Featured Poetry - September, 2025
UNDESTINED
By Jackie Chou
You are not here.
I am not there.
We are not together,
my feet too heavy
to leave my room,
like dragging two dumbbells.
The staircase is menacing
with its neat pile of steps
leading to the lobby,
the thunderous chaos.
I call you as though
you’re faraway,
and even then,
I am only talking
to someone imaginary.
My words are light years away.
It is no wonder you
cannot relate to them.
There is nothing I can offer,
nothing going for me
but this anxiety.
I have no enjoyment,
only this daily coping
with medicine,
therapy, coffee,
and earplugs.
I have no ties
to anyone here,
only this clinging
to a higher being.
Maybe one day
you'll know how I feel,
though I don't wish it
on anyone.
In the meantime,
we are worlds apart,
in the same building.
NINE MOUTHS, ONE VOICE,
By Baibhav
Last night, I couldn’t sleep.
Voices—
two, then five, then nine—
I stopped counting.
Not for lack of numbers,
but their shared breath,
their single mouth.
Whispering.
Of my day.
My father’s shadow.
My unheld heart.
My ambition, unraveling.
All in one voice—
mine.
A cadence sewn into my pulse,
the stutter of my panic.
Not foreign. Not new.
The same as yesterday—
knowing my secrets,
never shouting,
only dismantling.
Beautiful.
Constant.
And pulling me to ruin.
What terrifies me most:
how fiercely I long to follow.
ABOUT THE POEM: This piece explores the relentless pull of an internal voice that both knows and unravels me, reflecting the sleepless weight of self-doubt and mental health struggles.
SILENCE
By Jennifer Alukonis
Silence -
I wish I were hidden
under the stone
that lay
underneath
the overgrown flowers.
Hiding deep
in the darkness
without any breath
or any sound
where only God
hears my bones mourn
ABOUT JENNIFER: Jennifer writes under the pen name, JLA Poetry. Jen has PTSD, PNES (psychogenic nonepileptic seizures), and Epilepsy. Writing helps her confront her demons and manage her conditions.
ANXIETY
By Carl Murphy
Nerves of steel still shatter under pressure
Broken once forever weaker
Time to heal is forever on going
Open wounds never seen
Scorched by feelings from the heart
Broken by trust left unjust
Struggles are normal in life
Overcoming adversity
Impossible becomes reality
The wake of the fallen rise to the occasion
Standing tall once again
No shame to take a knee
What brings out the fear in life
What dastardly events stir the mind
What places have etched images forever imprinted
What time brought you to your knees not to rest
What was seen to change the course forever once believed
What is stress that reacts to pressure
Where to go when all stops
Where space begins to disappear
Where time becomes a casualty
Where visions flash past the horizon
Where thoughts overcome logic
Where the hole forms to go
Non-existent reality check
Life might be a wreck
But hit the storm running
The outcome might be stunning
Somewhere there will be glory
Because this will never be the end of my story
ABOUT CARL: Carl is a retired Army combat veteran (1996-2018).
LOOKING FOR ME
By Brad Copp
Walking, walking, walking
Looking, looking, looking
Where am I, where did I go
Entering the valley, yelling out my name
The sound echoing off the steep valley walls
Wait, is that my voice, how do I know that is me
I know I lost myself a long time ago
Why am I so hard to find
Is that me over there down the valley
I cannot remember what I look like
Hello, hello, hello
Are you me, am I you
Why are you not answering
Do you not recognize me
Why are you running away
Where are you going, come back
Please do not leave, I have been trying to find you
It is me, it is me, it is me
I lost you many years ago
I have found you and you act like you do not know me
Fine leave, disappear, vanish
I will keep looking, hopelessly, wearily, fearfully
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Walking, walking, walking
Looking, looking, looking
UNTITLED
By Anonymous
The world inside is not my own,
A shadow life, a silent stone.
The battle rages, though it's past,
A moment built to always last.
A sudden sound, a flash of light,
Steals the day and brings the night.
The mind replays what was before,
And locks the self behind a door.
My body tenses, primed to run,
From what is over, what is done.
A stranger's touch, a gentle word,
Can feel like danger, unheard.
The war within, I fight alone,
To build a peace I've never known.
I long for rest, a simple ease,
To be a ship on calmest seas.
