PLUVIOPHILE EBOOK

PLUVIOPHILE EBOOK

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F O R E W O R D Poetry and creativity can be a beautiful insight into a suffering mind, which is why Pluviophile is an anthology that aims to shine a light on the internal struggle and creative power of words. The aim is to break down stigmas. Stigmas such as those struggling, don’t have coherent thoughts or a valid voice. And pushing against the opinion that open rawness should not be expressed within the public domain, but instead, encouraging others to use such creativity to rescript and offload some of that internal grief. To acknowledge they… WE… are not alone.

A creative form of therapy.

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I N D E X

3. Foreword 6. Poetry

7. The Request by Christopher Sedgwick 8. New And Silent Emptiness by Christopher Glover

45. Staying Afloat by Fiora Gudiño 46. A Brief Pause by Cathy Sole 47. One Experience Among Many by Jonathon Keen 48. The Cannibalistic Mind by Bastian 49. Grey by Mira Kanso 50. Found A Pearl Inside An Oyster by Trijya Garg 51 . This Poem Does Not Do You Justice by Riley Morrell 52. It Hits by Melany Uhrhammer 53. Orthostatic Hypotension by David Wright 54. Crawling by Jess Gibson 55. Dogged Determination by Marley-Belle Quaid 56. If These Walls Could Talk by Christopher Sedgwick

9. Daily Struggles by Madeline Harper 10. Sunken Place by Jesse MacArthur 11. The Mask by Chris Sansome 12. Free by Shannon Jade Wilson 13 . A Mother’s Guilt by Abigail Rodriquez 14. Lighthouse by Ravelle-Sadé 15. The Wolf by Perri Redford 16. This Isn’t Me by Katherine Bradford

17. Thoughts Of Birds by Lee Robert Bouzida 18. Brain As An Organ by Rhiannon Ward 19. Destruction by Kiera Webber 20. Beauty In The Broken by Kiara Houston 21. Between The Pain by Envy Alice 22. The Hands Of Broken People by Anthony Gorin 23. Titanic by Rebecca Starr

57. Borderline by Shannon Sharpe 58. Almost Done by Shreya Vardhan 59. Rain by Chloe McGing 60. Prey On My Mind by Amie Bawa 61. Stuck For This Moment by Ryan Turner 62. Reflections by Christine Ferdaus 63. Ghosts by Lauren Elizabeth 64. And Breathe by Caroline Fearns 65. Tie-Dyed Morning by Anwesha Arya 66. The Warrior by Charlotte A Sorrentino 67. The Constant Of Being Ill by Beth Axford 68. The Broken Paradox by Natasha Huynh

24. Explaining Sorrow by Jade Walsh 25. Traces, Or An Existence by Jeff Gu 26. Black Dog by Eileen Taylor 27. Fear of Fear by Chiaro Poetry

28. Depression’s Lullaby by Sian Marie 29. Swallowed In Pain by Panashe Mbaya 30. Who Am I? by Ruth Cowell 31. Layers Of The Day by Rebecca Miller 32. Strengthened In Vulnerability by Ruth Cowell 33. How It Feels To Drown by Tb Finch 34. Sometimes by Saffron Budski 35. I’m Full Of Feeling Empty by Anna McLellan 36. Consumed by Claire Cowly 37. Show Up by Jasmine Story 38. Some Days by Henry Bladon 39. Tame Women by Tracey Afia Agyeiwaa-Piasare 40. In The Bathroom by Martha Harwood 41. The Itch by Emma Oliver 42. Glitch by Kirsty Anne Watters 43. Holly, Come Away From The Dog by Stevie Kilgour 44. A Note On Suicide by Amy Yma

69. Warrior by Alexander Peter Shaw 70. Necklace Of Rope by Siddaq Kler 71. Ten Years by Samantha Curran 72. Escape by Amber Hills 73. The Girl Who Fell In Love With Death by Jennifer Juan 74. Heavy Everything by Jeremy Steffen 75. Teetering On The Edge: How Will It End? by Rhiannon Owens 76. ”I Love You” by Damian Jillson 77. Seeds by Jade Lauren 78. Sometimes by Harry Vavasour 79. Tide by David Price 80. Melodramatic Mondays by Lou Walker

81. In Angst by Tara Aryan 82. Wheat by Arun Jeetoo

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121. Darkness by Maisie Barlow 122. The Power Of Love by Ninda K 123. Waves Of Worry by Emily Berry 124. Resilience by Avyn Gray 125. Bring Me The Night by Christopher Sedgwick 126. Future Submission Details 127. Christopher Sedgwick’s Story 128. Thanks 129. Mental Health Charities + Helpful Links

83. I’m Okay by Katie Starkey 84. Mission Sunrise by Jack Stowell 85. Jump by Lucia Snyderman 86. Something Lost; Now Found by Caitriona Comerford 87. Wellbecoming by Sara Louise Wheeler 88. Antarctica Confessions by Val Akin 89 . The Devil’s Snare by Henna Ravjibhai 90. An Ignorance Shared by Dylan Matthews 91. The Darkness Is Escapable by Martha Clarke 92. Pursuit by Isis Ng 93. Untitled by Alice Richmond 94. Sunglasses by Christopher Sedgwick 95. Begin From The End by Tehreem Irfan 96. On The Floor by Katherine Bradford 97. Depression Is A White Man by Aaliah Burney 98. The Shadowman by Amy Long 99. A Fugitive by Emsal Arslan 100. All The Little Broken Pieces by Amy Stirling 101. Fear Of Flying by Shari Dunlop 102. Hi Dad by AJ Roberts 103. Strike And Spark by Wendy Davey 104. Suicide Is Not Painless by Barbara Marie Minney 105. Dance With The Devil by Mimi Nilsson 106. Breakthrough by Sarah Oguntona 107. The Same by Reece Beckett 108. Laundry Day (On A Rainy Day) by Ozzyka Farah 109. Firsts by Amanda Konatsotis 110. H. old O. n P. ain E. nds by Emily Galic 111. Repeat - Off by Miles Blair

