Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Tag: depression

  • Northern Lights Central Ohio: Grief and Gratitude

    Northern Lights Central Ohio: Grief and Gratitude

    Central Ohio Aurora Borealis: A Night of Surprise

    I woke up at 7 p.m. because my phone vibrated on the side of my face! Kelsey had been in a hit-and-run while door dashing. Thankfully I can get up and go because I left immediately to make sure they were okay. The car was drivable, and Kelsey was unharmed, but the shock of the situation was definitely hard on both of us. Later, we had friends over and they brought dinner! They also super helped us with the TV Bull crap. I think the good company made the evening a little easier managed.

    Not 3 minutes after she left, Kylie called (three doors down.) “You have to come outside! NORTHERN LIGHTS!” Both of them are bordering on giddy. I personally was skeptical and assumed it was going to be like the last few times we could see them… which was only in photos. But when they showed us on FaceTime we got up and got outside instantly. We actually had to walk down to their place to see them being that they were literally on top of our house.

    There were pink and green lights sweeping across the sky in Central Ohio?!!

    I now not one of us had ever seen the northern lights like that. They were bright, moving, and mesmerizing. The lights didn’t erase the weight of the day. The stress of a hit-and-run, the TV, and the ongoing grief of losing my mom on four years ago. However, they did offer a sudden, unexpected lift.

    Amid all the ordinary chaos and grief, the northern lights were a rare reminder that small bursts of beauty can matter deeply.

    Aurora Borealis Facts & Emotional Reflections

    Auroras, or the northern lights, occur when charged particles from the sun collide with gases in Earth’s atmosphere. Oxygen then produces green or red light, while nitrogen produces blue or purple. These collisions tend to occur near the poles because Earth’s magnetic field funnels the particles there. That being said seeing the aurora over Central Ohio is rare. Though solar storms and high solar activity can make it possible.

    Historical events like the Carrington Event of 1859 show us the power of geomagnetic storms. In extreme cases they produce auroras visible at unusually low latitudes. Telegraph systems across the globe failed during this event, and auroras were visible as far south as the Caribbean. This shows both the beauty and power of the sun interacting with our planet. The northern lights above our house were not of that degree though.

    The tie in is knowing to a lot of people grief and depression feel intertwined or undistinguishable from the other. But grief is episodic, typically tied to loss, and often unpredictable. This bad boy surfaces in waves that can crash with no warning.

    Depression on the other hand can be more persistent, a shadow that affects every part of life, dulling your favorite color and adding weight like nothing else. When I lost my mom in 2021 I was left with a steady ache that resurfaces, to go along with my depression, to go along with my seasonal affective disorder.

    Obviously this is especially worse for some people around death anniversaries, holidays and birthdays. But last night, the aurora brought a lightness, not a fix, but tiny pause in the heaviness. A small moment, bursts of joy, is bigger than you think. These things matter. Things like a friend’s call, a shared meal, or a flickering sky. The moments that anchor us to the ground when life piles on all its shit are usually the most profoundly simple .

    The day had been full of catastrophes. Kelsey’s accident, the TV, the ordinary weight of a difficult year. Tiny moments you’d often let pass unnoticed can fix your day. We let the northern lights force our attention, to them. This gave us pause, notice, and a quiet awe to share. It’s the contrast between chaos and beauty that makes such moments stand out.

    Looking up at the lights, the weight of the day shifted slightly. It isn’t erased. The TV, the wreck, the grief, the ordinary trials are still present. Just now with a reminder of wonder, of unpredictability, and of something bigger than routine and worry. It’s often the little things, like noticing a rare northern lights display, that make a day worth remembering.

    Life continues with its challenges. Grief continues to arrive, as does anxiety, tech failures, accidents, and the everyday weight of living.

    The Northern lights showing off insane red hues over central ohio
    The northern lights in central Ohio

    Links

  • The good die young- book spotlight.

