Aspen Writes Poetry

  In this poem, I explore the constant, exhausting race within my mind, a never-ending cycle of chasing peace, where thoughts twist and hide, and calm feels always just out of reach. This is my personal experience of mental health struggles, but it’s important to recognise that everyone’s journey with mental health is unique. There are many different ways mental health challenges can manifest, and no single experience reflects the whole picture. I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights too; what do you think the public needs to know about mental health? Let’s continue the conversation to foster greater understanding and empathy for all. My mind is a playground,  A never-ending game of tag,  Twisting thoughts that run and hide,  Always seeking - never finding.  A constant struggle between self and mundane,  How exhausting - to chase your own peace, A marathon with no finish line.  These flesh, these bones, do not belong to me.  What ownership do...

 I  pulled my belt tighter, fingers slippery with sweat, each hole a reminder, an ache that wouldn’t forget. The leather shrank in on me, a harsh, deliberate squeeze, each notch a cut into my chest, a price I couldn’t appease. Once, it was room enough to breathe, to eat, now it’s just an endless loop of hunger in defeat. I can’t punch another hole, the metal tongue bit back, no more space, no more breath, no more promise of a crack. The fridge hums empty, a phantom’s warning to the heart, I’ve learned the shape of nothing, how hunger rips apart. The belt, once loose and gentle, now snarls in my ribs’ tight grasp, and I count the holes as if they’re prayers, or a future that might last. But each turn of the dial feels like turning back the clock,  to days when bread was heavier, and I didn’t need to beg the block. I could live with the ache of time, the wanting not to fall, now I’d settle for the hunger if it didn’t rise so tall. So I pull it tighter, another notch to bear...