112. Depression by Monica McMillen 113. My Own Mind by Nyal Joslyn

114. Depression by Stuart Vanner 115. Fear Of Flying by Shari Dunlop 116. Respite Of A Cool Shadow by Ace Amodeo 117. Moon by Jaxon Pierce 118. Decline by Dorota Chioma 119. The Making Of Me by T.C Anderson 120. Label by Vaida Asipauskaitė

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P O E T R Y

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The Request by Christopher Sedgwick

Give me a day Give me tomorrow Make it come quick On the wings of a sparrow Give me a moment Something to borrow Give me a minute To release the sorrow I’m done with today If it's all the same Don’t think yourself bad You weren’t to blame I just must move on From this mental game So give me new life To relinquish the pain

Don’t think me silly With all my requests

I’m not asking for much To not feel oppressed It's been years of struggle Distressed and depressed So just give me tomorrow And make it your best.

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New And Silent Emptiness by Christopher Glover

New and silent emptiness Made so by my own hand, These words I spoke to save myself Have only made me damned. And though I’ve trod this road a lot I know this Hell by name, Again your face and name is changed; My pain is still the same. I’ve touched these gates I’ve come to, Dealt in these flames before. And when I last burnt in their heat, I swore I’d burn no more. I’ve veiled my own achievements, I’ve crossed out my own lies, Until I curse the sound of my own voice, And the memory of my ties.

Sat here inside my heartache, Adrift within my head, Writing lines whilst watching on Am I asleep, awake or dead?

I’ve tried to make my point, But changed its dress and mind, Until I crave the hammers in my own heart, And the lives I left behind. My soul has built these bars To keep me safe and sound, Alone within a crowd of thoughts All longing to be found. The burden of my millstone, A pebble to the naked eye, Enough to make the desert weep, The ocean wilt and die. Now I’ll cry over my workings, I’ll take my life in time. But I’ve done that now a hundred times It’s a blessing, and not a crime.

The best thing in my world, And I left my sight deceive. Now new and silent emptiness Will never let me leave.

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Daily Struggles by Madeline Harper

I haven’t showered in a week. Days rot inside duvets and dressing gowns, toast crumbs crawl over me like ants. My internal wiring sputters to a halt; even simple tasks are impossible. I have no tears spared for myself, the infinite hours of sleep and wishing I didn’t have to wake up. But when the jam jar won’t open- that’s clearly the most pressing issue. I no longer have a name. I am a nobody, a faceless freak, flesh dangling off a frame. I prefer it when my head is emptied this way; ignorance is bliss, and lack of weight allows me to pretend I fly. If I am numb, I cannot feel a thing- tulips could be bullets, they could offer help, but

at least in living a vacant life I can seek solace in apathetic daydreams.

I still haven’t showered. My body reeks, skin greying and sticky with spilled soy sauce. I’ll wash myself later, when I have the energy. Just let me go back to bed first.

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Sunken Place by Jesse MacArthur

A small window, hanging on a wall of darkness. No light comes through, but I can see you. Just outside my reach, the more I struggle the further it creeps. Away from me the things I love. As black as night rushes above. I cannot see nor can I feel. I cannot hear, I have no will. When all is lost no hope remains, I try to breathe life into my veins. My hands are cold, I've lost my faith. That small window is fading away. I'm sinking in now, descending further into the abyss that is my soul. Darker and darker still. I raise my arm up in one last attempt to grab onto something. Just to feel anything reaching back for me. As I do I feel something pulling me further down. I close my eyes to start my fall, just then, a hand. Could it be, I open my eyes, there you are. Through the window no larger than a dime now. Pulling me back. I hear screaming from below. No. They don’t want me to leave. They tell me I'll like it down here. They tell me it's where I belong. Part of me agrees. Yet you are still pulling. The window now growing closer, I can feel the breeze. I can even feel warmth. I see you. Finally. I can see you. You continue to pull. There's resistance, yet you persevere. I am almost there, I can see the light, feel the sun, I look into your eyes. I'm home. Out of the dark, out of the cold. Out of the sunken place.

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The Mask By Chris Sansome

You only see laughter The joking, the fun There certainly cannot be Anything wrong But that person’s fighting Daemons present and past And what you are seeing Is only a mask

But masks, they are fragile Easily cracked

And once it is broken It can’t be put back

You thought it was funny “Oh, I’m only joking” But it might feel different To that person who’s broken “It’s not a big deal Don’t take it to heart” But not to that person Who’s falling apart “Just once I let them down I’m sure they’ll be fine” But not if that person Is walking the line It might take a long time To earn that person’s trust But it takes very little For that trust to be lost You don’t see that person Alone late at night What’s said and what’s done Has weakened their fight So stop for a moment And please try to see Your actions have consequences On that person On me

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Free by Shannon Jade Wilson

She wasn’t creative but, She could conjure up 2,000 ways to fall down; Just none, to rise up. Until one day she began To write down all the ways. And discovered a talent For script-writing plays. While her works Were tragedies, at first, One day she found comedy Hidden in verse. Those seeds of mirth Started to spread; And page after page, They fell out of her head. Until eventually, When she looked around, There was magic instead Of the misery once found.

