poetry about mental health
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If you are here Then I must be too So I touch your cheek And lay my head on your chest In the dark When my body isn’t mine And I have no name Your heartbeat is real
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My mind is a bowl of alphabet soup. A mess of mental health diagnoses- reach in and pull out a spoonful. Arrange the letters to guess the imbalance that keeps me in vertigo a single cooling blow and I dive into the bowl.
Bringing Mae Flowers 