War
Takes everything from a person
Safety
Loved ones
Home

It strips you bare
Leaves you hollow, echoing
Alone

Watching your home fall in pieces
And all you can do is scream
Watching loved ones slip away
And all you can do is cry

Watching and watching
Feeling and feeling

It takes everything:
Your sense of safety
Your family
The shattered shape of your life

Yet somehow
We still breathe
We mourn. We rise.
We survive.

A sudden need to cry—
It overwhelms you,
Rips you apart,
Bleeds you dry,
Breaks your heart.

You fall to the ground.
But it’s the suddenness—
That’s what makes it worse.
It grips your soul,
Won’t let go.

Minutes. Hours. Days.
It hurts.
It’s random.
Relentless.

But you rise.
A support system near.
You break its chains,
Leave it behind—
Alone,
The way it made you feel
All along.

Dear Life,

I feel that I’m about to cry, and no one seems to mind. I know that I’m trying to give it my all, but at what cost? I’ve never had to deal with these things before, but now everything is sinking in more and more. The depression won’t leave, no matter how much I try to escape it. No one wants to listen; no one wants to help. I feel that I can’t stand it anymore—battles back and forth, games being tossed around and no way to prevent them. The pressure builds up inside my head, and there’s no way of ignoring it because it always finds a way of coming back to me when I least expect it. Why are you letting us go through this over and over again? I know you would probably blame my heart, but you are supposed to be protecting me through these difficult situations. Haven’t you been watching, or are you ignoring me too, just like everyone else? I go day by day, waiting for a miracle to happen, but sometimes I wonder if you just want to watch us fail at everything. I must ask: what kind of life is that for us? You see, I’m trying to make it every day, but I feel like I have to stay this way all the time, and you are probably waiting to see when I’m finally going to crash, aren’t you?

Well, I’m sorry you may feel disappointed, but I’m trying to hang in there every day. I’m running out of support, friends, time—you name it. I hardly hear from anyone anymore, just to simply check on me. It feels like everyone has forgotten about me and moved on. Have I been tossed away? Give me a sign—something showing that there is still someone out there who cares about what happens to us. The more you and life close in on me, the more I fear that the skull and crossbones will come soon enough if that’s where we’re heading. I pray that sooner or later you will finally get out of your box and try to make it known that we need help. Please find better people up there who can run our lives better instead of shutting us down, where everything falls apart every time something goes wrong. Unless you are trying to tell us to finally give up and let it go.

Signed,
Your Operator.

Dear Community,

I want to share something that has been troubling me: I don’t understand how people can be so cruel. If you’ve ever found yourself in a situation where your partner is unemployed, and you currently have no resources to help, it can be incredibly difficult. Both families may be struggling and arguing, making things even more complicated.

What do you do when you are dealing with health issues and rely on a government check that barely stretches to meet your needs? I acknowledge that there are scammers out there, and while some organizations can provide assistance, it’s hard to know whom to trust. My only intention is to find ways to help my family so that we can manage our needs.

However, it becomes challenging if you don’t know many people who would donate, or if your family is limited in their ability to help you out of your current situation. The pressure is on you to either find a job, whether it’s outside the home or a work-from-home opportunity.

The big hurdle I face is logistics. If you lack a car and live in an area without public transportation, or you can’t rely on family to help you commute to a job, it makes finding work especially difficult. Many employers insist on reliable transportation, which can feel incredibly frustrating.

When you seek help or support, people often respond with questions like, “Do you really need help?” or “What for?” If you do find an organization that claims to help, they might ask for a processing fee just to access the funds they promise to provide.

So, I ask you, what do you do when you feel at your wits’ end? Who can you turn to, especially when you run out of essential supplies, like your medication?

