asked us questions that we shunned
we’re the cool girls of this generation –
the ones that belong to roads unknown and bodies untouched,
the ones that find stories in shipwrecked planks
that ride stormy oceans only to find homes
or perhaps even build them –
amidst the crumbling sand castles on the sea shore.
because we’re the cool girls of this generation –
the ones with the
red tips red lips 
red ribs red wrists.

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Read the best of DEPRESSION Poetry from all over the world

Submit your POETRY to the Festival. Three options to submit:
https://festivalforpoetry.com/

Submit your POETRY to the Festival. Three options to submit:
https://festivalforpoetry.com/

I PROMISE, by Sky Boivin
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/09/23/i-promise-poetry-by-sky-boivin/

THE REAL DEFINITIION OF DEPRESSION, by Linsday Gignac
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/28/the-real-definition-of-depression-poetry-by-lindsay-gignac/

CURTAINS LEAK, by Kelly Rice
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/15/curtains-leak-poetry-by-kelly-rice/

SYSTEM SCAN, by R.H.M. Wilde
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/08/01/system-scan-poetry-by-r-h-m-wilde/

YOU SAID I SAID, by Alejandra Erebia
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/29/you-said-i-said-poetry-by-alejandra-erebia/

I AM THOUGHT, by Sidney Krausz
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/17/i-am-thought-poetry-by-sidney-krausz/

POEM, by Liana Kaylee Avila
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/07/16/poem-poetry-by-liana-kaylee-avila/

POETRY, by Gloria Oyewusi
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/06/16/poetry-poetry-by-gloria-oyewusi/

DEATH, by Samuel Fatokun
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/05/31/death-poetry-by-samuel-fatokun/

THE DRINKING GAME, by Hanna Aib-Akl
http://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2015/05/23/the-drinking-game-poetry-by-hanna-abi-akl/

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