In the darkness, I’m alone, floating on a cloud of dreams,
where reality blurs and paints a picture of my mind dancing freely,
taking solace in the emptiness,
escaping the inevitable
to a void where struggles on all fronts
dissolve.

To a single adult like me,
name any struggle you’re facing
and I can likely tell you
that I was there before coming here.
Still gonna be waiting for me
for when I get back though.

God, it was serene, the feeling,
like being wrapped in a cozy blanket
on a cool night in your bed;
while your worries melted like butter
into a fleeting absence.

And when there’s night,
there’s day,
and like the sun in the world,
yours will rise again in your mind,
which reminds me of
the one thing I always loved about
the darkness,
because in it there’s nothing there,
no light to illuminate
any harsh reality
or truth
waiting to cause havoc in
your heart and mind.

And if it were up to me,
I’d manifest my thoughts into a person,
and kill it
so my mind can finally have peace.

I’d stay in the darkness forever,
if that meant being free.

If “Love is patient”
and “Love is kind”,
then why do I feel
like I’m losing my mind?

It’s not easy to be patient,
when your family is all around.
It’s also hard to be kind,
Or, at least, that’s what I have found.

My mother’s mind wanders,
she never stays on task.
When it comes to what she’s doing,
I always have to ask!

“Where are you going now?”
“How long will it take?”
“Do you have to do that right away?”
“You’re going to make us late!”

Granny’s got a mouth,
and she runs it every day.
When it comes to me and Mom,
she’s always got something to say!

“Go brush your hair,
it looks like a wig!”
“Oh, you’re getting seconds?
Your belly’s getting big!”

Snapping back is in my nature,
sometimes I want to fight!
But I love them both so much,
so, on my tongue, I bite.

I give myself some time,
to process what I heard.
I remember who I’m talking to,
before I speak a word.

Mom might drive me crazy,
but she brought me in this world.
I know I gave her a hard time,
when I was just a girl.

Granny doesn’t mean to hurt us,
when her words come out so sharp.
She just doesn’t have a filter,
but she does have a heart.

We’re all a little crazy,
we’re each a little nuts.
But at the end of the day,
that’s what makes us “US”!

So it may not be easy
to be patient and kind,
but I’ll put in the extra work
for this family of mine.

-Caitlin Jablonsky

“I wrote this poem from my wife’s perspective about her relationship with her mother and grandmother.”
-Matty Jablonsky

(I was inspired to write this just now at 11:34pm 8/27/24)
In the past, society has deemed mental health as a crisis or a “stigma” and if women showed any form of mental health issues, we were sanctioned to an asylum to live out the rest of our days. Some men as well. But, in 2024, mental health is still frowned upon. “Oh, what, in your life is so bad?” “No one will believe you.” “Your depression is just you being lazy.” etc…I have had the immense pleasure of working in the mental health field off and on for a very long time and I fall in love more every time I go back. It is not wrong to ask for help with your mental health. Forget about what your friends and family will say. Forget about what social media and film and television say about it. Just do not think for one moment that you do not deserve to be here. And every time you think you will end it all, remember, I am here for you, as are hundreds of others and think to yourself: “just one more chapter.”

Loneliness slithers in
Like an unsuspecting snake
Coiled around my neck
Struggling to breathe
With nobody around
To save me
In a crowded room
I feel so alone
Everyone has someone
But no one has got me
Each night I come closer
To a planned death
Because loneliness kills
I don’t belong anywhere
I’m not needed nor wanted
So why even bother
I’ll drift away peacefully
Forgotten easily
And never remembered

I am a building contractor in Central Virginia. During my fifty-plus years working in the construction industry, I have probably worked on close to a thousand projects. I have built, remodeled and renovated homes. My work includes new office buildings, new and renovated retail spaces, historic restorations, many restaurants, and three veterinarian clinics. I have renovated log homes and even added an addition onto a bus.

One reason I decided to follow a career in construction is the variety of projects out there. The nature of what I have a chance to work on challenges me in different ways every day. The one constant is constant change. The moving parts involve product, customers, technology, workforce, weather, and even locations. The goal on all our projects is to find the best combination of function, aesthetics and budget for our customers.