But whispers rise, and doubts take hold,
A story that can't be untold.
I am the captive, mind the key,
And fight to set my spirit free.
THE DARKEST ROSE
by Dr Carrie Cutts
I have been to this place before,
And stayed for the longest time.
No creature lead me to the darkness,
No birds guided me here.
The sea did not wash me to this cave,
No stormy clouds came my way.
No flower anticipated my arrival,
I‘m snagged in a rose bush,
Beautiful,
With nasty hooky thorns.
Each ripping spine is,
An expectation to meet,
Or a request to fulfil.
A hoop to jump through,
Or a problem to solve.
Where a cry mimics need,
There's a firm grip of guilt,
And steely obligation.
Fooled by sweet scent,
Ignorant of the load I already carry ,
And depleted resources,
There's no time to recover.
More clamouring voices,
Keep calling,
Incessant,
Wanting more.
I have to let in, the darkness.
I have to let it see me flounder.
It determines who I am for a while.
Sitting heavy on my shoulders.
I answer the calls of others,
And when the meter runs out,
I just keep it company,
Alone,
In the dark.
I see what other peoples lives are made of.
I imagine breathing in fresh air,
Dream of basking in sunlight,
Long for a breeze through my hair,
And to splash water on my face.
The future is just an aspiration,
Love and joy,
Family and friendship.
Like a gun shot or a tortoise,
You never know how it arrives,
To take your world away.
The rollercoaster keeps moving,
No rest stops on the way.
Hope is empty by journeys end.
Just exhaustion,
Emptiness,
Longing.
Unwavering commitment goes unrewarded
My heart is wanted,
But never loved.
My experience is earned,
But never deployed.
My knowledge is learned,
But never applied.
My presence acknowledged,
And then dismissed.
My life is given, but kept on hold,
while the caller decides.
The recipient always keeps the receipt
And returns the unwanted parts.
Still, I give in,
And let hope steal my time,
My life.
My heart.
“Stand up for yourself!”, I say,
But it knows my weakness:
To please,
And to love.
I can’t see a way forward,
So I take a step back,
Cling to a precipice,
And call out for help,
Many times.
No one hears.
No one comes.
No one cares.
ABOUT THE POEM: "The Darkest Rose is not a cry for help. It’s a map of where I’ve been. If you’ve walked through similar terrain, I hope you feel less alone. If you haven’t, I hope you’ll listen with care. Be kind to yourself, wherever you are at in your life."
ABOUT CARRIE: Dr Carrie Cutts is an educator and writer from Poole, UK. Her work explores emotional truth, resilience, and the quiet strength of survival.
THE WATCHERS INSIDE
By Madison
Hushed voices in my head—
I’m unable to escape,
Not when I’m in bed,
Not when I’m awake.
Echoing like an owl,
Chanting in my ears—
Each wears a scowl,
Defending all my fears.
They cloud my sunken eyes;
A broken soul remains.
They answered every cry
When I first felt pain.
They keep my sins inside me,
Dance on top my chest.
Stayed when others left me—
They never loved me less.
Silent soldiers stand for me,
Taller than the tallest trees.
They guard the girl I used to be,
Fend off fears I’ll never see.
They march in rows beside me,
Each one knows my name.
They hide in cloaks of green
So others think we’re the same.
They truly understand;
I refuse to say goodbye.
I’ll grasp their ghostly hand
As I weep, not asking why.
They sit beside my bed
And hum me back to sleep,
Keep the monsters fed
And promise not to leave.
They rock me when I’m crying,
Guard me when I scream.
Keep the truth from dying,
They cradle every dream.
These voices in my head—
I don’t want to escape,
Not when I’m in bed,
Or least of all awake.
WOLVES & FOXES
By Dr. Archan Mehta
My dear, please don’t enquire about me:
You see, people have this nasty habit of
Spreading rumors and they gossip like those
Lazy aunties gathered around their kitty parties
In the late afternoons and early evenings. These
Aunties are blessed with evil eyes and acidic
Tongues: they will insist on meeting you in
Venues which are hidden from prying eyes and
They will say: honey, why are you involved with
That poet? You know, that poet is no good for you
And you know you deserve better. Why, that poet
Can’t hold down a job. Oh, the things we have
Heard about that poet. Please don’t trust him, dearie,
You need to shut you windows and lock your doors
Whenever that oddball is around, lurking in the
Shadows. Come on, pumpkin, find yourself a rich
Medical doctor and marry him. Your eccentric poet
Spells nothing but trouble, so break up with him.