So dear reader, please, Try it yourself,

Free that voice in your head For the sake of your health.

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A Mother’s Guilt by Abigail Rodriguez

I dread When the fog sets in And I’m living in a muted world Nothing feels as bright. Nothing enthuses or excites.

Shamefully, selfishly, I long to succumb to the heavy mist cloaking my mind. Let it erode my sense of worth. Let me hide here.

But the guilt. Snap out of it . For you.

Mothers can’t let the fog envelope them They need to be the light shining through.

The energy a smile takes Is all consuming. Let me give all I have with this hug, This kiss. So that you don’t notice how lacking I am elsewhere.

So that your world isn’t ever muted.

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Lighthouse by Ravelle-Sadé ‘A Poetic Perception’

You are a lighthouse Sending beams of safety and security To those sailing into the unknown But you can be blinded by your own rays Monotonous days, too drained to face Your own voyage, depleted courage You light the way Keep them safe Whilst wondering whether you’ll be okay Being ‘woke’ isn’t a laugh or joke But you’re left feeling like the joker Painting on a smile, all the while You’re hurting inside, always amplified By the fact that you can’t confide So you disguise To seem dignified to those on the outside You are everyone else’s beacon Even when you can’t see them

Please believe me when I tell you - The real you shines through No matter what you can or cannot do Because what is understood never needed to be explained And real eyes will realise that you are in pain Even when it isn’t written on your face Its known as depression but its really suppression Having to condense pure intentions into heartless professions You were made for more than this corrupt world has to offer You aren’t concerned with selling souls to prosper

So you suffer, being smothered By systematic dream crushers They call it depression but know that it isn’t you You just cannot be confined in a box Tired of trying to break the locks

So you rest, assess Study the madness

And then you shine your light In the way that you feel is best Because you my friend, are blessed.

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The Wolf by Perri Redford

I’ve flirted with the fishermen stole secrets from their breath, to cast a line under my skin their wives tucked up in bed. I’m hunting what my mother calls grubby little hormones, I doubt she knows they’re practical hoarding all the sharp things. They’ve been so long inside of me in many a disguise, I doubt she knows they’re creative, inventing ways to die. She’s read up on how to fix me, her daughter she wants back, but grubby little hormones built armour made of scabs. That flake and tear when pulled upon, a girl tug of war rope, for them to noose for her to cling for me to sail alone. It is the lump inside my throat I’ve grown suspicious of. They lounge within my vocal cords and whittle down my words, to cut the people I love most without a second thought. But guilt trips breed resentment, the black sheep’s now the wolf. And I’ll go find the woodcutter myself to chop me up, no place for all your puppet strings If I’m just meat and blood.

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This Isn’t Me by Katherine Bradford

The person who is here before you is not me. You talk to her; she appears not to hear or does not answer. She doesn’t ask how your day was or enquire as to how you are feeling. It seems like she doesn’t care about you or love you anymore. When you spend time with her, she makes you think that she doesn’t want you near. This is not me. She has been taken by an unseen dark force to a land where the sun does not shine and the flowers do not grow. Her brain is submerged in a gold fish bowl, the sad shrivelled orb pressed up against the glass. The soul squeezed into a corked bottle and cast off to float across the endless sea of nothingness. All that remains is a cold empty vessel, the arms hug you but there is no life in them. No life without a soul, No hope without a spirit. There is no happiness, There is no beauty, There is no love, love cannot be felt. All that is left is pain,

All that is left is sadness, All that is left is nothing, And this isn’t me.

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Thoughts Of Birds by Lee Robert Bouzida

There’s nothing more peaceful than the thoughts of birds. Maybe if there was, I would’ve come to it first. The beautiful owls that perch in their trees, Or the sprinklings of dunnocks that peck at our feet. Oh, to be whisked away on a warbler’s wing Or to sing with the lark; there’s no finer thing. Rest with me, old robin, tell me a tale, Of brave gulls and terns fighting with whales. Care for me kestrel, I need you today, For there’s troubles on my mind, that won’t fly away. Please Mr Petrel, keep me on my feet. I’m frightened by all the other creatures I meet. There’s safety in numbers, and you are a lot. Flying in murmuration; lonely these starlings are not. Oh, how I wish to be up with the birds on high, Than stuck to the ground, here, where I’ll die. Trapped in my mind, I’ll never get out. Only these thoughts of birds will keep me around.

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Brain As An Organ by Rhiannon Ward

The brain is an organ, just like the lungs

or the heart or liver; obviously many more. We would not tell a person to just get over asthma, a disease of the lungs. Or not offer to help someone who has kidney disease. Why would we tell a person suffering with mental illness just to move on, get over it because the brain is an organ,

there are visual differences on scans between those with a healthy mind and those with mental health problems. When we realise this vital information, start seeing the brain for what it is; an organ that can become damaged just like any others in the body. Then we would not be telling those with mental health conditions just to pull themselves together As it is never quite that simple, care is required to help nurture the brain back to being healthy or managing a condition. When you hear of a person suffering remember the brain as an organ, reach out with your help and understanding rather than any judgement.