Another characteristic of the construction industry that attracted me was the huge and wildly diverse cast of characters I get to work around. Some of these projects take hundreds of sets of hands joining together to create something. It involves finding ways to work with people from all over the spectrum relative to construction skills, formal education, social skills, personal beliefs, political leanings, family backgrounds and financial status. We have to look past our different backgrounds and histories to create things that hopefully will last for generations. The beautiful piece of working with such a diverse group of people is that I never know what lessons I might learn from or about one of them at any moment. The key is to make sure you are paying attention because you never know not only what you might learn but also how you might be changed.

If I wasn’t paying attention, I might not know that one of the concrete truck drivers is an amazing gospel singer. If I wasn’t paying attention, I may never have learned one of my subcontractors is a minister. If I wasn’t paying attention, I may never have learned that one of our cabinetmakers is a really good bass player in a Grateful Dead tribute band. And if I wasn’t paying attention at an historic courthouse and museum renovation job we are doing, I would not have experienced one of the most powerful and moving moments of my life.

As I was accepting a delivery at this historic museum job, I shared a moment with a young black man probably in his mid-twenties that I will never forget. He was assisting the driver with the delivery when he noticed an artifact in the side yard of the museum. In the side yard of this museum there is a 16”x 16” x 24” high block of stone sticking out of the ground. A small sign identifies this stone as a Slave Auction Block. I can not wrap my head around the fact that slaves once stood on top of this stone as people bid to purchase them. I had seen this piece of pre-civil war history many times before, but little did I know that on the day of this delivery my view of the auction block would change dramatically.

Right before getting back on the truck, this young black man walked over to the auction block and bowed his head in prayer. I didn’t invade his space but I stood close by and bowed my head as well. As we stood there in silence for a minute that seemed like an eternity, I could only think what his prayer might be. I tried to picture what took place on that block. The reality of it made my heart sink. In these times of such racial strife and division, I wish more people could have shared that moment with me. As he raised his head and I raised mine, I simply said “Amen”. Nothing more was said. He just nodded and walked back to the truck.

To express and not to impress.
That’s what my wardrobe mantra has always been.
My insecurities, my assets, my emotions, my sartorial choices. My clothes have always been about just me.
What I wish to is what I wear.
Wore them pants wide with arrogant pride while most felt pressurized to snuggle into those skinnies.
Dared the unforgiving jumpsuit before it pole-vaulted into it’s current fashionista glory.
Fashion trends may fail but personal style always stays and slays.
Fashion has copycats but style is unimitable. Fashion runs the risk to look frumpy, style is consistently classy!
My clothes have always been my strongest mode of self expression and hold the power to strip me.
Strip me of my fears, my vulnerabilities, my facades and expose my inner moods and eccentricities which can be quite scary!
I have always looked at my style as a metric of how well I know my body. I realize my body is ever evolving with age and hence organically so must my style.
For what fits may not necessarily flatter.
I let no brand, no magazine , no nobody tell me what befits me. For that is my mind and my body’s prerogative only.
I shall always be my own fashion house, my recurring muse , my own runaway supermodel and most of all my own worst critique!
As I contemplate color blocking warm and cold, throwing some solid pattern on prints , or experimenting with unconventional hemlines , I would like to do so with complete abandon of external validation.
For ultimately it’s always about what the final look does for me and never about how others choose to see.

Dear little me,

This is not even a dream that you know you have yet, but oh how I wish I could tell you how brave you are going to be one day! How you will burst out of the role you think you are meant to play. A lot has changed since we were small, but the goodness inside you was a part of it all.

In your twenties, on a seemingly random day and not in any way planned, you will get to come out to mom and dad. Notice I said, “get to,” because for awhile you will think that no one needs to know. Being honest with ourselves about it was such a fight in the first place. Then gradually we told a few safe people, dear friends and allies who embrace us fully as we were. And we feel so lucky. But there is still some fear in expressing it to others, including some family, so we steer clear.

