Poems about mental health & chronic pain that are wise, not sappy

This post has been updated on 4/23/25 and 5/10/25.

Poems about mental health, chronic pain or other invisible disabilities, just like quotes on the subject, tend to be sappy as hell (except those quote pages I put together, of course). And that is extremely not my jam. But something doesn’t have to be about a specific condition to touch a chord re: the boredom, the fight, the loneliness… the whole slog of it all. This post is going to be an ongoing home for poems that manage to put mental health & chronic illness into words. This year I’m focusing on poems about the challenge of explaining mental health struggles or chronic illness to those who have never had to live it.

With no further ado, here are my favorite poems of 2025, perfect for National Poetry Month! Then keep going or click here to read my original poetry choices for 2024!

The Best Poems Explaining Mental Health & Chronic Illness: 2025 Edition!

• I Am Not OK Today, Jarod K Anderson
  • This poem lays bare the messy truth of mental health days when you’re just fuckin’… not okay. (And that’s ok!)
• Untitled, Whitney Hanson
  • The loneliness of pain and the small wins that come from self care: this poem explains mental health and the huge effect small actions can have.
• Explaining My Depression To My Mother: A Conversation, Sabrina Benaim
  • A brutal, real talk that’s equal parts love and frustration. Very recognizable to anyone who has beaten their head against a wall trying to make someone you love understand exactly why you’re struggling.
• The Raincoat, Ada Limon:
  • A poem about about chronic pain’s effect on family, and what it feels like to finally recognize how much a parent has put in to helping you be even as functional as you are today.
• Poem For When You Ask What’s Wrong, Alison Blevins
  • Blevins captures that “nothing’s wrong but everything’s shit” vibe, nailing the silent scream of mental health and pain in tight, raw words.
• Wonder Woman, Ada Limon
  • Sometimes you need to channel superhero grit to face mental health and chronic crap head-on.
• Pain, Kahlil Gibran
  • Here’s Gibran, my favorite wise man, forcing us to recognize that pain is a teacher you hate but can’t ignore

All links are amazon affiliate links, because why not? But if you have a local bookstore, please please please shop there instead.

Click a poem to jump there or just keep a-scrolling!

I Am Not OK Today, Jarod K. Anderson

To start with we have this gem. Even when you’re not OK, you can still be and do other worthwhile things.

From Field Guide to a Haunted Forest, part of the Haunted Forest trilogy.

I am not okay today.
So, in the absence of okay,
what else can I be?
I can be gentle.
I can be unashamed.
I can turn my pain into connection.
I can be a student of stillness.
I can be awake to nature.
I can sharpen my empathy
against the stone of my
discomfort.

I am not okay today,
but I am many worthy
things.

Untitled, Whitney Hanson

A short, sweet little poem that nonetheless paints a picture we’re all too familiar with.

From Home.

you've just come in from a rainstorm
you can't expect to be
immediately dry warm and comfortable
but you can do the little things
take off the heavy clothing
turn on the coffee pot
wrap yourself in a blanket
one small thing at a time
~healing is a process

“Explaining My Depression To My Mother: A Conversation,” by Sabrina Benaim

Explaining mental health struggles is hard, but even harder is trying to communicate the reality of mental illness to a loved one who’s trying to help but just… doesn’t get it.

From “Depression and Other Magic Tricks.“

Mom, my depression is a shapeshifter
One day it's as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear
The next it's the bear
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone
I call the bad days "the Dark Days"
Mom says, "try lighting candles"
But when I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church
The flicker of a flame
Sparks of a memory younger than noon
I am standing beside her open casket
It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die
Besides Mom, I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem
Mom says, "I thought the problem was that you can't get out of bed"
I can't, anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head
Mom says, "Where did anxiety come from?"
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party
Mom, I am the party, only I am a party I don't want to be at
Mom says, "Why don't you try going to actual parties, see your friends"
Sure I make plans, I make plans but I don't want to go
I make plans because I know I should want to go; I know sometimes I would have wanted to go
It's just not that fun having fun when you don't want to have fun, Mom
You see, Mom, each night Insomnia sweeps me up in his arms, dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company
Mom says, "Try counting sheep"
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake
So I go for walks, but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists
They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells, reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness that I cannot baptize myself in
Mom says, "Happy is a decision"
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg
My happy is a high fever that will break
Mom says, I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying
No Mom I am afraid of living
Mom I am lonely
I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely the lonely into busy
So when I say I've been super busy lately I mean I've been falling asleep watching SportsCenter on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city
My mouth a boneyard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat
But I am just a careless tourist here
I will never truly know everywhere I have been
Mom still doesn't understand
Mom, can't you see
That neither can I

Here’s a fantastic video of the author performing this piece!

“The Raincoat” by Ada Limón

I love you, Mom. And thank you. This poem says that better than I ever could.

From “The Carrying.”

