Mental Health, Mine Na Poem

Resplendent Rainbow

How I feel you
On the prowl
I’m the projector of emotional auras
Your titillating colors slip and slid over me like silky ribbon ties
No longer a fixation of identity,
As my rigid selves enter nature’s magical transplanting
Submerged in NaNa, the greens of Nara’s richness of empathy
The arching of hope

Yet, in times there comes a counterpart in my being
A pulling away from the vivid arc in the horizon
And the colors muddle down into one block of black rune, resting on my chest

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Mental Health

Ardorous Air

Found myself again
in a fountain of exuberance
I’m zealous as climbing roses
are towards the sunshine,
Until I’m wavering pale,
jumbling in the moonlight
Navigating through
margaritaceous streams
By the silvery meadow,
rising as a helium exit

Basking above
all my historical lamentations
Up in the stellar tower
Mesmeric fireworks
booming and springing neurons
Remembering
A God within
That ask,
“What’s your favorite color?”
You said, “YOU, if you can be ephemeral, a God, colorless and odorless.”

                                    Words: Nara & Photograph: David Johnson

 

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Mental Health, Relationship

Ossuary Sea

Jellyfish spit love
Tinkering with nature
The pleasure geyser from under the frown
Settle for up or down

A friend that failed you;
Once a three headed goddess
merry-go-round
Now she’s restless as a Wolfgang huntress
Chasing a sorrow bit tale
A mad clap ovation to tear down the love summit

Perplexed, when we come back for more harm
When times are good, demanded the sorrow to stay away
Pushy like the river into the sea
Water element, better then the air to breathe

The horizontal bones
sinking bells below,
Out of decadence we all go under, in watery graves tonight
In hope, to awaken in aria’s soul-mist
A great acquiesce, to exist
A perpendicular recovery
In a circulation towards love again

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Kryptonite, Mental Health

Slipping out of twilight’s swallow

No more, the fragile figurine
A damsel I played at twenty-three
Bewailing old-time wrecks
Shyness usually describes a
modest daughter
But I like crunching the shells

Forget-me-nots scattered at where I end, and another begins
Teeter tottering, a mechanism for equilibrium
Has been replaced with circling the well
For wishes are like rituals prescribed
When the highs and lows are unbearable and through a meaningless loop
Tell no one, for they might sneer and smear your name
Their sweet shared insincerity
are lampshades, to their white hot souls

She called me naive
Ha! All beauties are lures
Eyes are flowers, just blobs of brain on stem
The elaborated mating scheme,
As if he ever noticed my almond petals
Like the possibility of
various UFO shapes
All he saw were dark pools
To sink himself back in
And remind me of my insignificance
Now, onto your self-deprecating,
The hand washing

The abject fear,
My prickly mind taunts
In the same moment of reminding you to swallow your weakness, she says,
“Don’t be a pushover”

Art: Elentori Words: NaRa

 

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Art Illustration + Poems, Mental Health

Julie’s Mica Koi

She’s getting hit with temporal beats.
The neon spine waves — a felt music.
In the metallic night,
banish the derealization.
After the slit,
under the glitterance of scales.
Pain’s slivered mountain, entirety of fiber landscape.
Turned brazen, open the breastplate,
the golden garden awaits.

Rebirth into blooming blood clots
of affectionate friends.
Pond luck, beauty within the muck.
Her perseverance blind and by perchance?
Reality is dew saturated
in her cut palms of presence.
What happened happiness left?
To stop crawling out of her skin,
and sink back into her pores of molecules.
The bodily hearth.
The fervent of living.

Art and Words: NaRa

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Mental Health

Elasticity

The self sabotage roping you in.
How to trust in that shaky hydra of skin?
As you search through it all,
Everything you thought was love;
Horded into corners.
Pushed aside, rummage through,
When your mind can bare to touch it.
Separate the conversations,
Into more tolerable piles.

Stacked up to the ceiling;
All those long ago friends.
You behooved their art,
Spinning wonder towards
The ethereal 9 to 10.
Treasures found in medicine cabinets, borrowed hasselblad lap shots
On bedspreads, and shower curtains,
Became sudden backdrops.

His black hair tugs
At your memory strings.
Backwards in the darkroom
For the make-out session.
Only wanted you as a moving stranger.
We exposed and dramatized our Destructions.
Too much vodka weeping
And highway speeding.
But he followed you home;
To thread you into a knot
And began to call you his friend.

How many more after him?
Lowell’s alarm,”they’ll never come back.”
His firewords,
Burned it all down,
Heaps of ashes.
It was idealistic,
The origin of expectations
For them.
At last you can’t pretend.

In the morning,
You still have your asana
And a mantra to reshape and liberate; everything you’ve enslaved.
For daily shallow sighs, eventually snowballs into an avalanche.
Only your breath remains
For the restitution.

Art: Sara Willett

Words: Nara

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Mental Health

Therapy I

Platitudes and sighs

daily reel sheep shadows

retreat to Chaplin laughs

where the poor wasn’t nameless

recall the time when the mind,

was golden in levity

today’s calandiva crushed underfoot

clumsy as “The Tramp”

hoarding cushions

talk in loopty loops

bupropion refills

repeats

to backsliding

February, CocoRosie’s Gallows

stretched beyond the injuries

siesta—the sun’s discontent

up for a trip

swan-song in sleep

awakens to violet

wisteria florescence

in a poem

on a porch

in Andalusia

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