Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

Writer’s Quote: Gwendolyn Brooks

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem is titled “to the young who want to die”. In all honesty, even though this poem was written by a truly spectacular writer, Gwendolyn Brooks, it’s not among my top favourites.

The reason I am sharing it today is because, it is a poem this generation needs to read and ponder upon. It talks about an issue, which although we shy away from, it is prevalent all around us. Thank you Miss Gwendolyn for speaking to the young.

On the note of gratitude, I just want to give a shotout to fellow blogger Michael Medlen(Flawed masterpieces), for reblogging a poem of mine yesterday. It was very decent of you to ask if you could share it, and then reblog it. I appreciate it.

TO THE YOUNG WHO WANT TO DIE By Gwendolyn Brooks

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait, will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.

You need not die today.
Stay here – through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here: See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

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Unbroken-

Unbroken-

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You held me,
But I am still standing,
You tied me,
But I’m still walking,
You drowned me,
But I breathe under water,
You can break me,
But my pieces would suffice me.

You whisper-
When darkness surrounds me,
Like a coward,
Hiding whilst there’s lighting.
You create-
Illusions around me,
Unaware-
My Lord’s, all the light I need.

You can hold me,
But I’ll still be standing,
You can break me,
My pieces would suffice me.

I am much more-

I am much more-

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To all the friends
I pushed aside-
Sent every call,
To voice message .

Somedays my dark
Empowers me,
I blink, I breathe,
That’s all I can be.

To all the friends,
Who stood by me,
From dawn to dusk
And the dark in between.

When sorrow wipes
Aside my joy,
Your thoughts, remind me,
I am much more.

Much more than pain
Much more than tears
Much more than another,
Sad ending.

Because of you-
I am much more.

V- Victory

V- Victory

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There will be days,
When you’ll think that you can’t;
You’ll gaze all around you,
Not a kind eye you’ll find;
You may wish that the ground,
Should split into two,
Pulling you into an abyss,
Where you’ll be understood.

There will be days,
When you’ll think to the past;
And the memories locked up
Would surface to light,
You’d search for solace,
In the arms of your kind,
Not a shoulder would hold You,
While you wither inside.

There will be days,
When you’ll think that you can’t,
But you will; don’t you give up,
victory is at hand.

The truth about…

The truth about…

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No,
it’s not pretty like
the poems written about it,
it is sad and lonely
and loves solitude.
It feeds on silence and
screams the loudest.
It comes at dusk and doesn’t
depart at dawn-
it’s a sticker.

It whispers,
In tunes- entrancing,
Into its clutches;
It doesn’t let go,
Makes the cracked, feel
Broken; and the broken,
Feel damaged, and the damaged
Unfixable-
It’s a downward spiral.

Yes,
It’s defeat-able,
No,
It’s not like the switch
on a wall
To be turned,
Off at choice.
A journey it is,
With more bumps than
Most.
It is called depression,
Yes- it is real.

The above picture is courtesy of Bbc.co.uk

Mother, I am depressed-

Mother, I am depressed-

 

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I told my mother I was depressed,
And she said- baby, it’s just the blues,
Just like every song has an ending,
This one would waltz right through.
It’s been three years- I’m still “blue”

I told my father I was depressed,
And watched the tears stream down his cheeks,
With a heart heavy with guilt, I said-
Daddy, I will make it through.
I was depressed, yet the one to show strength.

I told my friends I was depressed,
They said- girl! You just need a man;
How could I handle another human soul,
When I could barely deal with mine.
I was depressed, not in need of a man.

I told my brother I was depressed,
He asked if I was bleeding then?
He’s heard girls can go a tad bit off,
When their time of the month appeared.
I said- I’m not bleeding… He didn’t hear.

Dear God…. I am depressed.


Day 2: About me. This poem is in response to December poetry challenge. 31 poems in 31 days.

A conversation with Depression-

A conversation with Depression-

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Depression knocked on my door,
And I told it,
Have a seat,
It wasn’t even dawn,
At least let me have a cup of coffee,
In peace, at least-
I said to my depression.

Depression knocked on my door,
And I welcomed it
With open arms,
We’ve been together
For so long now,
We might as well be friends,
Right?
Depression knocked and I welcomed it.

Depression knocked on my door,
And we had a one sided-
Conversation,
While the sky turned golden behind us,
I said-
You’ve had your stay
And I have entertained you,
Now- it’s time to take your leave,
I said to my depression.

Depression knocked on my door,
Like an unwanted guest,
Which tends to overstay it’s welcome.
But the birds sung a melodious,
Tune In the background,
And I turned the door knob
To a lock,
With a passion I didn’t think,
Existed within me,
I said to my depression-
We are done!

The above image is courtesy of Our heat is gospel.tumblr

The Girl on The Street

The Girl on The Street

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It came as a curveball,
The news that they met;
A girl on their street,
Had succumbed to death;
But I thought she was happy,
They chorused all day;
And saw flashbacks of her,
With burgers and a grin;
But the truth of the darkness,
Which hovered her being,
Was placed on the status,
Of her various dps;
It was written in the poems,
Which she shared with her friends,
Who described it, “beautiful”,
And ignored its depth;
It was displayed in the redness
Of her eyes after meals,
When she came out of restrooms,
Appearing fatigued.
It was drawn on collarbones,
Poking through her skin,
And the clothes she resized,
For the waists were too big.

It came as a curveball-
News, The illness took her;
Her weight was too downscale,
She couldn’t survive;
But I thought she was happy
Was all they could say,
But for the girl on the street,
It was too late.

Pretty-

Pretty-

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All that you are,
Isn’t reflected in the mirror;
And the face looking back,
Is but a twinkle of a star;
The scales that you mount,
They measure lipos and calories;
But the worth of your heart,
Can’t be measured and priced.

When your clavicle pokes up,
Passers-by call you pretty;
So you run extra kilometers,
Spending hours in the gymnasium;
You eat at the brink of starvation,
Feeling dizzy and lightheaded;
But my God, you think it is worth it
Passers-by would call you pretty.

All that you are girl,
Can’t be reflected in the mirror;
It shows you face worth,
Not the reality your soul captures;
And the words passersby throw,
Is but a drop in the ocean;
So you say it ain’t so,
I’m always pretty regardless

The above image is courtesy of Visualize.com

Mental Health Friday #22

Mental Health Friday #22

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Hi. I’m Angela and I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar 2, borderline personality disorder, binge eating, and general anxiety. I can’t remember how old I was when I realized I had a mental illness. I know I’ve always been suicidal. I think my mind uses it as a coping mechanism. I know I was at least fifteen. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I sought help. The catalyst was I went from being suicidal to homicidal. I wanted to stab a kid in my class and it terrified me. I went to the counselor at school and started therapy. Still no one recognized my true diagnosis.

It took me twenty two years to finally get diagnosed properly. I had to get a psychological evaluation for myself. After being treated for depression off and on and then general anxiety with meds that didn’t help, I now have a good mix of medication and therapy. Most days I’m good and for those off days… Well I take one moment at a time.

One final thought… Always self advocate. I wish I had sooner. It took me almost being imploding to realize I need to be picky in my doctors and to get second opinions. We need to take care of ourselves before we can others.


This week’s submission is by Angela who blogs at I am my own island , do pop by and say hello. She writes about life in general, living and improving despite mental issues.

As always, The goal of Mental Health Friday is to break the silence, talk about mental illness with the aim of blurring out the stigma one story at a time. If you’d like to share your story, I’d love to have you. You can contact me at my email: mykahani@yahoo.com . For more information, visit HERE.