I used to think pain was a language we all spoke the same.
But then I met people who wore my wounds like armor, while I tried to turn mine into wings.
We had the same bruises in different places. The same stories told in different voices. We both knew the sound of a door slamming that wasn’t just a door but a warning. We both knew the silence that followed too well, the kind that didn’t mean peace, but punishment. And still, they walked out harder, sharper, more closed. I walked out with my palms open, hoping to catch light or rain or anything that felt like softness.
It’s wild how two people can survive the same fire and carry the heat in completely different ways. Some become flame themselves, burning anything that gets too close. Others spend the rest of their lives flinching at the smallest spark. I think about this a lot. How survival isn’t a shared destination but a thousand separate roads paved with choices, coping, timing, and whatever scraps of love we were lucky enough to find.
I used to believe trauma molded us like clay. That it pressed its fingers into us and that’s why we cracked the way we did. But maybe that’s only part of the truth. Maybe trauma is more like a pile of raw materials dumped at your feet. Grief like steel. Loneliness like stone. Rage like rope. You don’t choose the pile, but you do decide what to build. Some build prisons. Some build walls. Some build bridges to a self they’ve never met before.
For a long time, I tried to build silence. I thought if I didn’t speak about it, it would stop growing. But pain doesn’t work that way. Pain is a seed. If you don’t name it, it grows anyway, just deeper and darker, winding through your bloodline, waiting to bloom in someone else. I learned that the hard way.
Motherhood cracked something open in me that I didn’t even know was sealed shut. I remember holding my son for the first time and suddenly realizing that I wasn’t just responsible for his body, but for his story. His emotional blueprint. His inner voice. His sense of safety in the world. And it hit me like a wave I didn’t see coming. Everything I hadn’t healed might one day echo through him. Not because I wanted it to, but because unspoken pain finds its way. Always.
And that terrified me.
It also gave me purpose.
Now, when I choose to sit with my hurt instead of numbing it, I’m not just doing it for me. I’m doing it so my child doesn’t have to carry what was never his. I’m doing it so that love can feel like a resting place and not a battlefield. I’m doing it because someone in every bloodline has to decide that the story changes here.
And still, I wonder. Was this always the path? Was there a version of me, already written, already waiting? Or did I fight my way into her? Did I dig her out with every boundary I set, every truth I spoke, every time I looked my past in the face and said, I’m not going to let you win?
Sometimes I feel like my life has always been on the edge of something. On the edge of becoming. On the edge of breaking. Like I’ve been holding the pen with shaking hands, trying to write my name over a story that began before I ever had a voice. I think that’s what reclaiming your life really means. Not erasing what happened, but choosing how it’s remembered. How it’s used. How it ends.
Pain doesn’t make us the same. Neither does survival. I have seen people crumble under the weight of things I carried in silence. I have watched people laugh with joy after surviving storms that would’ve leveled me. There’s no ranking of pain, no chart for resilience. Only choices. Only outcomes. Only who we become after the fire.
I no longer look for meaning in the things that hurt me. Some things just hurt. But I do believe in the meaning I can create because I lived through them. I believe in turning pain into language. Into softness. Into understanding. Into legacy.
So no, the things we survive don’t make us the same.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe survival is the beginning of art. The place where we each pick up our broken pieces and say, this is what I’m making out of mine.
And maybe someone else will see it and think, I didn’t know you could build something beautiful out of that.
And maybe that’s how we save each other.

are your bodies
you are your skin
you are your thoughts and ideas
all the structure that comes with it

i am in my body
i am in my skin
i have thoughts and ideas
all the chaos that comes with me

Dear Life,

I need your help. Lately, I’ve been feeling so confused that I struggle to explain it. Is there something wrong with me that I can’t see? I can stay motivated physically and mentally, but my mind feels blank. How can I move past the smoke and mirrors that people say surround me? Most of the time, all I see is my routine, my possessions, and my kids; nothing else seems to matter. I often feel backed into a corner when faced with questions, and I don’t know how to respond. I’m unsure how to process anything, work on what’s important, confront issues, or do things as a simple person would.

People ask me, “Is that all you want? Is it to do the same thing every day and be alone?” I’ve told myself that I crave company, but I’m uncertain if I can trust anyone ever again. I keep comparing potential partners to my past experiences, and it feels as if my negative thoughts replay painful memories, leaving me scared. Why can’t you lift this block from my mind and help me discover what I truly want? Why didn’t you give me the ability to recognize my mistakes and understand that my actions can hurt others? Please help me stop along the way before it’s too late.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. I realize that I’ve built walls around trust because of you, and I find myself yelling in my mind that nobody cares about me. So, why should I do things for others? I know you’ve been observing everything we do, but I wonder where you were when I was growing up. If the right things had been instilled in us, perhaps we could have made better choices and changed our futures. But now I wonder if it’s too late.