When the doctor suggested surgery
and a brace for all my youngest years,
my parents scrambled to take me
to massage therapy, deep tissue work,
osteopathy, and soon my crooked spine
unspooled a bit, I could breathe again,
and move more in a body unclouded
by pain. My mom would tell me to sing
songs to her the whole forty-five minute
drive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-
five minutes back from physical therapy.
She’d say, even my voice sounded unfettered
by my spine afterward. So I sang and sang,
because I thought she liked it. I never
asked her what she gave up to drive me,
or how her day was before this chore. Today,
at her age, I was driving myself home from yet
another spine appointment, singing along
to some maudlin but solid song on the radio,
and I saw a mom take her raincoat off
and give it to her young daughter when
a storm took over the afternoon. My god,
I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her
raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel
that I never got wet.

“Wonder Woman” by Ada Limón

As the author said on a Poetry Unbound podcast, “This poem tells the story of a person living with invisible chronic pain who finds unexpected fortitude from a girl dressed as a superhero. Their encounter, “at the swell of the muddy Mississippi,” doesn’t have a fantasy ending, but instead finds strength and glory in bodies and myth.”

From “The Carrying.” (honestly, she’s amazing and you should go read everything she’s ever written)

Standing at the swell of the muddy Mississippi
after the urgent care doctor had just said, Well,
sometimes shit happens, I fell fast and hard
for New Orleans all over again. Pain pills swirled
in the purse along with a spell for later. It’s taken
a while for me to admit, I am in a raging battle
with my body, a spinal column thirty-five degrees
bent, vertigo that comes and goes like a DC Comics
villain nobody can kill. Invisible pain is both
a blessing and a curse. You always look so happy,
said a stranger once as I shifted to my good side
grinning. But that day, alone on the riverbank,
brass blaring from the Steamboat Natchez,
out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl, maybe half my age,
dressed, for no apparent reason, as Wonder Woman.
She strutted by in all her strength and glory, invincible,
eternal, and when I stood to clap (because who wouldn’t have),
she bowed and posed like she knew I needed a myth—
a woman, by a river, indestructible.

“A Poem For When You Ask What’s Wrong,” by Alison Blevins

“This poem was written in response to the onslaught of well-intentioned folks asking “How are you?” or “Are you okay?”  I had to learn what it meant to be disabled.  I didn’t really know how to answer the questions.  Some days, my step is steady and my words are smooth.  On those days, my disability isn’t visible.  But physical pain is a daily part of my life.”

From Cataloguing Pain.

Pain syndromes are common in multiple sclerosis. In one study, 55 percent of people with MS had, "clinically significant pain," at some time, and almost half had chronic pain. -National Multiple Sclerosis Society

Think of spring days-weather radio jolts you lemon poppy seed muffins, dishes, towels and whites.
By evening, grass still dry, sun slats through drooping white pouches in gray-blue clouds and backyard greened limbs,
neighborhood children bike sidewalks, adults nod and wave. We all know what roiling darkness passes just north of our stolen
evening, our cranberry and vodka, curb scraped knees and chiggered ankles. Think of my walking like this-
my steady step today as burgled. Imagine each morning I must open my night-sleep closed wounds, choose between a spoon or scalpel.
Which would you prefer for the job? Imagine a billowing veil that never lifts laced like stone into my hair. I'm not the dry asphalt, the retirees watering.
I'm not the clutched-kneed child. I'm the wailing squall line, funneled wind-needle thrust out to waiting skin.
How many times each day must you consider pain?
When you ask, imagine me as an opened animal twitching roadside.

“Pain,” Kahlil Gibran

From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923). The whole thing is amazing: grab a cheapo $5 paperback, or spring for the beautiful hardcover edition of this and his collected works.

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
     And he said:
     Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
     Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
     And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
     And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
     And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

     Much of your pain is self-chosen.
     It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
     Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
     For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
     And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

1. Don’t forget to buy the book your favorite poem was from! (see below) 2. Use these pins on Pinterest so you remember where this good stuff is, and 3. Scroll on down for more amazing poetry about mental health & chronic pain!

2024’s Best Poems About Mental Health & Chronic Pain

• The Guest House” by Rumi
• “Today I asked my body what she needed,” by Hollie Holden
• “Let July Be July, Let August Be August” by Morgan Harper Nichols
• “I Know You Want to Lie by the Roadside but the Wolves Are Coming, Sweetheart” by Leslie J. Anderson
• “The Path.” by Ullie Kaye
• “Your Heart Is the Sea,” by Nikita Gill

“The Guest House” by Rumi

First, a fun little factoid : this poem is included in the anthology Tools of the Trade: Poems for new doctors (Scottish Poetry Library, 2014), which was given to all graduating doctors in Scotland in 2014. Wish they’d start doing that over here! You can also read it in The Essential Rumi.

Translated by Coleman Barks

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

“Today I asked my body what she needed,” by Hollie Holden

Yep, this is the first time I’m posting my very own awful handwriting. Enjoy! Nah, honestly, writing something down is the best way for my ADHD brain to start processing it. But before you mock my chickenscratch, take a look at this poem. It’s beautiful, and it’s important, and it’s hard as fuck to do.

