Featured Poet - Lisa Saylor Gentry

TRAPPED

The moon is dark,

the night is cold.

I curl in upon myself,

nothing else to hold.

The walls are closer now,

not as far away as yesterday.

They say I can get out

but I can't find the way.

I woke up yesterday

and the walls were hallow glass.

I could see outside,

To the people walking past.

Only a few more feet remain now.

The walls, a crowded friend.

How can it be so dark inside,

when I'm surrounded by light and friends?

The walls will crack

Together now any day.

They'll crumble in upon me,

or the wind will tumble them away.

Will the light shine

upon me then?

Or will rubble replace the walls,

While I remain trapped within?

Either ending will be a relief.

The conscious waiting,

a candid sin.

Let me out again.



UNDERGROUND

Rope around my feet.

My hands are bound.

I'm on my knees.

I'm on the ground.

My bonds are loose,

I could get out.

But when I lift my hands,

I can't figure out how.

I push up hard!

I have to get out!

By the time I'm on my feet,

I'm all tuckered out.

I find myself back on the ground.

As crazy as it sounds,

Sometimes I need to stay down.

Even though I've been told,

not that way, resting on the ground.

Rather than push up,

I might push down.

Stop trying to stop my descent

And slide underground.

Buried in the Earth,

Only shadows can be found.

Monsters and memories

That have never broken ground.

Inside this haunted place -

Dictated to fill with horror and shame -

I found just another face

That attaches itself to my name.

I settle in the dark, encased.

Feeling growth and strength,

Waiting for the day.

I will throw my bonds away.

Then I will live

in night and day, 

no matter what 

they say.

ABOUT 'TRAPPED' & 'UNDERGROUND': Depression can feel inescapable even when you have people who want to help you see the light again. 'TRAPPED' and 'UNDERGROUND' are about the unrelenting feelings depression can trap you with.

THE DARKNESS

The darkness is inside me

It hides behind my eyes.

It listens to all my secrets

And tells all of my lies.

I reached out for the surface,

Looking for the light,

But the darkness always finds me-

It won’t let me leave the night-

Sometimes I know it shines from me,

My absolute lack of light

Can you see it when you look at me?

Is the emptiness in my eyes?

The darkness might bind me,

It’s hold, forever tight,

But its presence always hides me.

It will never leave my side.

ABOUT THE POEM: Trauma begets depression like clouds beget rain - with inconsistency and sometimes devastating force. This poem is about my experience with the trauma that will forever walk beside me and the depression it can breed.

SHATTER

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed. Her fist flew out like a viper, striking right in the face. Blood fell down like flames, consuming, covering, taking it all away.

"I'D KILL YOU IF I COULD!" she seethed. Hatred and loathing shining back at her from eyes that shimmered and almost faded away.

"YOU KEEP ME FROM EVERYTHING I WANT! EVERYTHING I NEED!" She grabbed the almost weightless, ephemeral body and threw it to the ground.

"I can't escape you." She dropped to her knees amidst the flames of blood that can't cauterize the present or burn away the past, and the shattered body like a million pieces, scattered without concern.

"Why are you me?" she whispered. The broken mirror didn't reply, but the blood covered glass, filled with a million shattered eyes, stared back without remorse.

ABOUT THE POEM: Working through trauma and learning to see yourself as more than abuse is a difficult process. Self-hatred is the disease that can rise from the ashes of burning the bridges trauma left behind. This poem is about letting yourself feel those feelings and then letting them go.

MONSTERS

Monsters in the closet,

Monsters under the bed,

Monsters all around you,

or are they in your head?

Creeping up behind me,

hands upon my sides.

Hurry!

Turn on the Lights!

Feel the eyes upon me,

watching behind the wall.

No clothes upon me,

yet more naked in my soul.

Now the darkness

is inside me.

Dead pleasure consumes

me from within.

Can't stop hiding.

Don't know if I want to be found.

Beyond the chasm I'm biding.

Lost, but sound.

Now the monster's not in the closet.

Now it's not under the bed.

There are no monsters around me,

but they're still in my head.



ABOUT THE POEM: Dissociation as associated with PTSD and emotional abuse can leave you with devastating doubts about what’s real and what’s not. This poem explores the self-doubt that comes from the damaging abuse known as gaslighting.

A CHOSEN LAST PARADE

A young man in a white robe stood in the middle of a dark wood. Before him stood two figures robed in black, a man and a woman. As the young man stepped forward, torches began to light in the woods. Figures moving silently in to encircle the space. He stepped before the woman, his mother. He kissed her on the forehead then stepped back. She reached forward to touch his face but he smiled sadly and placed the yoke around her shoulders. She buckled under the weight.

The young man stepped before his father and took him in a fierce hug. As he stepped away, his father clung to his hands and whispered no. But the young man stepped back and up and dropped the yoke hard from above onto his father's shoulders. His father hit his knees and wailed.

The young man came down, smiled sadly again. He placed his hands upon both their burdened shoulders as he stepped between them and climbed onto the wooden planks. He lay down, crossed his arms over his chest and faded away.

His parents wailed in lament as they began to walk the way. Rung around them in silent black robes, quiet figures encircled them, guiding them on their way. A symphony of discordant wailing surrounded the cart inside the ring. The slow plodding pull of the heavy weight. The sound of the chains binding the yokes to the cart created a shifting cadence that measured the slow, difficult walk.

His parents crumbled under the heavy weight but others caught them before they could fall. A hand helped them when they stumbled. A back leaned in so they wouldn't break. No one could help them stand beside the grave.

They collapsed onto the ground and tried to block the way but the young man in his shining robes got up and walked between them anyway. With one last look of love, he slid into the dirt - To his resting cave.

The parents lay there, broken. The lanterns fell away. The wailing mourners shifted back from whence they came. The parents tried to stand but couldn't make it half way; until the dark figures that once surrounded them turned bright white with hope for healing and vowed to see them on their way.

The parents stood surrounded by many a helping hand. The young man was gone before them. The yoke of grief will always stay. The path continued onward. They stepped over his resting cave and carried the heavy burden left in its wake.

ABOUT THE PIECE: Unfortunately, not every mental health journey has a happy ending. A young man that I knew wasn’t able to allow his truth to stand any longer. This poem is about the devastating loss his family suffered. If you have thoughts of suicide, please call 988 (in the USA, 999 in the UK) for help. The only way your story can be known is if you live to tell it.

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