Can you help me? I don’t want to lose everything I’ve built and start over. I want my partner to understand that I’m here and not going anywhere. I’m ready to fix things so that you can have what you’ve always wanted. Do you hear me now, my mind?

Sincerely yours,
Your Body

A woman sits with a blanket to bear. She sits and sighs, wondering if the depression is ever going to end. She ran out of her medicine and had no way to replace it. Her impacting bubbles escaped her unsettling mind. She couldn’t figure out how to keep everything going around her in check. As the space fills with time, she asks herself many questions and writes down ideas, but the more she tries, the more she feels like everything has been tried and worn out with no one listening and no one wants to find a way to come together to help.

Dear Mental Health,

I wanted to reach out and ask, “Do you exist?” Growing up, I experienced difficulties in school, and I understand that not everyone grasps things right away. But why did you have to bring us the gift of different emotions?

I know that these illnesses, as you refer to them, affect everyone, but do they come in different categories? Are they randomly assigned to each person out there? These are questions I’m eager to understand, but perhaps that’s the mystery, isn’t it? Why are some of us chosen to face these challenges? I never asked for them, and I’ve always wondered if I could have been given different conditions. Perhaps that would have led to a different life for me—who knows?

Thank you for considering my thoughts.

What is a home? A home is meant to be an environment where you can begin your life. But how can you truly have a life in an economy where, if you’re over 21, you are expected to either find a job or go to school? I understand the expectations, but what about families who have done everything they can yet are still struggling?

Take, for example, a man and a woman living in a two-bedroom trailer, paying $450 a month in rent. They are also responsible for water, electricity, internet, and essential expenses, relying on a few hundred dollars in food stamps and less than a thousand in disability benefits each month. Both partners face serious medical issues and do not own a vehicle. How can anyone expect people in these conditions to survive?

Yet, many people dismiss their struggles, accusing them of laziness or of wanting someone else to take care of them financially. What do they expect? Should these individuals magically create money, rob a bank, or win the lottery? It’s not that simple when there are so many factors complicating their lives.

Unfortunately, the community often reacts negatively when individuals ask for help. Many people judge them harshly, assuming they are trying to take advantage of others or spend aid on frivolous things. But how can they truly understand someone’s situation without first listening to their story?

Let it burn in your throat.
The emotions from your heart, rising like a flood, and pushing to the surface,
threatening to break the dam behind your eyes, a release of flowing tears.

But the dam holds, forged of learned silence— a wall built by the hundred times your voice found no echo, no gentle hand to meet its reach.
What’s the use of a flood when the world’s ears are stone, its eyes, a blank stare?

So you let it burn, this defeated truth, a scalding current trapped behind your teeth.
It twists, while your mind raises a quiet question: why does caring cost so much, when it lands on nothing?

And the fallout?
A hollow hum where laughter used to be, a heart that learns to beat softer, to guard its own light, because sharing only dims it.

And so the fire stays, cemented, a constant, private ache— a monument to what was never heard.

A deep current runs, unseen, yet always felt, beneath the calm surface, where dark secrets dwell.
A fading light, a choice once made, the crushing weight of what was, now laid bare for me. A quiet struggle with a shadow’s rise, on a stage where eyes meet the skies. A constant hum of endless need, Questions linger, like seeds to breed. The fragile shield, nearly worn through, a blessing turned to burden’s hue.

Then, a sudden chill in a shared space.
A word like a stone cast into the waters.
The bright colors of belief now muted.
A question hangs, unheard: Is this real?
And so the mind gently retreats, a soft step back, drifting motion, no turning back.
With the body present, moving throughout the day, while consciousness finds its own distant shore a walk to a necessary vanishing, a breath of nothing.

Underneath this skin
lies uncertainty wanting clarity
fear to put one step in front
sabotaging energy
love from own heartbeat
overload of anxieties
overwhelming sensation
of healing clogged pores

Underneath all the wounds
lies beauty in progress
strength in training
courage in action
love in veins
clarity in pores

Oh brain
why must you
feel this pain
I try to heal
the cause root
even when its
been a long commute

why must you
choose to be blue
when it leaves
for an overcast
type of mood

I wish you
would simply calm
when gently rested
on my palm

In a bustling city, Max lived a carefree life, oblivious to his dwindling finances. He worked at a cozy bookstore, enjoying each day without a thought of his budget. One sunny Saturday, he strolled through the park, impulsively buying snacks and coffee without realizing the impact on his wallet.

