About Mark Anthony
About Mark Anthony
Some people find poetry.
Some people need it.
I didn’t begin writing because I wanted to be an artist. I began writing because someone I loved was hurting… …and nobody around him knew how to hold it.
Where It Started
I moved from The Bahamas to Toronto, carrying the quiet weight that many Caribbean men are taught to carry — be strong, don’t talk too much, keep it moving.
Not long after arriving, my best friend found himself in a toxic relationship that slowly began to erode his mental health.
He would call me and tell me what was happening. The confusion. The anxiety. The way love can turn into something that feels like drowning.
Even after the breakup, the damage didn’t disappear.
And what hurt him almost as much as the relationship… was the loneliness afterward.
Because when he tried to explain what he was feeling, people weren’t really hearing him. Mental health wasn’t taken seriously. Especially not for Black men. Especially not for Caribbean men.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do.
I wrote it down.
When Words Became Witness
At first, it was just notes. Just fragments. Just an attempt to make sense of someone else’s pain.
Then I turned it into a poem.
But even that wasn’t enough.
Something in me knew: these words needed a voice.
So for the first time in my life, I stepped onto a stage at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre in Toronto, Ontario.
I performed. My hands were shaking. My heart was loud.
And then something unexpected happened.
People listened.
Not politely. Not casually. But deeply.
Afterward, strangers came up to me and opened parts of themselves they had been carrying alone.
When I showed Jordan the recording, he looked at me and said:
“Thank you… that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling.”
In that moment, I realized what poetry could be.
Not entertainment. Not performance.
But witness.
A way of saying: I see you. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone.
Grief, Grace, and Becoming
But the journey didn’t stop there.
When my mother passed away back home, I was devastated.
I carried guilt. Despair. The kind of grief that makes you replay every moment and wonder what you should have done differently.
I blamed myself. I questioned my worth. I condemned my meaning.
And once again… poetry found me.
Or maybe I found poetry.
Through writing, I was finally able to feel the grief instead of running from it.
To grant myself grace.
Because the truth is: We are all doing the best we can.
And grief…
Grief is just a whole lot of love with nowhere to go.
During that season, I wrote a piece called “Mark of Grace.”
That poem didn’t just shape my art.
It solidified me as:
- a spoken word poet
- a loving son
- a man learning how to heal out loud
It won first place in my very first poetry slam competition.
But more than the prize… it gave me permission.
To keep going.
Why I Do This
Today, my work lives at the intersection of:
- childhood trauma healing
- emotional regulation
- inner child recovery
- spoken word as survival and softness
I write for the people who don’t have the words yet.
For the ones carrying an empty ache. For the ones breaking generational cycles. For the ones who were taught silence was strength.
This is poetry for the nervous system.
This is storytelling as a breath of fresh air.
This is healing — one honest line at a time.
Welcome Here
If you’ve ever felt frozen… wordless… unseen…
I want you to know:
You don’t have to carry it alone.
And if my words can hold even a small part of what you’ve been carrying…
Then I’m grateful you found your way here.
Mark Anthony
Healing through storytelling. Witness through poetry. Grace through words.
