A reflection on hurt of unspoken love and the fear of what happens after the words are finally said.

A reflection on rereading the words of her younger self and realizing that what once felt embarrassing was actually bravery. She explores how heartbreak transformed certainty into caution, questioning whether growing up and protecting yourself must mean becoming smaller, quieter, or less willing to hope. What growing up and looking back at yourself really feels like.

This poem is about my life, hard truth. Moments that have happened. Little moments for each part of my life, expressing it the best I can.

This poem was written for anyone who has ever battled silently within themselves, feeling as though no one notices their struggle or understands the battles they carry inside.

This poem is about how life's greatest beauty and happiness can be found in the simplest or even quietest of moments and a reminder that not everything has to be extraordinary to bring us joy

But even then it wasn't enough to put your doubts to rest. You only got worse the more that I tried to give you my best.

This poem is about loneliness, suppressed emotions, grief, and the lasting impact of being forced to grow up too soon

A poem of love and a love poem might be the same and might not be. A poem of love expresses love as love exists. A love poem is poem that is specific, deliberate and personal. This poem is a love poem and a poem about love simultaneously.

Sometimes the hardest part of loving someone is knowing their capacity to love is not love at all. That they struggle loving themselves for real. This is a harsh reality of love, relationships and adulthood.

The poem’s core theme is the painful, complex journey of loving an alcoholic father—holding both cherished and traumatic memories—while ultimately reclaiming self-worth by releasing misplaced childhood blame and choosing healing.

This sonnet poem is actually an ode to Hades & Persephone - the Greek God and Goddess of the Underworld- and how they're almost similar to those of Lord Shiva (Hindu God of Destruction and Preservation) & Goddess Parvati (Consort of Lord Shiva, the Goddess of Power and also known as Goddess Kali as her alternate ego, the slayer of the demon Rakhtbheej)

Considered my absolute top of the list, this piece of dagger-in-my-heart agony came to mind when my life was at one of its darkest moments, up to the present day. How the words uttered straight from my mind to my hand and pen going to the paper, left me in awe of myself. It was effortless so to speak, but I will say it was still done with special handling and a chockfull of raw human emotion. Please, do enjoy and feel free to leave some feedback! I appreciate constructive criticism.

Every eye that draws a tear from this, thank you for standing so close to my heart and leaning on the only hands I have. As I write this, I close your gaps too, to wherever it is needed and for God to cover you when you are seeping or seemingly falling away. A message from a sista.

The Blinking Cursor Is Mocking You. Here is the Cure.We have all been there: staring at a blank screen, watching the cursor blink like a tiny, mocking timer.Writer’s block isn't a lack of talent. It is a psychological trap. When you force your brain to sprint cold without a warm-up, it panics and locks you out. You don't need a sudden burst of divine inspiration to fix this—you just need a 15-minute structural runway.By dividing your pre-writing routine into three hyper-focused, 5-minute psychological triggers, you can bypass your inner critic, clear the mental static, and trick your brain into deep, effortless flow.

For someone who had never been more happy to feel human emotion I was ready to make a change that would soon come, It only comes by you.

To heal, I was selfish, But I was born to be selfless, (…) Who I will no longer be, And from myself I am finally able to be free

Walking slowly down the busy city sidewalk, the question begins to echo: what went wrong? Did we just get too busy with everyday life? She was my best friend. More like a sister. She held my hand the day my son was born. My mind screams: what went wrong?

A world withered in joy and unseen in sorrow life is bad but a life without struggle is worse then a life with struggel

Is it better to love someone with everything knowing you won’t receive it back, or be loved by someone else wishing it was them?

This is a short poem I wrote about dreaming of a version of someone that you wish you still had in your life.