Today I asked my body what she needed,
Which is a big deal
Considering my journey of
Not Really Asking That Much.

I thought she might need more water.
Or protein.
Or greens.
Or yoga.
Or supplements.
Or movement.

But as I stood in the shower
Reflecting on her stretch marks,
Her roundness where I would like flatness,
Her softness where I would like firmness,
All those conditioned wishes
That form a bundle of
Never-Quite-Right-Ness,
She whispered very gently:

Could you just love me like this?

“Let July Be July, Let August Be August” by Morgan Harper Nichols

Not all poetry about mental illness is, yknow, exactly about that. This is a great example of wisdom that, while not specifically about mental health struggles, certainly speaks strongly to my depression and anxiety’s need to control everything. _{(Possibly why this post is coming out during May’s National Mental Health Month instead of April’s National Poetry Month… Ugh. Anyway.)}

The author has a pretty version of it on her IG:

Let July be July. Let August be August.
and let your just be even in the uncertainty.
You don't have to fix everything.
You don't have to solve everything.
And you can still find peace
and grow
in the wild
of changing things

“I Know You Want to Lie by the Roadside but the Wolves Are Coming, Sweetheart” by Leslie J. Anderson

This poem, y’all. I like it so much, I went ahead and made a long dang graphic for it. Check out the author’s instagram or website afterwards for some other extremely solid poetry, a LOT of which I love. Then buy “Take This To Space,” the book it’s from!

I’ve never loved the sobriquet of “pain warrior,” but there’s truth in it– this is a battle for your life, and no matter who’s supporting you, you fight it alone. Keep going. Listen to the warnings others tell you of wolves ahead. But keep going. Whet your knife now. Always keep going. It’s not time to lie down just yet.

Not a fan of animated GIFs? There’s also a slideshow of static images at the end.

I’m here with you.
Our feet are bare at the beginning of a long walk.

I know the field looks empty now.
It’s not. The seeds are still growing.

Do not learn the lessons of heartbreak.
The wisdom of sorrow is a lie.

It will tell you wolves are a mercy,
that a bare field is acceptable.

If you need to rest let’s do it now.
Drink water, sleep, hold yourself.
Save your voice for when it’s time to scream.

I won’t lie to you, though.
The wolves are coming.

In your heart is a knife
but also a harvest.

When it’s time,
use one to protect
the other.

The Path. by Ullie Kaye

Long ago I saved this to my Pinterest (there’s even more good stuff there!) and it still really resonates with me. This image isn’t mine– click through to the author’s Etsy to buy prints of this and her other work, including many poems relevant to chronic pain or mental health struggles! (While you’re there, did you know that I have an Etsy too?)

if you are in need of light, go to
the ones who have been through
the darkness. they will guide you.
if you are in need of hope, go to 
the ones who have lost everything 
and somehow still sing hallelujah.
they will show you the way. if you
are in need of strength, go to the 
ones who have been down on their
knees, feeble and broken and weak
to the bone. they will know how to 
gather up the courage to get back 
up on fractured limbs and walk or 
run or begin their freedom march. 
if you need love, go to the ones 
who have been without. who longed but
were forgotten. who sought but 
were neglected. who dreamed but 
were not given a chance. they will 
understand the depths to which love 
can save a soul. sometimes the path 
to knowledge is simply in a human 
whose shoes are worn but whose 
heart is willing.

From Your Heart is the Sea, by Nikita Gill

Last up, we’ve got this bad boy. I figured I’d finish with something about the struggle– inspiration is nice, but I know I’m not always in the mood for it. So we’ll end with something that speaks to the incredible loneliness of depression. I know I’ve felt this before. But always remember: you’re not alone. While right now it might feel like you’re crying for help in a void, don’t ever forget that sthere are those of us who have been there and who understand. The challenge is finding them. But never give up.

Tell me, 
if a person falls apart
 alone in the dark, 
does it make a sound? 
And if it does make a sound, 
is it as loud and devastating 
as a decaying broken heart 
when it is finally found? 
Or is the sound 
a soft strangulation hidden 
that we miss all the time 
behind words like "I'm fine?"

What poetry about chronic pain, mental health or disability have you found that really resonated with you?

That’s all I’ve got this time! But for more media goodness, check out the quote pages I linked up top. Pin this so you remember it’s here, then scroll down for posts re: other media about chronic pain and/or mental health. Finally, share your faves with me! Once you find something great, I’d love to read it. And next year’s National Mental Health Awareness Month will be here before you know it!

Finally, here’s that slideshow version of “I Know You Want To Lie By The Roadside But the Wolves Are Coming, Sweetheart”

Other media about chronic pain or mental health struggles:

What’s YOUR favorite poem about mental health or chronic pain? Let me know in the comments below and maybe it’ll make the list next year!