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Destruction by Kiera Webber

Where there is destruction,

New life will start to grow,

And though it seems impossible,

This is not a fatal blow,

Because among the broken shelter,

Between jagged shards of thought,

If you kneel down and look closely,

There may be something caught,

You might need a microscope,

But if you try hard you will see,

A tiny seed of happiness,

That could become a tree,

Wait a while with patience,

And I'm sure that you will find,

Shoots begin to reappear,

That were previously confined,

Dainty flowers of laughter,

And a curling stem of hope,

Leaves that whisper things like

"It is fine" and "you will cope,"

And though this seems to be the end,

A wound that never heals,

Water the destruction,

And see the beauty it reveals.

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Beauty In The Broken by Kiara Houston

Each morning I wake and open my eyes, hands already fumbling in search of my disguise. How is it so easy, for those who are so blind? How can I find the purpose, to endure this troubled mind? There lies beauty in the broken, is something I once read. But how pretty is the broken, when she cannot leave the bed? I toil with the rot and root, which keeps my happiness denied. I dig and churn ferociously, at the deep thorn in my side. How many times should I need to break, before I become someone new? I ask myself is the disguise worth it, or am I losing what is true? It is nature which holds my answer, thorns grow on roses too. It is the soil which grows the roses, the most precious ones in blue. So I put away my cutters and instead tend to the earth.

I now decide that only I, can cultivate my worth. No one can take the value, from what I hold inside.

For there is beauty in the broken, when she does not need to hide.

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Between The Pain by Envy Alice

She looked out into the garden of overgrown weeds Each had sprouted from her unmet needs They had grown higher and stronger through the years Each of them watered by her shed of tears But today was the day she would tackle the ground She would take an axe and cut them down She surveyed the land, weapon rested upon a shoulder Feeling something like Sisyphus when he received his boulder Thinking of the task her arms created a phantom ache But she knew if she didn't start now it'd be a mistake Her hands coiled and strangled the throat of the axe Then the blade travelled forward following its set track The first swing didn't make so much as a dent But she had come too far now to give up and relent She let out a shrill scream, pulling her weapon back Then pushed it onwards, continuing her attack As day turned into night her body begged her to stop She didn't take any notice and continued to chop By the time morning once again rolled in to show its face The garden looked like a very different place Carcasses of her past lay motionless by her feet Although she knew there was more left to defeat She threw her axe to the side and got on her knees And began digging to get to the heart of the disease

One by one she removed each and every root Her energy waned and became destitute But as she pulled the last one from the ground Her face grew into a smile remarkably proud

She knew one day the garden would grown again Although now she had proven she could cope with the pain She no longer needed to dread or fear What would sprout if she ever shed another tear

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The Hands Of Broken People by Anthony Gorin

Broken people, of this age and the next, of the past through our common human heritage. Our personal, unique experiences, hold hands, sons and daughters so broken,

by this so-called life, lost and desperate.

The cold human cries, beings of pain,

or where pain has seeped in, either in trickles or tidal waves.

This our common pain, I hold my hands out,

arms to embrace, the broken people, shards of their former selves, left broken unto time. Shattered souls, shaken and silenced. Broken hearts, beating-barely, from a life oblivious and obfuscated. Hold your hands tight, I see your scars and have mine, United in pain’s plight. All, stories told, on the hands of the broken, The hands of broken people.

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Titanic by Rebecca Starr I wish that I could unzip my body And let my soul wander free. Just for a while. Lately these bones and this skin Have felt so cumbersome. They weigh me down As I navigate through the world, And I can’t seem to do anything But move in slow motion. Maybe if my soul could be untethered It could see enough of life

To make me want to live again. It could re-inspire the staleness Of my body,

Greasing these joints Back into movement. I don’t want to be What I am right now—

Hovering above nothingness. But that’s all I can seem to do. Float in the frozen water Of mental and physical paralysis Until my mind goes numb. Rose, Is there room on that door For me?

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From ‘Explaining Sorrow’ by Jade Walsh

It steals hours and days and

years.

Not sneaking so much as descending.

Sitting on my chest with a cocked head,

taunting.

Get up. Get Up. GET UP.

Rolling towards the margin

of awareness.

It lights on my back.

Pressing my shoulder blades down

in defeat.

This day doesn’t need you.

Intellect reasons with numbness,

Poking holes in the arguments for punishment and absence,

Swallowed sunlight and the mournful companionship

Of stars.

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Traces, Or An Existence by Jeff Gu

A beautifully unmade bed, Birchwood and juniper foam by the sink, A water-stained shower chamber, An old grey hamper lies empty in a closet.

An 04 Chevy parked in a driveway, A radio clock always five minutes ahead, Containers upon containers of leftovers in a fridge, Chairs remain untucked.

Debussy sheets on a piano, Dog bite marks on a windowsill, Slippers and sneakers by a door, Router lights blink blue.

Books tidy on a shelf, A laptop charger still a tripping hazard, A wonderful view of another sunny day, Dust floats by curtains.

A patio umbrella in full bloom, Plants in pots on grass, Pine needles swirling about, Falls arrives carelessly.

A mess on a desk, Cancelled plans, A family in tears, A body rests lifelessly.