ABOUT THE POEM:
"When I was a naïve teenager, I found out that my friends and relatives were spreading rumors And gossiping about me behind my Back: they smiled sweetly in front of my face but they turned out to be manipulative and did not have my best interests at heart. That erosion of trust compelled me to avoid them and I started to keep my distance: that isolation made me feel whole again and changed my life for the better, since I realized I no longer needed them in my life."
RAGE
By James Aitchison
They say dementia steals
the memory of taste, confuses
the weary tongue. It is a lie.
Glassy-eyed memories of food
flood my brain as my swollen
knuckles clasp a knife, spreading
sour butter on cold toast.
“Hurry up, you have physiotherapy
in twenty minutes.”
Storms swirl in my stomach: Enough!
I bite down on the urge to scream.
I know I am under surveillance.
I comfort myself.
Death will soon my way come.
“Haven’t you finished yet?”
The window frames the
old cherry tree. Bare branches
still, no blossoms yet.
Will I live to see them?
RAINBOW IN THE DARK
By Starchaser
You can't remember walking into the dark place,
You just know that you are there.
At first you stand for a while, Breathing cold air,
Your eyes adjusting to the nothing.
Time passes somehow and the storm approaches,
Maybe its Fierce, Maybe Calm.
Maybe its a Wild underground River, Fast, Icy,
Trying to sweep you cruelly away.
But you reach out in despair and you grasp a branch,
Bobbing under but gripping on.
Maybe the Hurricane whips around stealing the air from your lungs,
You wrap around a solitary tree.
How much time has passed here its impossible to tell,
Months Years but you are Strong.
Maybe you have been here before - a veteran soldier,
Perhaps its your first journey.
With relief you feel the maelstrom begin to relent,
The roar quieter - letting go.
You sit down in the Inky void, your heart still pounding,
Jagged rocks beneath you.
Your breathing gradually slows, and you notice magic,
The Throne of shards is softening.
Smoothing beneath you, becoming more comfortable,
Calm and more like home.
The darkness feels comfortable, comforting, even warm.
Stone beneath you seems soothing.
Your mind can rest as long as you need here, safely,
Nothing to do - breathe and heal.
Eventually you notice it at the corner of your vision,
A Tiny light - a Diamond hovering.
A rainbow appears from the prism, gently adding colour,
Kind gentle Companionship.
It promises to sit with you, while you take the time you need,
And when you are ready - guide you home.
ABOUT THE POEM:
This poem has actually been rolling around in my brain for about 10 years in various forms but this is my first attempt to get it on paper. I haven't really written a poem before, just silly ditties for my kids. It's based on my own experience of long term trauma, escaping from that trauma, and the long path to healing with the mental burnout that comes with it. I have been in the dark space a few times, sometimes for longer than others, sometimes I have created the rainbow, and other times it was a hand reaching out into the black. In actually putting these words to paper I guess I am hoping that they can help someone else on their journey, and maybe I can sit with then there for a while.
ALL YOU CAN DO IS TRY
By Gary Shulman, MS. Ed.
I am old, so I am told
So why does my heart and soul soar?
Yes there are some days I am dolefully sad
Just want to cry and drop to the floor
But I try to revel in life’s minuscule wonders
Delighting in all the minutia that I see
Engrossed I become in a leaf or an insect
Celebrating all the miracles that are free
I sing just because it brings joy to my spirit
Then I dance with my booty shaking butt
Then I do it once more just as long as joy results
So hopefully life won’t become a boring rut
I guess what I am sharing with those who will listen
To this well seasoned sage or perhaps ego-laden old fart
It’s never too late to grab life with humongous gusto
And today is the perfect day for you to start!
SLIDE FORWARD, NOT BACK
By Riley M. Frank
The hopes, dreams, and fears,
Source of all of your tears
And all else you have seen,
What all does it even mean?
To divine what is true
Begin to look inside you,
As hard as that may be.
When you do you may see
The path or paths to take,
Which past strings to break.
Perhaps it’s easy to say,
But it may be the way
To keep going forward,
Not sliding ever backward.
