Mom, I know you loved me, even if it didn’t always feel soft or safe. You gave what you could, but I needed more—comfort, emotional connection, and to feel held without having to earn it. Now that I’m a mom, I see how easy it is to repeat what we grew up with. But I’m choosing differently—not out of blame, but out of love. I want my kids to feel seen and safe in ways I didn’t always. This isn’t about rewriting the past—it’s about healing it, for me, for them, and maybe even a little for you.

and life stays in a constant cycle that no one appreciates, dreaded the person goes, and the next to have them doesnt appreciate their “world” toasters pop bread, and people leave but i hope i dont ever lose you because i wouldnt want my electricity as a toaster, and my heartbeat as a human

When will I ever be good enough for anybody? For my friends, for my family? But mostly for myself. When will I ever say or do the “right” thing?

“Healing is a Spiritual Journey” is a poem born from the sacred spaces between pain and peace. It explores the tender, often unseen path we walk when we choose to face our wounds with grace. Healing isn’t linear—it’s layered, deeply personal, and often spiritual. Through each verse, I wanted to express how healing calls us inward: to reconnect with our spirit, reclaim our voice, and rediscover our worth. This poem is a reminder that even in our most broken places, there is light—and that light lives within us.

A lovely night under the sun, can’t beat how many times you beat your meat, just for me to come home and I say ‘no’ to you. If it will be, then let matters be.

To wonder in the fields, because trying again feels like we might make it this time. And quite there is no destination, however. And yet there are sown touching wonderment in all pathways.

There’s this girl who’s scared to love again. A girl who was hurt in her part relationship. A girl who doesn’t trust anyone again. However, a guy…. A guy came and loved her slowly.

Friendship or more? Perhaps, perhaps not. This one took about two hours. From midnight until 2:19am. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A raw look at the exhaustion of motherhood—where the days blur, rest is rare, and you’re always needed, never done. This poem captures the weight of it all with striking honesty.

When a woman finally understands her worth. When she can finally pay no mind to what people's opinions of her are.

My emotions poured into the very first poem I’ve written. It’s personal, but some people need to see they’re not alone.

This poem is about a girl struggling to figure out what makes her father happy. Dhe had do many emotions she would like to say to him but doesn't know how.

Religious or not Religious? Nature, beauty, life, whats not to sit and ponder? Deep down, stare filled with wonder!

A gripping exploration of deception and betrayal lurking beneath the surface of a fractured society, where true enemies hide in plain sight and the fight for truth is more urgent than ever.

This is a poem I wrote about the last days I had with my partner of eleven years before he passed away. I wrote this poem for a college level creative writing course I took online. This poem deals with death of a loved one, regrets about my last interactions with him, mean-spirited arguments we had in the days leading up to his death from congestive heart failure in August of 2018.

Evil never portrays a laugh, a smirk, or a smile. It blinks you in eye, smacks your lips, and stuffs your nose. One way out is to believe there is one.

If I’m such a hoe, then why you still around? Still sleepin’ in my bed, still blowin’ up my sound. You swear you caught me, swear I’m livin’ foul — But it’s lies in your head, been that way a while. I ain’t gotta lie — I’m grown as hell, And if my truth ain’t enough, then oh well. You keep accusin’ and I keep stayin true, But one day you’ll wake up and I’ll be through.

A poem brought on by a dream about my daughter. Written with heavy guilt over not being there for her when I should because of past mistakes.

never fucked Ronnie — that’s truth, not a lie, And Damien? Shit, he’s just a name I let die. That book is closed — locked, tossed in the fire, I’m climbing out clean from the muck and the mire. You wanna keep living in chapters I’ve tossed? Then baby, you’re the one stuck, not lost.”

As teachers, we put our heart and soul into the kids we teach. We nurture them, build relationships with them, and after some time, we grow to love them. We spend endless hours creating lesson plans that are engaging and lead to not only deep learning but also a love of learning. We generate lesson plans that are individualized, meeting kids where they are. We listen to their stories, wipe their tears, and laugh with them. Then, after one hundred and eighty-seven short days, we say goodbye, sometimes forever. This poem reflects how I feel at the end of every year as I say goodbye to those I have grown fond of. Photo: AI generated from my description