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Black Dog by Eileen Taylor

a big black dog chases sticks in my mind as I sit still in my chair racing thoughts crash around a brain clogged with mud my eyes dimming as darkness descends both inside and out too many days spent in this torpor I cannot move the big black dog now lies at its master’s feet panting from the effort of running endlessly round the park where the playground is empty and swings rock creaking in the breeze I watch from my window as children do not play I cannot move the big black dog sits on my chest as I struggle even to breathe small movements of air

too much to bear the news rolls over war and death I cannot catch my breath

as I sit immobilised by fearful thoughts of peace and death I cannot move

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Fear Of Fear by Chiaro Poetry

Fear, how I am afraid of you! You keep me from doing the most trivial things I once could do Do I dare take a step over the border of my comfort’s circumference? But you bind me to my cinder block of repression and doubt As a storm cloud my anxieties loom over My chain becomes shorter and shorter My box of safety becomes smaller and smaller As more things become of danger The hawk of humiliation never looms farther from my shadow It’s their ridicule I fear! How do I keep myself from being held captive in their thoughts? They line up to dissect my every blemish; I am standing in the middle I am spun a tornado, as their judgments form within the eye

I am being sucked into this tornado, As every limb is mercilessly torn apart

Pain how I fear you! What if I were to die the most painful death? In this tortured agony, there would be no end Fear there is no end of you! Unless…I were to discover the means to control you There would be no links to my chain, There would be no place my box must claim

I would see these watchers had in fact no eyes to watch me. All along that the giant hawk of ridicule, was just a harmless bird. And that fear was actually quite funny I had in reality no fear to feel, when fear was in fact, Not real

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Depression’s Lullaby by Sian Marie

Some nights, I lay quiet as a mouse seeking scraps on train tracks; study my hands with my fingers spread, wonder how their tenacity let slip the things that tendered me

I think of my youth, and long walks amongst bluebells, and how their bells would ring; silent as the mouse I now embody, but somehow ring through my entire body, begging me to lay in their depth and tranquillity, begging me with urgency, begging me, stay I think of how my spine is aligned when my hands are above my face, and how delicately wild I feel when I imagine returning to this place; I can hear them calling, calling for me to stay, so beautifully decadent; I’m tempted, I’m tempted to say, I’ll stay I think of birds, and how weightless they must feel to fly, and I’m doubtful; I’m doubtful I’ll ever know, now I’m no longer a child. I feel as heavy as a dying sun, so densely degenerate, I collapse into myself, and I no longer know what self is and so, I say: take me to the bluebells with their dizzying scent, with their soft, enchanting necks, with their elegant inside-outside promise of love, with their promise of truth, promise of refuge; take me to the bluebells, so I might know what it means to feel known

Take me to the bluebells so I might say, I’ll visit, but I can’t, I won’t stay

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Swallowed In Pain by Panashe Mbaya

Living was as comfortable as the summertime sky, nothing but blues. Autumn breathed life into me. Felt my essence pushing into the sunset. Loss became a state of mind. Placed in bondage courtesy of my new body. Gravity pushed me into an emotional whirlpool, found myself in no man’s land. Night terrors serenaded me with the symphony of anguish. My body was enriched with pain. Thoughts created amnesty with agony, occupying a residence in my subconscious. Eyes mimicked a dry desert yearning for water. Living with demons pecked at my mental state. Leached the life out of me, joy became a pen pal I longed to meet. Waking up shivering, craving the soothing touch my bed offers. Getting up feel as if I’m starting a car engine that hasn’t been running for years. Driving into the distance became the forethought, jump cables needed to get me running again.

Speed suppressed voices; cold, harsh winds enforced unimaginable resistance. Thoughts of a brighter day flooded my subconscious, the light screamed for my name. Fighting became irrefutable, constrained to wither away.

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Who Am I? by Ruth Cowell

I am not sure if I am here or there If I am solid and opaque Or nothing more than air

I am not sure if I am bird or stone If I am separate or simply alone I am not sure if I am in motion or stood still If I can ever leave the ground and fly Or if I ever will

I am not sure if I am lonely or content I’m not sure if what I just said is really what I meant

I am not sure if I am poet Or child, stringing words together and calling it art But here, either way, take a piece of my glitter-and-macaroni-made heart

I am not sure if I am paralysed or simply paused A happy miserable beautiful messy disaster That circumstance has caused

I am not sure if I am me Or who everyone else thinks I should be

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Layers Of The Day by Rebecca Miller

Some days I wake up and the sky is a faded blue, like it was shaded in just this morning with the tenderest care, the innocence of youth seeing the sky for the first time.

Some days I wake up and the sky mourns, grey,

on the verge of weeping, restraining, almost as though black scribbles had not rubbed out quite right and now all that is left of day is the darkness of night. Some days I will eat a Magnum straight from the freezer, peel back the chocolate layer as I bathe under tangerine rays and watch the world flicker by like it moves in perfect frames. Some days I will stand right by the freezer, and imagine peeling back my layers of clothes, removing the drawers, and curling up inside finding numbing warmth in the ice:

Nobody can see me, sense me… I can freeze out time.

Some days, Some days.

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Strengthened In Vulnerability by Ruth Cowell

I should go on. My strength? It's gone. The clear skies capture my emptiness. In a short while, it'd be fine. Or so I think. Too weakened in the what-ifs and what next. I can't listen and still love. Each nouvelle echoes pain. Would I be its next victim?

I put on a smile, you see vulnerability. The rhythm of my beating heart distorted. Anxiety, my friend, is back.

Being confined is my new freedom. Solitude is my only kingdom.

She comes to me peacefully. Overwhelming me in the most seductive ways. Maybe this time would be different. Source of my agonizing comfort and my muse. A twisted plot but it's my reality. Anxiety, my friend, is back. Where then lies my strength? In this vulnerability. It's a weakness to you, strength to me.

