Writing is my passion, when writing I get to express myself openly and honestly. It’s as if all the emotions in my head and heart, spill out onto the paper without thought or caution. writing is a form of artistic expression that allows me to show mt skill. I get to see the person I am as well as the person I am becoming. My words and thoughts will one day be a book, this I am sure of because writing is not only my passion, but also my purpose.

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.

Words were spoken so smoothly.
Conversation was flowing graciously.
Attraction was arousing so maturely.

Until Casper flew in –
Turned the lights out.
Erased every word spoke.
Deleted from existence.

I think I’ve spent most of my life trying not to scare people away. Not by being cruel or unkind, but by being Loud. Real. Alive in all the wrong ways.

I say what I feel. I ask too many questions. I care too deeply and too fast. And somewhere along the way, that became a flaw.

Freshman year, he said I didn’t have friends because I was a bitch. And I laughed it off but took it with me like a scar I didn’t know I’d keep. Ten years later, I still wonder if he was right.

I wonder if people leave because I give too much of myself too soon, too honest, too loudly and maybe no one really wants that.

My mother told me to speak up, to never silence myself for the comfort of others. But she didn’t warn me how lonely that would feel. Because the world doesn’t know what to do with a girl who doesn’t flinch when silence stretches and tension thickens. They want small. They want agreeable. They want a quiet “okay” instead of a loud “why?”

So I tried it. I played small. But my tongue smiled through empty conversations and nodded when I wanted to scream. And for what? To sit in rooms full of people who didn’t really see me, just the watered-down version they found easier to love?

That’s not love. That’s convenience.

And still, I keep hoping someone will stay after the first sharp truth after the too-long eye contact after the moment I stop performing and just exist.

I want someone who doesn’t panic when I speak with fire or cry without apology. Someone who doesn’t need me to be less to feel like enough.

I don’t know if that person exists. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling like I have to earn my right to just be. But I know this — shrinking hurts worse than solitude. And I’m tired of apologizing for the sound of my voice.

I’ll go ahead and let them leave. I’ll keep the door open for someone who stays without needing me to disappear.

In the mirror, a stranger stares back with despair,
Eyes searching for answers, but finding none there.
The laughter of youth feels like a distant refrain,
As he grapples with sorrow, heartache and pain.

In dreams he glimpses a life filled with fire,
A heart full of passion, a soul that aspires.
Then reality pulls him in, a heavy cold chain,
As he awakens to the silence, the echoes of disdain.

Every day feels like a loop, worn and frail,
A race with no finish line, where he struggles to prevail.
He ponders his journey, the path that he walks,
As shadows of uncertainty, swirl in his thoughts.

Once vibrant with laughter, his world now feels bare,
His personality has faded, his happiness is rare.
He clings to the memories that slip through his fingers,
The love he once felt, now only lingers.

He watches life pass him, a truly sad sight,
While he remains in the shadows, far from the light.
Just when will he find, the love that he seeks?
His future seems glim, empty and bleak.

In the depths of a sunlit glow,
Numbers dance, putting on a show,
Staring at screens, words in a jumble,
A writer’s mystery, a poetic tumble.

Diving deep in alphabet soup,
I watch my partner in a sunny loop,
Soaking in rays, vitamin C,
While my fur baby lives carefree.

Days drift by with a gentle sigh,
As I sort through thoughts that flutter and fly,
Filling my pages with dreams and schemes,
Preparing for challenges, chasing my dreams.

An unexpected guest, black and white,
Visits my world, a playful sight,
He comes and goes, a brief delight,
Bringing laughter, turning day into night.

In this cozy space where ideas inspire,
I weave my words, my soul’s desire,
Amidst the chaos, a tranquil scene,
In the heart of creation, I find my dream.

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.

My Greatest What If

I wish I could write to you.
I wish I could tell you the things I’ve done lately—
the small victories, the quiet moments, the ways I’ve grown.
I wish I could talk to you,
just to hear your voice,
even if it came with that fake enthusiasm you used to give me.