When he lost his job due to budget cuts, Max remained unfazed, dreaming of grand adventures instead of facing reality. His concerned friends nudged him toward practical solutions, but he insisted everything would work out in its way. It wasn’t until his neighbor, Sarah, visited and laid out the truth that he began to understand his situation.

With her help, Max learned to budget and seek new job opportunities. Though he struggled at first, he gradually found joy in small victories. He discovered the importance of balancing dreams with responsibility, transforming his obliviousness into a newfound awareness that opened up a world of possibilities.

This is a story about a man who wants to live a simple life without any complications. From what I have observed, he enjoys playing games, watching TV, and getting high from his medication. However, when it comes to taking care of the house or resolving issues, he prefers to do everything his own way. He is unwilling to listen to others’ thoughts or opinions and rarely allows anyone to have a voice.

What doesn’t make sense is that he claims he only wants someone who will work and bring money into the household. It seems he wants everything handed to him without giving anything back in return. He believes that money is the key to making relationships work. Based on what I am reporting, do you think he truly wants to be with someone? In what you read, do you honestly think he really has mental issues, or is he actually happy with what he has chosen? How can you go into determining those struggles when you have them yourself?

You, my sir.
Yes, you.
There’s going to be hard days.
Even easy days.
You, the person reading this,
Has the opportunity to make
The day a great one.

You, my sir.
Yes, you.
Of course it’s going
To be full of ups & downs.
That’s the beauty of life.

It’s your duty as a human
To break the negative branches
And build such glory
From the leftover twigs.

You, my sir.
Yes, you.
I believe in you.
I see you.
I love you.

Hello there sunshines, I am here with some great news you can naturally overcome depression and anxiety. The bible teaches us how to naturally balance the positive and negative emotions in our lives. It’s ok at the darkest moments In Our lives to go to the doctor and get the help needed at that moment, he made doctors for a reason. What’s not okay is to rely on that medication to fix al of your childhood and adult relationship traumas. God has walked me through deliverance and a Beautiful way to enjoy life, focus on self love and hear his voice and tune out the world. Here are some tips on how to live life to the best of your ability on a budget. First find a job that u enjoy not have to show up to everyday ,but want to show up to and take pride in your work daily. Second find an area where just u and God can bear each other’s voices. God showed me and my sister in Christ this past year so many ways to see and appreciate his beauty from door dashing, in multi states ,to visiting museums and botanical gardens, to Learning about plants animals and history and it was a great stress reliever. Everyday for the past year doordash paid for our museum trips ,air b and b , and food and gas as we traveled America. We stayed in the tri state area and everything was within four hours of home.Our daily budget for spending was 20.00 most of the time it ended up under that price range. The third thing God helped me with to not be stressed and depressed was laying all of life’s problems at his feet and he gives us rest as it states in scripture. Picture yourself with one carryon bag then another suitcase and before u know it your carrying the entire planes luggage. This analogy is our lives we tend to worry and fear and pickup baggage that doesn’t belong to us. Cast your cares upon him and he will give u rest Amen. The fourth way to get rid of anxiety and depression is by using sensory things from your environment. This consist of smelling hearing seeing tasting and touching. I find for me nature walks running waterfalls and rivers,coloring on sidewalks with chalk, photographing nature and just being youself in general, traveling to local places, interacting with animals both tame and wild, and social distancing when needed work best. When noises around us are loud and overbearing putting on headphones and listening to something encouraging helps. Get in the habit of finding the daily verse that speaks life and encouragement into your soul and live out your purpose, 💓 u are loved I pray this helps the mass numbers and you can get peace in your hearts and enjoy your life much love and light 🕯️