    The good die young- book spotlight.

    Poetry that heals & reveals

    by: Shela brown.

    A good writer is one who pleases themselves.

    Every voice carries a story worth hearing. At Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism. We shine a light on those stories. The raw, real, and resilient. Our Book Spotlights celebrate independent authors and poets who speak truth through art. Today, we’re honored to feature The Good Die Young by Shela Brown — a powerful, vulnerable collection that transforms pain into poetry and healing into art.

    The Good Die Young (TGDY) is a 91-page digital poetry collection and memoir, evoking raw, unfiltered emotion. These poems follow a young woman navigating heartbreak, identity, and the depths of mental health struggles—depression, anxiety, and PTSD.

    Through each verse, TGDY explores how innocence transforms, how pain shapes us, and how expression becomes survival. This project is more than poetry; it’s reflection, release, and rebirth. A right of passage and a pivotal part of the author’s healing journey.

    “The Good Die Young”
    KELSO volume- 2

    🛒 WHERE TO FIND THE GOOD DIE YOUNG:

    Buy on Gumroad

    Instagram: @_babysham1

    TikTok: @__babysham

    💫 WHO IT’S FOR:

    For the art lovers. For the healers. For anyone who has ever felt deeply and quietly at once.

    For those still finding themselves after the storm. This is a safe space …soft, heavy, and honest.

    The Good Die Young reminds us that art is survival, and that writing can be a home for every emotion we’ve been told to silence.

    Through The Prism, we continue to uplift voices like Shela Brown’s . The voices that turn pain into power, and vulnerability into strength.

    If her story resonates with you, share it forward. Every share helps another poet, author, artist,or creative be seen. And another story be heard.

    I created Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism because too many voices were told they weren’t enough. Either too soft, too loud, too different, too much. And I wanted to build a space where “too much” becomes exactly right.

    Every spotlight, every poem, every project under Poeaxtry_ exists to remind creators that their stories matter. The goal isn’t fame or followers … it’s community visibility, validation, and connection.

    I do this for the ones who never saw themselves on the shelf. For the ones who were told to edit out the truth. For the ones still healing, still creating, still daring to speak.

    Because when one of us is seen, we all shine brighter.

    — Axton, Founder of Poeaxtry_

    Portfolio Links

    Discord

  • “Can You Read the Room?” A Poetic Exploration of Silence and Presence

    “Can You Read the Room?” A Poetic Exploration of Silence and Presence

    There are rooms that speak without words. Spaces where light, sound, and presence…or absence, tell stories the heart quietly knows. In “Can You Read the Room?”, this poem navigates the fragile space between life and stillness, showing how even the smallest elements, like the hum of a heater, the gaze of a pet, anchor us in a world of quiet reflection.

    Can You Read the Room?

    The lamp’s gone cold,

    its bulb a frostbitten moon.

    Light spills out wrong,

    pale and unconvincing,

    a blue hue.

    The air hums sterile,

    a clinic without purpose,

    a stillness once safe.

    Soft. Solace.

    The heater drones on,

    groaning through the night,

    spitting warm breath

    that never reaches cold hands.

    Blinds drawn tight,

    as if the outside could judge,

    or the sun might bite.

    Even the usually lit TV’s

    dark eye is closed.

    No flicker.

    No laugh. No light.

    A blanket rises…

    enough to prove life is here.

    The body beneath,

    neither dreaming

    nor sleeping.

    The dog watches quietly,

    devoted without demanding.

    The cat’s tail curls,

    a question mark still,

    but he’s stopped asking.

    A clock ticks,

    the only noise

    for nothing worth timing.

    Every second,

    a whisper saying:

    “Can you read the room?

    Can you taste the air gone flat,

    the hum of things pretending to function?”

    This is how a heart

    plays dead

    without truly dying.