A NEW BEGINNING
By Donna Wester
My hands are steady, my mind is clear,
No need for a crutch to conquer my fear.
The world unfolds in vibrant hues,
A life of purpose I now choose.
The past recedes, a fading dream,
Replaced by a quiet, flowing stream.
Each sunrise brings a gentle grace,
A sober smile upon my face.
I walk through storms, I feel the rain,
And find the strength to heal the pain.
No longer lost, no longer numb,
A new and hopeful life's begun.
WHEN THEY ASK WHY I READ
By Raisa Anan Mustakin
Words keep me sane when nothing else can:
it's an incomprehensible concept
where one is painfully aware of what conserves the mind but can't understand why.
Some days, I find it unimaginably difficult
to distinguish between the woman I was yesterday and will become tomorrow;
the time in-between ugly like the dark pores
making a nest on my nose.
It is a whole other nonsense that shames me,
makes me think I'm a lesser human being until everything coagulates into one epiphany:
the despairing person's life is the anticlimax itself.
There is no sweetener to lessen the sting.
When the woman comes back to the mirror, she finds no reflection today,
at this second, this minute, this hour,
this moment suspicious of its existence,
so she does what she does best: making tea, then bringing a book down from the shelf.
ABOUT THE POEM: "I wrote this poem when I was hit with the sudden realization that I turn towards books for comfort with an almost eerie consistency. What is also consistent, yet unconscious, is the steadfast belief that words can bring relief in a world that otherwise takes up the garb of utter desolation in the face of overwhelming emotions. If this poem comes across as dismal and void of a hopeful tone, it is because it was written in the midst of an emotional maelstrom when hope seemed nowhere to be found."
ABOUT RAISA: Raisa’s poems are contemplations on what it means to be a human-being, and have been featured in the Oxford University Poetry Society, Ekstasis Magazine, Synchronized Chaos Journal, The Beatnik Cowboy, Poetry Potion and Scar Publications.
DRY
By BradQuan Copeland
You say I’m far too dramatic.
What’s one drink?
You’ll be fine—
Like you staggered by my side,
approaching mental decline.
My perspective doesn’t match your perception,
so my gloom seems strange—
Because I work, means I wasn’t broken on my knees,
flipping cushions for change?
I pawned my father’s medallions to drink—
much of what he left me battered my liver;
the rest disappeared in a blink,
on a cross-country journey
where I was foolish to think
running would heal my wounds—
that way, peace was achievable.
My issues came along for the ride,
torturing me in ways unspeakable.
I vomited upon my friends—
hurling curds of misplaced pain.
I pissed—
ten years of friendship,
down the drain.
I thought with time I could fix it,
so I came back home,
expecting a fresh start—
but few would answer the phone.
And those who did
would soon relive
another devastating whirlwind
I couldn’t help but give.
I just want to be happy.
Clearing my conscience
has become a daily grind.
What hurts most
is I know I’m the furthest thing
from anyone’s mind.
So desperate and alone.
An utter nutcase,
craving a swig of chilled liquor
for these thoughts to erase.
So I take a deep breath...
And now the tension’s retreating.
Staying dry takes one day at a time.
I’m in need of a meeting.
ABOUT DRY: "Dry was written during a time I was struggling with alcohol addiction and the isolation it caused. It reflects both the devastation of losing relationships and the fragile hope of recovery. Writing it helped me begin to face the wreckage honestly and reach toward change."
ABOUT BRADQUAN: BradQuan is a poet whose work explores survival, grief, and transformation. Drawing on lived experiences with addiction, loneliness, and healing, his writing seeks to connect through vulnerability and truth. His forthcoming collection, Rebirth: An Odyssey of Oddity, captures the journey from despair toward renewal.
IN THE EYE OF THE HURRICANE
By Amber Drake
Tossed around and battered,
a leaf in the storm of confusion,
she finally emerges into
the calm of the vortex.
Here she can no longer hear
the enraged shrieking
of the winds of agony.
She knows that to get
through to the other side
she has to venture forth
into the hurricane again.
She wonders if she can
survive another voyage
through her personal hell,
then decides it doesn’t really matter.
She’ll just remain in here
safe and protected in this
womb of silence
where no-one can reach her.
She curls up inside herself like an infant,
as she withdraws from reality
and surrenders to insanity.