Recently I have discovered in my small community that your guilty until proven innocent without even knowing things were going on behind the scenes. What do I mean by this? Being black mailed has scared even Christians to do what’s right when the time comes. The church I attended the neighbors I lived next to doctors teachers attorneys and many more were involved in the childhood battles I have faced and even as an adult still face today. My father in heaven. Told me to speak up and speak against this judicial system which is a hierarchy of wealthy men controll the less fortunate aka the elite control the community. There’s no middle class,in my small town of Hillsdale. What is said goes and people lie about things and hurt anointed ones without doing research ,to see if what’s said was even true. People are falsely testifying and involving children and minions to do their dirty work. I’m writing this to Inspire that they are not alone .what I overcome no woman has overcome in the history of this area. What tactics have been used on me and others before me no longer work they picked the right one to mess with this time. God called judgement and my case was won in the heavily courts and here on earth justice will now be served. Keep fighting for what’s right you are not alone you are not crazy chances are what you are experiencing has to do with past money or assets and they have put someone else as a child in your place. God doesn’t make mistakes go for the gold take back what the enemy stole. Much love and light 🕯️

Dear Lord,

We’ve had a lot of talks lately. Some good, some not so good. I’ve prayed for a couple ambulances and high schoolers and the parents for the infants at my school.

I’ve prayed for less anger, more sleep, less anxiety about the world. For the United States, for Gaza, for Syria and Lebanon and Yemen and the Congo…

For guidance.

I’m not the best of Jews, I know that. I don’t eat kosher like I should, I often forget my nightly prayers, I work on the sabbath. I know I’m not the best.

I try. I fast and I repent and I want to learn more about you Lord. I feel like the older I get, that I feel closer to you. I pray to you in good and in bad times. Our relationship has its valleys and mountains but I know you better. You’ve always known me though.

There’s a lot of suffering in the world. Time is marching backwards underneath my feet and I feel like I cannot make the world stand still. Or continue the original path or rotation. I pray in the hopes that you will be able to guide the right people to the right paths soon. Existence is a form of resistance, right?

Poetry feels a lot like prayer. I take a pen to my carotid artery and bleed all over these little letters, in hopes that it will string together coherent words. Using a young language to spill these feelings that I’m not quite sure have names. I pour it all out, I step back, and realize the feeling is duller now that it’s no longer in me.

That’s what prayer feels like to me.

I don’t know why, Lord, you made me this way. I know there must be a reason, there’s always a reason but I cannot see it. And I want to see it. I know you don’t make mistakes but— why do I feel like I am one?

I don’t feel like a good sister, a good friend, a good daughter, a good lover. I feel like I’m selfish. Spoiled. I demand too much. Give too little. A hypocrite. A liar.

Sometimes I don’t feel human. I’m so angry sometimes, Lord, that I just want to scream!!

Sometimes I just wanna grab someone and slap the living shit out of them. I wanna make someone feel as horrible as I do. I want them to feel every punch, kick, stab, slice, grope and rape that I have experienced. Then I feel horrible for wishing this fate on a nonexistent person and I pray for forgiveness. I know it’s an intrusive thought, I know I’d never do such a thing. But it kills me when I think about it.

There are times that I wanna go into an empty field and just scream into it. Sob as hard as I want for as long as I want. No one to eavesdrop, no one to watch. Just lose it fully for once.

I need that.

I’ve prayed to you about some things that I didn’t mean. I prayed to die many times. I know you know I didn’t mean that, which is why I’m still here.

I’ve prayed why my boyfriend doesn’t love me. I know he does, I just wish I could feel it like I know it. He adores me. He loves me. I need a little help remembering that Lord. If you have the time to spare, I’d greatly appreciate that.

I think- I think I struggle to believe I can be loved. Years of hurt can do that to a person. I try so hard to make sure those I love never feel the way I felt. Unlovable. Broken. No longer human. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a relationship outside of my childhood best friends that made me feel like a person.

When my boyfriend and I started dating it felt like someone had reignited a previously stamped out candle. Now the wick is burning but there’s no wax to cling to. I am so fucking lonely G-d. If you ever have a spare moment, enter my dreams and remind me that I am not alone. Remind me of my partner, my brother, my friends. Remind me of the job I love, the life I’ve chosen, the skills I possess. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than me, but I’d like to not be forgotten. Don’t forget to remember me in that whirlwind of human chaos you’ve come to know.

I know that I just have to grit and bear some of it like a big girl. I know that I have to fight. But I— I don’t have a lot of fight in me right now.

So Lord, if you could do this for me, I’d greatly appreciate it. If you could instill in me the need to fight, the need to claw my way out, I will claw my way out.

Amen,