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How It Feels To Drown by Tb Finch

standing relaxed upon the pier then from nowhere there is a splash against the shocking watery chill i kick and i thrash submerged within the waves of anxiety and sinking fast

my liquid lungs are heaving each breath feels like my last

my panic as deep as the ocean i scramble in my aqueous fight the salty water in my eyes keeps the buoy outwith my sight

a million worries swim through my mind in this watery grave like how i’m always against the tide and that i don’t deserve to be saved sometimes the plunge can be seconds or sometimes to the depths of time but always it feels endless when drowning in nervous brine

but in the seas of worry the surface is always calm i look up to the sunlight and see a sailor’s hand

it pulls me from out of the trenches away from the sharks of despair and upon my salty tear-stained face i gasp as i finally breathe air

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Sometimes by Saffron Budski

Sometimes the sun light is hard to find Though others dance on happy little rays The mist and fog and despair steals my sight and my days

Sometimes darkness worms it’s way and shrouds my brain And it’s turgid tongue wraps around my spine and confines me to my fears, It sticks to every atom and chokes me with my tears

Sometimes I feel like my demons have more strength than I have resilience , They know how to stay afloat while I’m drowning , And I’ve lost faith in my ability to swim

Sometimes it seems I’ve nothing left Sometimes it seems all hope is lost Sometimes I yearn for silence from self doubt, no matter what the cost

And then I realise that sometimes , Is exactly just that, Sometimes is not always, And it gives me the strength to know Sometimes is not worth denying myself a forever, At some time, hope will show

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I’m Full Of Feeling Empty by Anna McLellan

I stay awake till my birthday crests over the midnight toll Thought I'd have grown out of the urge to die To stop The feeling of drifting Apathy is a wedding veil tied tight over a swarm of bees Burrowing under transparent skin stretched too tight Buzzing buzzing But there's only ever silence Angry that my insides are too soft, too uncomfortable Too light, cannot be anchored down, weightless Needing impact I'd punch but my hands are limp Crying without knowing why Maybe it's those damn hormones Maybe it's the feeling that things are inevitable And that they're my fault

I talked to a girl I like all day I went to bed smiling Why am I awake And sad And full of empty And why Is there always an And?

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Consumed by Claire Cowly

Don’t go out They can see you They’re all around They can hear you

They see your every flaw They watch, eyes glaring and sharpened claws. Don’t mess up the words to your speech, Don’t ask for help, they’ll think your a leach. Every mistake you make, Every time you stutter, They watch and then they mutter. “You won’t believe what I heard about her!” And then as you cry and cry on your bathroom floor, The chants echo for an encore The voices, the stares that you abhor They come back and always wish for more. “Just be yourself” is what you are told, But the evil glares, the laughing that never gets old,

Every day you lose more control. Down and down that endless hole.

But they aren’t laughing, they aren’t making fun, They like you, but all you do is run, Just stay, they want to be friends, This fear has to come to an end. I know what it’s like to suffer alone, To believe you’re only safe at home, But trust us, here take my hand, We can help you, because we understand.

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Show Up by Jasmine Story

Show up in your dirty pyjamas and your bathrobe. Show up hair a mess and mascara-smeared teardrops. Show up with eyes red and swollen. Show up with heart in pieces and soul bleeding. Show up defeated.

Show up in your nightmare. Show up angry and nervous.

Show up needy and breathless and harsh. Show up on fire and hallowed to ashes inside. Show up with open hands and closed ears.

Show up for my arms and my shoulders. And tissues... Show up for my tissues. Show up for safety. Refuge. Show up for a moment a little less alone. You don't have to say a word. You needn't lift a finger. You don't have to say or do or pretend to be anything. Just show up. I will not intrude, but I will always show up for you. I love you at your best And at your absolute worst too

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Some Days by Henry Bladon

Some days it’s the little things that seem so big like the making of a bed or the arm through a sleeve some days are the times when you want thoughts to stay unheard and scenes to be unseen, some days when you don’t feel like talking and long to put the noise on hold, pause the pain and wish for a roomful of eggboxes to dampen the roar of the silence some days loneliness is the shape of a pitted olive; sadness the feel of fork

on the fragile skin of a ripe tomato some days thoughts are a badly knitted hat and life is like a broken photo frame yet some days feel like a morning swim

or pressed flowers or a favourite scent or the morning dew on a summer lawn and there should be more of those.

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Tame Women by Tracey Afia Agyeiwaa-Piasare

to feel someone’s pain. to hear others’ stories in hopes that one day, you’ll find your voice. to realize that you’ve been silenced longer than you thought. to feel a heaviness whenever you speak. I tell myself that it’s easier to stay quiet, the world likes tame women - women with soft voices and maybes,

women who doubt themselves, women who agree with them, how do I unbecome that woman?

for so long I’ve held my breath, afraid to breathe out my truth. my voice feels like it’s been running away from me, it feels like a game of tag where I’m always it. It that runs away in fear, It that tries so hard to keep running, It that gets tired, It that just wants to stop!

I just want to stop.

sometimes, I want someone to tag me out of life, but it’s not time yet, for my God has told me to hold on. in this limbo between life and death, the darkness fills in the spaces in between. and as these thoughts occupy the highways of my mind, depression speaks to me. it whispers calmly, knowing that it must speak my language to get me to listen.

even depression likes soft women.

day by day, I’m learning to speak truth over these thoughts, to speak louder so that I can hear my own voice. not by my power but by my God’s.

I’m getting better. I’m getting better.

