Category: Depression
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If Vincent were a mental health activist and a slam poet.
Who gave you the right to dub my night depressing or fill my stars with hope? What if the dark is my time of rest and the shimmers of light, a distraction at best? Who asked you to call my cypress, the foreboding of death? When they are as commonplace in my topography as dying…
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I want to own my scar, and you can help.
Every scar tells a story. I have a cousin with a scar across the length of his scalp from breaking open his skull in a bike accident. I once met a mother who proudly wears her cesarean scar as a mark of having carried life within her. I know someone who has a scar from…
Tintu Saleem 