Mind garden
A poem for Mental Health Awareness Week
I wrote this leaning against the countertop in the kitchen, distracting myself from making dinner for me, my partner, and our visiting friend.
It’s not perfect, but I’m trying to worry less about that.
Best to get it up and out into the world quickly, before I can think too much about it.
(I whipped up this orzo halloumi bake in the end, by the way. It was worth the wait.)
And when I say this poem is for Mental Health Awareness Week, it is – but it’s also for any week, really. You know what I mean.
Mind garden
Sometimes it blooms,
leaves lush, beds full.
Sometimes it feeds me.
Sometimes I feed it.
Sometimes I can leave it be
and it’s the most green it’s ever been.
Sometimes I try my very best,
do all the things I’m told to
by the pros and the internet,
and things still curl up and wilt.
Sometimes it’s in drought
and nothing much grows.
Except
there’s always a sprout
to be found in the dirt;
that’s made its way up,
and out.