YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

It doesn't rhyme, it doesn't flow but it's honest:


That night he stared at my hands
Red from my sins
Raw from holding on to lies

That small indent
Where the razor fits perfectly
Soothing strokes on skin
Trying to quiet the demons within

The fingers I learned to count regrets on
Like lead bars
Blocking the light from my eyes

And I wondered where they learned to
Resemble vaults
To clench secrets

While he kissed my padlock knuckles
And the thin white scars
Set free butterflies
Their Wings
Bound by the knots within my stomach.

You have the patience
To pick the locks
No skeleton key
Just the belief that
There is treasure inside

WOw i liked it I could relate to that, wonderfully written!

That's beautiful.

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, and this does have a flow to it -- maybe not perfectly smooth, but neither are those cuts. I love the sounds in the fourth stanza, "And I wondered where they learned to / Resemble vaults / To clench secrets."
This is very honest and helps us remember that yes, there is a treasure inside us. Thanks for sharing!

You people are the best

This forum is the best