But then, on a day that did not start of grand and then continued to feel like it was getting more out of hand.. when mom tries to ask you what is going on inside, you start to open up about some questions and doubts you’ve been hiding. Then all of the sudden, without any warning, you blurt out, “Oh and by the way, I’m not straight!” It was probably a bit jarring.

You wait for the questions and badgering to start, but instead they let you talk and they listen with fairly open hearts. After that, I’ll be frank, it is not sunshine and roses. Along the way to understanding there have been plenty of bumpy roads.

And I know what you are thinking, because I think it a lot: why did we get lucky when so many do not? I wish I had an answer to that query, but the truth is that sometimes the answers can be very elusive and maybe some answers do not exist. There is a lot we still do not know, but let me scratch something from the list.

I know I am not a mistake, and that I deserve acceptance and kindness. I believe that is universal, no matter what some may say in their blindness. And while I am still growing and changing and discovering myself, I am learning not to hide away on a dark, shaded shelf.

Hugs to you, little one.

I know you didn’t mean to,

I know you didn’t try.

It was just a stupid mistake,

You didn’t want to die…

You were doing so good,

We were so proud of you!

But good emotions, sometimes,

They’re overwhelming too.

Maybe I should’ve called,

Or answered that last text.

But I didn’t see this coming!

I didn’t know you were next!

I know it’s kinda late now,

And maybe weird to say…

But I love you so much,

And I’ll miss you every day.

This is so unfair,

No one knows how to feel.

I keep waiting to wake up,

Or hear that this isn’t real!

What do I tell the people,

When they ask me how you’ve been?

I suppose, I’ll tell the truth…

That addiction never ends.

I’ll tell them if they’re hurting,

They call always call on me.

I couldn’t be there for you…

But for them, maybe I could be.

Maybe I can help someone,

Maybe they will learn,

That drugs aren’t “the fun you can’t have”…

They’re the hell you don’t deserve.

Title: The Boy Named Rhett
Written By: Marli Wright

There is a boy, his name is Rhett, Heaven now his home,
He sings and dances on the clouds, before God’s throne.
He had to leave, reasons unknown, yet on earth his name we cry.
A love so strong, eternal, Rhett’s legacy will stay alive.
Children’s laughter is bright, like in Heaven’s skies,
Angels play and smile, as we remember them with sighs.
And every day, with tearful eyes, another angel friend comes to play,
Welcomed with open arms, may their journey be brightened each day.
In every moment, every breath we take,
Rhett’s spirit shines bright, guiding our way.
Though I held him only briefly, his love now lights my way.

Title: Anxiety
Written by: Marli Wright

Anxiety seems like a joke;
But unless you experience it, you never truly know.
It hurts, captures, consumes your soul, and you never know when it will start to show.
Sure, I look fine. My appearance isn’t affected. Maybe just some bags under my eyes, nothing makeup can’t cover.
You don’t understand the pit in my stomach, the lump in my throat, the shaking within my body.
Anxiety… invisible to you, but I feel it. Every time a child cries out for their mommy, a piece of my soul withers. You can’t see the hurt behind my eyes, the relentless voices in my head I can’t shake.
Yet you call me strong? Strong for hiding how I really feel? I want to scream, “Why can’t I have my baby!?”
Instead, there’s a faint smile, a nod of my head, and you think I’m okay.
You don’t see the walls closing in. You don’t feel the pressure of your expectations and disapproving glances. I see the disappointment in your eyes, pulling me down faster than any sinking stone. I’m drowning in sorrow, with no lifeboat in sight.
Anxiety – once mocked as fake, now I can’t unsee your ugly face. Normalcy feels like a distant dream I once lived. But you think I’m fine again. I’m not fine! Can’t you see? Oh, it’s because I’m a good actor, playing the “helpless” warrior, Act 3: page 10.