    Life exists even in muted forms. The poem reminds us that presence is not always loud and that subtle signals, like the rise of a blanket, the loyal eyes of a pet, can speak louder than words. “Can You Read the Room?” challenges us to notice, to feel, and to recognize the understated pulse of being alive, even when everything else seems still.

    Poet’s Notes:

    This poem was inspired by quiet, personal observation and the way empty spaces reflect our emotional landscape. The imagery aims to balance the sterile with the intimate: a room devoid of action yet full of subtle life. I focused on sensory contrasts like cold and warmth, light and darkness, movement and stillness, to capture the tension between isolation and connection. The repetition of questions mirrors the mind’s own attempt to engage with emptiness, urging the reader to “read the room” both literally and metaphorically.

    So tell me can you read the room?

  • “Anti-Depressants” Grief, My Mother, and the Limits of Healing

    “Anti-Depressants” Grief, My Mother, and the Limits of Healing

    Grief has a way of showing up right when the world is shouting about holiday cheer. Every neon display tells you to be merry. Every commercial insists that joy is mandatory. It hits harder when your heart is carrying loss. This poem confronts that tension directly. It’s the kind where love and pain sit in the same room. You find yourself trying to breathe through both. Readers who have carried a loss through the holiday season will recognize that raw pull. Those who have tried to balance healing with real life will also feel it. In a world that doesn’t slow down, this piece reminds you that grief doesn’t follow the calendar. It follows the heart, step by step, memory by memory.

    “Happy fucking holiday.”

    An original poem by: Axton N.O. Mitchell

    I’m depressed,

    and my life isn’t even a mess

    compared to what it used to be.

    Recently, I learned:

    grief isn’t something

    medication will ever ease.

    You
    have
    to
    let
    it

    drop you to your knees.


    The pills really do work

    for what they’re worth.

    But I still have to get used

    to the loss of you.

    And now your dog is gone too.

    She held so many memories
    of you:

    the way you put her in your purse,

    the way you two were attached.

    The way she looked
    at me
    like she knew
    she’d be with you.

    Letting
    go

    has never come easy to me.

    I don’t think

    I’ll ever fully heal

    the loss of
    you.

    Maybe I can’t…

    If it’s true

    medicine for depression

    can’t touch

    what grief has caused.

    Now what will

    carry me
    through

    the loss of
    you?

    This one came out of the type of day when everything felt too close. I kept thinking about how healing never looks like what people promise. Folks hand out easy lines. They say time heals everything, or that pills fix the hurt. However, they never sit with what grief really does. Losing someone shifts the ground under you, and sometimes the memories that stay behind hit just as hard. Even the dog carried pieces of that story. Writing this was my way to accept the truth. Medicine can soften the edges, but it can’t erase the shape of a loss. It felt important to say it out loud. If someone out there needs that same permission to feel what they feel, I hope this poem offers them comfort. This poem can give them space to breathe.

    Grief asks us to carry the weight of love long after someone is gone. It shows up in the soft places, the unexpected reminders, the empty corners where laughter used to live. This poem is part of a larger journey through healing and memory. It explores the fragile work of moving forward even when the heart refuses to forget. If this piece met you where you are today, stay with that feeling. Let it be a reminder that your grief is real, and your healing is real. You don’t have to rush toward some polished version of recovery. You’re allowed to take it slow. You’re allowed to remember. You’re allowed to feel all of it… especially on the days when the world tells you to smile.

    Poeaxtrys Links. Poetizer. A poem.


  • Muse, Original Trans Poetry on Self-Reliance and Inspiration

    Muse, Original Trans Poetry on Self-Reliance and Inspiration

    Original Poem by: Axton N.O. Mitchell

    He dreams of being his own muse. 
    Able to look inside himself 
    and find something to 
    keep him going. 

    He doesn’t want to be all knowing, 
    just someone who needs others less. 
    As a means to be less depressed. 
    As each and every person will 
    always fail the test. 

    🖤What worked (or didn’t) for you here?
    Links