ABOUT AMBER: Amber is an artist and a poet. She was diagnosed a decade ago with shizoaffective bipolar 2 disorder. Before that she had a bipolar 2 disorder. She writes poetry as a way to deal with her mental health issues.
FB: @darkamberdragon
PHRENZY
By Mark Katrinak
The mind can flee and quickly disunite,
come closer to a lesser known reality,
that those closest perceive a cawing crow
amongst the crows pitch-black cacophony,
the high-pitched Corvus screeches singled out,
a bloody scent that ushers in a dark
epiphany amongst a hungry lot,
flock flying off at once to jutting rocks,
a latent truth upon the edge of things
a disunited mind can clearly see.
Dark wings collaborate on minor keys,
like shadows building monuments that fall
diagonal across the boulevard, the days
those hibernating don’t regard,
the sleepy shadows stirred and shaken out
from residence, horizons briefed by dawn
before the sun ejaculates its brilliance
across the naked body of the earth,
and just the overtired are disturbed,
the drunk perturbed, arguing with the light.
Each hemisphere’s assured of adding up
to all its breaking down, a mind’s reward
for its capitulation to what it’s up against.
The brilliant ambit cast by shattered glass
entrances random passersby who glance
upon what’s clearly broken, broken down
to its reflective element. So is
this single mind out of its mind, or has
the world at large misplaced its rhyme and strummed
its strings to pleasures of an audience
that has no time for solitary minds,
the ones they clearly think are lunatics,
engaging with strings too far out of range
for them to hear? I never heard a bird
quite plainly out of tune, a feline’s purr
that lacked sincerity. I would not dare
question a lion’s roar, a bear’s debate,
mistrust abrupt migrations of the birds,
the temporary homes from which they purge
themselves to places past our eyes perspective.
ABOUT MARK: Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Mark is now a resident of Golden Valley, AZ. When not working for a mental health agency, he enjoys birds, cats, fine wine, and spending time with his family. He has had poems published in Bayou, Southwestern American Literature, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Pinyon, and other literary publications.
INSANITY
By Charity Louise
Say I am mad
That I am evil
And creepy
That my genes are corrupted
And my brain is deformed
That my actions are freaky
That my behavior is not the norm
They then ask me the question
“Sir why are you this way?”
I tell them as such:
“A genetic predisposition
An environment unsound
The reasons for madness
Don’t matter to me
For I believe
In the world
Of impossibility”
Wacko Schizo
Psycho and nuts
Call me whatever
I don’t mind
For I can escape
To a strange world
And leave you behind.
I’ve seen places from hell
with fires and flames
Of torture and madness
It’s name is taboo
Psychosis, psychosis
Does it scare you?
Madness, Madness
A self destruct button
That I pressed
Years ago
To blast off on a mission
To a planet
Where the aliens are free
To play with
My memories
Here things are different
Many say they are strange
Here it’s the “normals”
That are deranged
If you want to be different
If you want to be free
From logic and reason
Then come and meet me
On this strange planet called
Insanity
I STAND TALL
By Clare Hartley
I stand tall and proud,
The sun shines on me,
I’m glowing,
My yellow petals shimmer brightly,
I’m full of life.
I like it here in the field,
Every day my petals open,
I shine brighter for everyone to see.
One day the sun begins to fade,
It turns cold,
I don’t understand where it has gone and why,
My petals dont open up brightly anymore,
I have lost my shine.
The the wind starts to blow strong and hard
My petals are battered and bruised,
Strength of it strangles me I can’t breathe.
Day by day I become weaker,
My petals don’t open anymore,
I just want to hide,
The wind is the wind is draining my soul.
I want the sun to shine,
The wind is too strong,
It starts to strip my petals off 1 by 1,
Leaving me feeling dirty and naked.
At times the wind is really strong,
When will it ever stop,
All my leaves have flown away,
I wish I could fly away too,
Slowly I’m dying inside.
The wind has now gone,
On bad days it still blows from time to time,
My petals are slowly growing back,
The fertiliser helps me get stronger each day.
I’m still waiting for the sun to shine,
And keep the wind away.
Maybe in time it will.
That flower is me.
ABOUT THE POEM: "In December last year I became a victim of domestic violence. He was charged with GBH, common assault, non-fatal strangulation, and rape. I was struggling so I wrote a poem to try to explain. I would like to share it in the hope it might help others in my situation."