Echoes of Rhett’s Love
By: Marli Wright

In a classroom where dreams unfold,
Where tiny hands reach for stars of gold,
An angel’s spirit softly flies,
Not seen, but felt through loving eyes.
Rhett won’t be here to start first grade,
But with hearts so full of hope and cheer,
We send a part of him each year.
Books and pencils, crayons bright,
To light a young one’s world with light.
Each gift a whisper, soft and neat,
A reminder of Rhett’s love so sweet.
Though our angel’s seat remains empty,
His warmth will touch another deeply.
In these gifts, his love will dwell,
In every book and every tale.
He shares his joy through each small thing,
With every pen and each school swing.
And as the first-grade bell will ring,
Another day is now complete.
Little ones laugh and sing,
Of their days and tales they speak.
As you close the door each day,
Rhett’s love will gladly stay,
Preparing the room for a day anew,
And brightening it with sunshine’s hue.
That is Rhett’s way of saying “I love you.”

What is the point in hating one another?
For do we not all share the same mother?
Do we not all come from the same origin?
So why then do we divide ourselves by the color of our skin?
Why have we allowed ourselves to buy into this insanity,
Of thinking there are multiple races, instead of just humanity?
And then turn it around and use it as a means to cause calamity
For nothing more than to feed our own vanity…
Yet there’s thousands of sick and poor
Who are left picking scraps up off the floor
Families who are torn asunder
Suffering the sound of gun shots as they echo like thunder
So many hearts that have been broken
Over hurtful words which have been spoken
Are we unable see that solving hatred with wrath only continues to feed the bloodbath?
Why is it so hard for us to love one another?
To look at our neighbor as tho he is our brother?
Why are we so concerned with who is better, and who is best?
Should our value not begin with the fact that there’s a heart beating within our chest?
Why do we cling to a dividing love that is traditional,
Instead of clinging to a holy love that is unconditional?
For is that not the meaning of agape?
Is that not the beauty of the Way?
In order to love someone, do we really need a reason?
And why should our love change as quickly as the seasons?
Is life itself not a precious gift?
Why then do we seek to further the rift?
Why then do we seek to further the divide?
For nothing more than our own foolish pride?

I was browsing through “My Mother’s Story” for a prompt. Not for my mother, and not for the children I don’t plan on having, but for me. I am my own mother in many senses.

“What was the hardest period of your life and why?”

My instant thought was “in a sense I am still living it, yet it has passed many times”.
It’s recurring. I am plagued with anxiety and depression many times for many reasons.
It never completely leaves me; sometimes it’s just managed better. It’s like keeping it in a box in the attic.
Then a trigger or a stress, consciously or not, just opens the attic door. Scours through the piles of chaos. Finds the box. And of course, proceeds to dump all of its belongings in every bit of the house. Messy messy I feel.

Right now, I am exhausted. Drained. Sad. Far from content. Miles from happy.
I want rest – not from sleep, but from life’s stresses.
I need clarity; a sure direction on where I am going.
I desire joy – self acceptance, motivation, calmness.
I’m yearning for change – beach, sand, sun on end.

I am the type of tired a nap doesn’t shake.
I’m so uneasy that a hug doesn’t help relax me.

Is this what a quarter life crisis feels like?
And although 75% of people in my age bracket experience this, does that actually make it normal?
Even more unsettling.

So I’ll take this day as both a win and a loss. Winning because I’m making it through with every bit of life inside of me. Losing because I know times have been and will be better.
The stable me will return. She will strike again with her optimism, free spirit, and bolts of energy.

Until then, a restless girl I will be.

Was driving home from work after not having the greatest night… and I saw a guy, with his hazards on, pushing his van…

I came back around and asked him if he needed some help (along with another person who had stopped) and he said that he had run out of gas. I told him that I needed some, too, and to hop in my car.

We pull up to the gas station and there’s a container sitting right next to the pump. Could not have scripted it better…

While I was filling the container, we were talking and he told me how thankful he was… I said that it was no problem and that he had to pay it forward. He then told me that a few days earlier, he had helped a man who was suicidal. I said that’s amazing and that this is just coming back to him for doing the right thing!

My point in telling this story is that the world is not as bleak as it is made out to be… times are obviously very tough right now, but there is still something to be said for helping each other out. I told the guy as he was leaving that good deeds go in a cycle, from one person to the next… we hugged and went on our separate ways, both better for having met each other.

“Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on Earth.”

— Muhammad Ali