I write poems in a notebook or sketchbook, sometimes.

 

Two Tools

The pen and the pencil—

Two different tools.

Permanence and impermanence—

Certainty and tolerance.

Neither optimal,

Mistakes both ways,

Give and take.

 

Confusion at the Unthinkable

Unable to ponder—

I try to, my mind refuses to think.

Unable to breathe—

Too much, feeling sick.

So sick—

From eating, from thinking.

But I must—

Must know, to live a life.

 

I don’t know what’s wrong,

What’s real or what’s right,

I don’t know what to think,

Yet I think too much.

What do I believe?

 

TW Suicidal Ideation

 

Independence

I don’t want to exist without choice—

No longer.

I want to live, have a self.

I want freedom, not fear.

Life, not mindlessness—

Blind following—

Helplessness and compliance.

I don’t want what I’ve had—

If you can “have” nothing.

 

Newfoundmind

It feels freeing,

Yet horrifying,

To finally have,

A mind—even the inklings of.

 

So much change,

So many questions,

And fear.

Yet finally autonomy and awareness.

 

- Lily