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In The Bathroom by Martha Harwood

We use lies like clothes, worn And worn out

Test them, taste them, Say them to the mirror in the darkness of a weekday bathroom

Watch your shoulders fall slack Listen the shadow says back “Yes, I am weak” Bring tears to our eyes, Let them fall to the sink add brine to the lies we drink The shadow, your reflection knows the truth He will stand, patiently and wait

To say what is true He won’t leave you, Even when you flick off the desk lamp, Slip into bed with still-damp hair, He is there Melting into the inky-blue of the floating shower steam As it pools Laughing at the world’s fools Who believe you He’ll say “Those tears are not mine”

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The Itch by Emma Oliver

It started as a rash on my arms and chest and thighs, And panic like an itch when loved ones left my side. And just like with an itch, indulgence brought relief, So I scratched the rash, held panic close, shoved sense to the back seat.

But the second set of symptoms was harder to ignore. My eyes became infected: dry, scratchy, sore.

But as the itch spread to my lashes and the panic grew within, I squelched the fear, dismissed the signs, and scratched at it again.

You would think by third affliction that I’d have took the hint, But as my insides rebelled, I kept my anguish pent. My intestines began to complain, my irrational fears swelled. Over months my body betrayed me, while I betrayed myself. Finally I looked in the mirror, on another night long and sleepless, Certain that seeking help was a shameful admission of weakness. The tension and itch had spread to my back, elbows, and toes. I had no body parts left, nowhere for the stress to go.

As tears wet bloodshot eyes, I looked within at last. I hadn’t felt myself in weeks, even months past.

If this was my new norm, something else would have to change. So I closed my eyes, reached deep, and found ego for exchange.

I have anxiety. I want to be treated.

And just like that, all the itchiness receded. I realize now I’d shunned the salve which needed to be spoken For needing help is not the same As being broken.

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Glitch by Kirsty Anne Watters

i. Fear

My mental illness does not define me but some days it does Some days the voices are so deafeningly loud their presence so suffocating and heavy I feel I am being buried alive

(barely)

My mental illness does not define me. but how can that be true? I am my brain and my brain is a computer, caked with mud and who would want to use that?

Earth spills into the circuitry. There is a glitch in my system. I am defective. Who am I if I am not this?

ii. Hope

Dig yourself out of the shallow grave. Claw your way to the surface. Feel the sunlight on your sallow skin. Gulp in the air, smile!

wipe the dirt away- the hard drive is intact

You are who you have always been-

A fighter.

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Holly, Come Away From The Dog by Stevie Kilgour

Holly, Come Away from the Dog away from its black coat & rotten timetable. away from blankets in the afternoon, away from its late walks beside water streaked with plastic & meditations.

I’ll hide you behind a blue scarf, knot tied like a meteor hammer.

I’ll place you under my chin, we’ll swerve the dog us on a pink bicycle with red tassels & gold bells. My pockets will lay a trail of yellow & green pills & all the brown oak trees of history will burn & we escape to a soundtrack of fire & a backdrop of grey smoke. & when the scarf & the bike become too small & burned branches are splinters I'll descend in white attached to balloons.

Green, pink & yellow, never black. Above your head I’m an umbrella, looking down to see all your new teeth the dog will never see this & starve it.

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A Note On Suicide by Amy Yma

People keep trying to make sense of it How could you wake up one day and decide This is it...

As if picking yourself up Was as simple as, picking yourself up

Some choice You can make Like turning on a light Or opening a door

For those who have never been In the belly of the beast, The depths of the abyss Is unfathomable. How your eyes start to see light In darkness, And your body starts to feel warmth In coldness.

At its deepest This cold, dark place Starts to feel like A mother's embrace.

Everything is skewed here.

Up is down, left is right, night is day, death is hope. And we hold to the comfort of that hope, And it calls to us like sirens Called to sailors And we capsize on our sides Marvelling at how much easier it is to float Than to guide this boat. Before we know that we have stopped breathing, We have stopped breathing.

No one is here, because they are weak. No one is here, because of a choice they did or did not make. No one is here, because they want to be here.

But tell me again How you don't understand.

Because I don't need to know How to read music, To feel When the song starts to play.

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Staying Afloat by Fiora Gudiño

I caged myself underground and dragged you down with me Inside this stark black hole I dug long ago, please forgive me The thorns I planted once before kept growing into borders I cannot control They block any rational reasoning from escalating beyond their hold Any argument that's not covered in poison is discarded and torn apart in scorn For no sane thought may cross my mind to forbid it from escaping outside

I wasn't in my right state of mind back then and I regret to say not much has changed I still lack hindsight, emotion, and tact I still don't know how to act when jealous, I'm brash and harsh instead of being kind to you, my light

I don't know what love is like, however, when I look at your eyes, I know I feel it inside I don't know how to keep my mind quiet enough for you to hear my thoughts beyond the insecure wall I've built throughout my life

I'm not sure how to not drift off but you've tied rocks to my feet in order to keep me at your side So carefully knotted with love and safety in mind

45

A Brief Pause by Cathy Sole

You know when it all becomes too much? And your hands are trembling and your heart is pounding and your brain is a fucking washing machine filled with filthy clothes that never seem to get clean no matter how many times you spin them about and douse them with disinfectant? You wish time could stop. And you could be alone for the first time in your life. No phone lighting up like a flare gun. No commitments, no demands, No expectations but your own. Just you. Alas, time doesn’t stop. She rattles on like a thrill ride Shaking and quaking and refusing to let you off Even though you’ve already been sick and you’re not even strapped in properly. That’s why I turn to my little demon. My demon is only small. It used to be something much larger – something all encompassing But I have tamed my demon. He is pocket size. I carry him round when I need the sweet relief of something poisonous. Clear as day. Plain to see. Now I can write again. Now I can think and feel and yearn and love Because I took those toxic breaths and they set me free. Nothing clears the mind like a little bodily vice. Nothing hurts me now. I am indestructible. Only I inflict damage onto myself, and in doing so I practise the greatest act of self-love. I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t recommend you do the same. All I ask is that, next time you see me standing alone, stopping the clocks, You move on and let me be. We fight the fog in my brain with the fog of the ash. We turn the noisy colours inside of me monochrome. Black and white.

