The world is a beautiful place 
                                                           to be born into 
if you don’t mind happiness 
                                             not always being 
                                                                        so very much fun 
       if you don’t mind a touch of hell
                                                       now and then
                just when everything is fine
                                                             because even in heaven
                                they don’t sing 
                                                        all the time

             The world is a beautiful place
                                                           to be born into
       if you don’t mind some people dying
                                                                  all the time
                        or maybe only starving
                                                           some of the time
                 which isn’t half so bad
                                                      if it isn’t you

      Oh the world is a beautiful place
                                                          to be born into
               if you don’t much mind
                                                   a few dead minds
                    in the higher places
                                                    or a bomb or two
                            now and then
                                                  in your upturned faces
         or such other improprieties
                                                    as our Name Brand society
                                  is prey to
                                              with its men of distinction
             and its men of extinction
                                                   and its priests
                         and other patrolmen
                                                         and its various segregations
         and congressional investigations
                                                             and other constipations
                        that our fool flesh
                                                     is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all
                                                           for a lot of such things as
         making the fun scene
                                                and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
                                         and singing low songs of having 
                                                                                      inspirations
and walking around 
                                looking at everything
                                                                  and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
                              and even thinking 
                                                         and kissing people and
     making babies and wearing pants
                                                         and waving hats and
                                     dancing
                                                and going swimming in rivers
                              on picnics
                                       in the middle of the summer
and just generally
                            ‘living it up’

Yes
   but then right in the middle of it
                                                    comes the smiling
                                                                                 mortician

                                           

From A Coney Island of the Mind, copyright © 1955 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

for seven days
we left him 


on the lawn
near a flower 


no english 
in his spine


just asleep 
like jesus 


he is a cloud
admit it

Copyright © 2021 by Diana Marie Delgado. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 11, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

Untitled Document

I got curious about the etymology of girl.
It did not always mean female—
originally girl meant small, ignorant,
lacking heft, intellect. Some philologists
say that girl once connoted

worthlessness, any living creature
considered weak, whether human or animal.
Others wager the word’s source more obscure.
No one knows the first time
a human girl decided to starve herself,

go further toward the vanishing
people want from her.
The penance of fasting, taken up
by those longing to be saints and the word girl
emerge at about the same time and place: Medieval

Europe. Starving yourself is old
hat, it goes back, transcendent.
Along the lines of girl also, call-girl, match-girl, girlie.
Catch-words for the discardable.
Finally, at age 15,

after a year of boundless fasting, I stopped
starving myself. But it took decades
after that to lose the habit
of silence, hunger’s match.

From Dolls (2Leaf Press, 2021) by Claire Millikin. Copyright © 2021 by Claire Millikin. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

A is for antipsychotics, the only advertised long term solution

B for the beta blockers bought to slow the boom boom of a beating heart

C as in chronic: (of an illness) persisting for a longtime or constantly recurring, causing comorbidity, so they recommend cognitive behavioural therapy

D dials the DSM-5 handing out diagnosis after diagnosis, giving label to your distractibility and decreased need for sleep, so they recommend dialectical behavioral therapy where they teach you distress tolerance to dilute your delusions

E is ensure, the vanilla-flavored meal replacement drink for when you cannot eat during medication switches to the extended release formula

F is for your feelings, experienced at an alarming intensity in comparison to the average human, they tell you this is dangerous (they being doctors who don’t know your name if not reading it off of your file, they being doctors who diagnose and prescribe after ten minutes in a room with you) they tell you this can be fatal, which, honestly, sounds kind of fucking fun

G for the gatorade, one bottle in every room, two in the bathroom

H takes you to the hospital, high off hypomania, where you will check yourself in and admit you need the help. Here they will diagnose you with something we used to call, “hysteria”

I is for interpersonal effectiveness, the module in DBT that teaches you how to keep your friends despite your irritable instability

J is for “Just kidding!” after you’ve said too much, too quick

K is when you promise you will not kill yourself, without calling her first

L is the lithium, to stop the lows, to lighten the load

M represents MAD pride, a mass madness movement for mental health service users, and the aligned, advocating that individuals with mental illness should be, could be, proud to be MAD

N is for normal, you need badly to be so, and so you take the pills but all you are is numb and nauseous and still quite neurotic

O is overprescribed! Four years on 250 mg of lithium and four on 250 mg of seroquel, all before you can legally drink

P is for the panic disorder the psychiatrist diagnoses you with. It explains your paranoia (but not your promiscuity) you leave his office with a prescription for propranolol

Q is for the quetiapine you still can’t quit

R is racing thoughts and for the rate of suicide, running at 19% for everyone with this disorder

S is for side effects. You are so stupidly sedated but at least now you sleep off the sexual trauma and suspected schizophrenia

T is still triggered, despite every treatment

U is for unemployed, the long stretches where you are more ill than you are useful

V is for the vacant look in your eyes and the voices in your head

W is for the withdrawal, when you stop taking the wellbutrin

X is for xanax, which they’ll put you on for three months you don’t remember at 16

Y is for yoga, which actually, you practise daily. It helps, yet you still want to die

Z is for zyprexa, the drug you finally refuse to take

Copyright © 2025 by Anahita Monfared. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 30, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.