JUST A KID

By Tristan Porter

I always felt older than I was, but I realized I was just hiding the kid

It makes a lot of sense, looking back on everything I did

I took myself out of pictures, trying to remove the blemish

The standards I hold, make tranquility impossible to replenish

Darkness made me lose touch, like a coma; I wake up unaware 

I live through a heavy mask, my passions become my shunned affairs

I’ve grown ashamed for never achieving the kids aspirations

Too many flaws for me to accept, so I become a constant aberration 

Everyone has their puzzle, so many pieces I struggle to arrange

I’m stuck in an enigma between acceptance and change

A war stands between me and the life I’ve always desired

A fight I’ll never be ready for, leaving dreams only to be admired

The only common ground I have with anyone is recognizing that I’m broken

I gave up, leaving it up to faith - to being chosen

THE EMPTY GLASS VASE

By Isaura Lira Greene

Once during the journey,

I dreamt I was made of vidrio,

glass, translucent liquid sand stretched

across a window.

My vessel, like a glass urn, perhaps mine if I were to die so soon.

Except, I broke my very being,

shards---threatening to cut feet---across

desert floors.

Nothing is inside me but a breath of memories

and desires.

For once,

I have watched my companions fall apart into vacant skeletons

while our coyote escaped.

And

some pieces flew into the mountains,

splintering, as if dropped from a counter so

cracks formed like webs.

For once,

After I make it across the cacti, cascalote, cholla,

at the road that leads to a city,

I mix in my mind a golden lacquer to reassemble

shards, creating a ghost of the shell that held me

that could hold beauty.

I felt around, found my hands, and my bones,

and knew their names, clavicle, scapula, sternum.

And each one of my twenty-four ribs.

They shaped this vessel around myself.

I thought I was made of glass,

saw the world through a window.

But then I stopped forgetting

 this body was mine.

Parched throat, I remembered water

A SHADOW OF MY OWN

By Adam Pearce 

I know what I have, where I am and who loves me.

Yet, I don't love myself.

How can this be true? Reason should make this impossible.

Reasonable things got me this far.

Guilt compounds with sadness when I know it to be wrong.

How can this be right? Am I the common factor?

Did I lead this life, or did I let this life lead me?

Why should I blame myself when I am not sure if this shadow is my own.

I yearn to change, but a new path is unlit and unwelcoming.

I'll stick to what I know, this shadowy path is where I continue to go.

VISIBILITY

By Maddi Smith-Nelson

Living in the grey,

walking in the shadows,

don’t shine your light on me.

I’ll shrivel back into the soil.

To till the earth,

to assist the darkness

slowly returning,

feels like me.

Not buried exactly 

but a lantern visible 

in an empty house.

One that screams,

don’t come in.

This threshold 

is tainted.

My visibility is

shutting the curtains,

drawing the blinds.

Pouring a honey bath

to soothe the nerves,

living privately.

Looking at the fire, 

to slowly illuminate

what lives inside.

On the themes of mental health, from poets around the world.

August 2025 to August 2026



Featuring poets from around the world, with up to six pieces of their work, and a little about the author and the stories behind their work.

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In their own words, writers and poets write about their own personal journey with mental health.

Ten amazing writers and poets talking about their own personal journey with mental health.

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