46

One Experience Among Many by Jonathon Keen

I’ve thought long and hard about what to write, But I don’t see the point. To make it eloquent would be to give it a voice And dress it up as something it isn’t. So this is my simple truth, The way I have experienced it And the only words I want to say about the subject: It is erratic, Making your thought patterns Zigzag towards their end points in a way That you cannot explain to anyone. It makes you feel Every colour Every light Every flavour, To such an extent That the bad is awful and the good is amazing – So you decide to shut down every emotion To save yourself from the magnitude of the pain. It touches everything you do.

The smallest of things are weighed down by it’s weight, To the point where your toothbrush is five times heavier And some days you just don’t possess the strength to lift it. But among all the pain, the blades, And the wind upon your face as you stand on top of the bridge:

I wouldn’t take away any of it. I’d go back and do it all again. Now I am out the other side And I once again decide what to feel, I can be grateful for the lessons And the resilience I built up along the way – I am stronger now And likely to get stronger still. Depression is not light, So now that its been lifted, I can feel how light I really am.

47

The Cannibalistic Mind by Bastian

Terrorizer! You stole the keys to my power Gnawed at the flesh of my soul And once devoured Salivated for more But with nothing left of mine You ate your own Thought by thought I fought But too soon you killed me… Oh! You cannibalistic mind of mine Won’t you learn in time? I AM yours and you ARE mine! So love me as you should… The way I never could

48

Grey by Mira Kanso

Some days I am a dark grey cloud

that doesn't know how to move with the others.

They pass me by and I stay still, feet rooted to the ground.

Everything evaporates into dull grey, rusting my bones till I hear them squeak for help,

and draining me till all my petals have fallen.

They say we're made of stars, and I guess that's true.

There are days where my light is as bright and clear as the first time I fell in love,

and other days I feel the dust brushing my skin

engulfing me in a deep slumber

till I'm nothing but a silhouette dancing in a sky that knows no end.

49

Found A Pearl Inside An Oyster by Trijya Garg

her feet were tied to the anchor of judgements hands were bound with the rope of poor self-esteem she stayed underneath empty like a swordless sheath she wished she could wear a veil not only to enshroud her face but also her tears to dissemble from being considered an emotional wreck as the words lingered forever in her ears

the grappling wasn’t just with the bumps and breakouts but the scarring that could linger even after it clears like achenes on a strawberry not open to release the seed absorbing self in eternal fears

too scared to strive for the surface with washed off makeup unfiltered profile she couldn’t look even in her reflection’s eye she was battling with her tangled hair of anxiety

she set herself free realising that her head was encircled with dreams like wreath all for her to achieve

scuffling through her self image longing for social acceptance she didn’t want to become a sign of personal weakness unrelenting unpredictable it was growing and swelling in the darkness

and bequeath she decided to break the stigma both personal and public enigma educating and encouraging self and others she unshackled herself from judgments to attain equality between physical and mental maladies shaking the gravity of resentments choosing empowerment over shame she unfettered herself from stained self-esteem for self-love to proclaim

trying to reach the surface she discovered herself searching for a purpose found a pearl inside the oyster she was no more worthless 50

This Poem Does Not Do You Justice by Riley Morrell

My thoughts exist in honey; semi-crystallised, translucent. Blindly reaching out when there is nothing left to cling to.

Alcohol-soaked plasters over raw, exposed veins. Everything I write is double glazed; echoed, yet muffled, trapped as confused fragments between my mind and the page. An acknowledgment that words can never fill the spaces you have left. The pain of your absence now a ring that’s grown too tight; an indentation in my skin; a marble in my throat I don’t ever want to swallow.

51

It Hits by Melany Uhrhammer

Helpless: Feeling everything, knowing nothing.

Sunglasses on, even on my own, I want to be alone. I don’t want to see,

I don’t want to—I walk heavy on a bridge, my eyes closed.

Hits of wind, cars racing by rattle my head.

Concrete vibrates under me and I’d rather be I’d rather be I’d rather be abstract.

I’d rather be beautiful or sad or happy or mad. I’d rather be, I’d rather—understand.

Instead, my soul shakes inside and cries and tries and my eyes are closed and I’m alone, on a bridge,

and the wind hits and hits hits hits.

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Orthostatic Hypotension by David Wright

Blinding white clinical clean light dazzles. The reek of bleach formaldehyde disinfectant on cotton antiseptic. He stands up stumbles stutters trips falls down - Palms on ice chilling cold tiles, hard on his bony knee caps. A weak thin cheap robe shaking, hanging down beneath him, on all fours Head bowed dizzy spinning familiar powerful cruel tormenting mind. Gravitating to black holes Seeing stars Pulled into inescapable murky heaving suffocating gloopy density Frustrating memories make their way down his face. Looping perpetual pain self-induced syringes into his hollow veins Embrace darkness black nothing. He crawls towards it with spiritless apathy.

A strong grip on the elbow pulling him upwards and back into the chair. The faceless voice fades into an echo through empty walls

“you stood up too quickly, that’s all.”

I thought I was well enough.

I forgot I wasn’t.

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