REAL
By Emme
I look at the photo, it feels fake
Fake because my smile doesn't reach my eyes
It looks real and I say I’m fine but inside the silence screams
Fake because making it feel real would mean having to show the scars
The scars that only ache with pain
Not the pain of the cut
But the suffering
The pain that makes me feel real.
ABOUT THE POEM: "I'm a young adult who has faced a lot of health issues in recent years, and poetry has helped me express my emotions. While my struggles were physical, they took a toll on my mental health.."
GRAY RAINBOWS
By Laura Boatner
An addled mind
now shards of glass
turn rainbow prisms
gray and flat
thoughts dissected
scissored, sliced
eyes incessantly
see flashes, lights
hearing ghosts
who whisper lies
with furious answers
and pleas to die
faceless figures
at the blazing fire
with IV liquid
the mind requires
sent to slumber
fades to black
loved ones watch
the capitulate
dreams are vivid
to the nth degree
but wakes to gray
and an out-of-reach key
ABOUT LAURA: Laura is a registered nurse and writer who has had a lifelong struggle with depression. Previous publications include Brilliant Flash Fiction, New Verse News, Discretionary Love, Soul Forte, and Open Kimono.
MORLEY
By Ted Halm
I can't watch the news; can you forgive me?
It is the most liberating of emotions.
It's best to rest a bit, go home, take the afternoon off,
use the next morning to recuperate.
The groceries are still in the car, so sorry, I'd be no good for anyone;
still so exhausted and can barely stay awake.
The heat index was 103 today.
Huge headache, feel terrible, been super thirsty all day;
can't seem to cool down.
I need to change something drastically.
It's getting worse again.
I'll stay off my feet and I'm hopeful it will help
with the abdominal pain after Christmas.
Maybe the doctor has something.
I’m breaking out in hives.
I know you are tired of me.
I am spent,
but thanks for any support you gave me.
If I don't eat anything I should be fine tomorrow though I'm in a lot of pain.
I'll start fasting to make sure I'm getting better;
hopefully I can get some sort of treatment.
Is it tomorrow yet?
They won't respond to my emails.
I remember descending the dark staircase;
bending over in shame down there in the basement,
my crying face unseen;
where your worn leather strap hung on a nail,
snapping and cracking,
like a blackjack to a dog.
If there are no objections,
I feel worse today.
I've cried in 16 waves and wandered off.
Just yesterday it was double of that.
One should realize; I'm overwhelmingly in a bad place,
and I'm feeling rather emotionally exhausted this day.
I am Morley.
I am fat.
I can't breathe.
And dear doctor, the new stuff doesn't work as well.
Sluggish, slovenly,
like a salamander, man.
Dirty hair; physically sick with a fever,
as a dog, really, for 10 hours.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
But sometimes you say the nicest things.
Are there any temporary measures you can recommend for a week,
or weekend, or so?
There are some real problems this morning;
unanticipated errands to run,
urgent stuff to catch up on.
They look at me suffocated through the car window,
fighting for oxygen;
having a panic attack
getting a Big Mac.
Couldn't fall asleep until after three;
milkshake spilled and shirt untucked.
No disrespect intended.
I'm going to lie down now for the whole weekend.
I think I may have overdone it yesterday,
I can't point to any specific activity;
people may become suspicious.
It hurts to move. It hurts to lift things, even a glass of water.
Disoriented, dizzy, weak, and tired.
I can't guarantee
how energetic I'll be.
Sorry for the blubbering.
I'm very disappointed in myself,
and if I'm quiet, you won't know what I'm doing.
I should be back to normal by next week.
I apologize, they still don't know what's wrong with me.
ABOUT THE POEM: "Portrait of a man suffering from detachment and the suffocating depths of depression."
ABOUT TED:
Ted is an author of short fiction who has retired to write full-time from his home in rural Michigan. He had a 40-year career in university relations as a writer, broadcaster, and webmaster in Big Rapids, Michigan, winning 10 national awards for his publications. His stories examine characters searching for their identities and coping with loneliness, and the unlikely heroes who shine a brighter path.
Share your poetry for mental health ...
Would you like to showcase your poetry for mental health here on this website, as well as our Facebook page? If so, please CLICK HERE for further details and submission guidelines.