In another life, I would’ve taken the risk.
I would’ve chosen you.
Shared my thoughts, my fears, my dreams.
But this world keeps spinning,
and I still can’t spin you out of my mind.

We are connected.
By what, I don’t know.
Maybe our souls just recognize each other.
Maybe we are star-crossed lovers,
meant to feel it,
but never touch it.

I long to reach out to you—
but it’s dangerous.
I long to share my accomplishments,
but I can’t.
It’s as if I serve a life sentence—
one where the silence protects everything and destroys something too.

No matter what happens in this life,
a piece of me will always love you.
You are my greatest what if.

My agrees with Miss Swift-
“2024” was a very cruel, cruel summer…
Though in spite of making sound choices,
Has been made and proved to be so much funner!

A great experience of God’s talents-He gives from on high above,
Was just yesterday, last day gone-yet 1st 7 of 50 books-printed strong love!
An awesome convention by the Sword of the Lord-Walkertown North Carolina,
I wanted to go year after year-But now no PO to block my son clear!
So we both went with great cheer, filled-in-the Spirit while drawling near!
For God said “Do” and He will “Do” the same-with no shame of any tears!

…Only happy ones inside!

The day in Cleveland, so minute far off-Solar Eclipse hit the mark…
Yes, the same time to celebrate 4 years dry-
No alcohol in this body of mine!
T’was April 8th!!!

Also while so hot, yet the water was cool,
Came the baptism of my son-so exceedingly cool!!!
He got a license, he got a car, and a house for to stay-
God has blessed his Obedient way, without any sorrow of the day!

Also for me-my 3rd study course complete,
Finished Application-with only one left to meet!
So soon I’ll be done-steady moving to go on…
Walking with my Gal Wisdom-She to me is so very strong!
It’s simple Love Dear-for the mighty to hear!

Picking any one from all this fun-out of sober memory…
Would be like putting a kid in Charlie’s Chocolate Factory-
And tell him to pick his favorite, very best tastefully…

Yea, I know-Mission Impossible!
But what IS probable here-
Is that “2024” turned out to be…
My very best year!!!

12-18-24

Some assumptions about
Me being careless because
I now, care less, about others opinions.
It’s nobody’s business what I’m doing
Or consuming. Assuming I care,
The lesson you’ll learn. Is be safe
As we leave far from near.
So… Be safe!!! As I drift off into the distance.
It’s just an experience of our existence.
If you care? Be carful, until we meet again.
Our mind carries our memories.
I’ve cared and carried. With some I did it
Carefully.

Dear Unsealers,

I wanted to share something I couldn’t believe happened to me today after struggling for a while without my supplies and my medicine. I was finally able to get out and pick up some supplies, thanks to two special people in my life. I am truly grateful, even though they both can’t handle the humidity like I do. They understood how badly I needed it, and it was a magical moment for me; I still have people who care.

Additionally, I experienced another magical moment that truly topped the prize today. After two years of fighting, struggling, and not wanting to play Smash back and forth, I was finally able to get another phone, thanks to my partner’s idea, my benefit program, and my family for helping me through the process. There was a time when I was able to pay for a phone and cover the card or the bill every month. However, during those two years, I fell into some rough times and had to rely on a lifeline benefit program to stay in touch with people and my medical doctors.

For a while, I didn’t know if it was my software going bad or just the phone aging. It kept freezing and crashing. After collecting enough points on one of my accounts, I was able to pay for a temporary backup phone and then get rid of the other one. Well, boy was I wrong! After a year, for some reason, it started to have the same issues again. Initially, I thought it might be because my storage was too full, the games I was playing, or that people I didn’t know were trying to mess with it without my knowledge. Unfortunately, it only got worse, and lately, I was starting to lose patience with my backup too.

Then, my partner came up with the idea to find another phone so I could say adieu to this one and start over. At first, I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but after I found some help from my family and my medical benefits, I was happy they were willing to assist. The more magic that made this feel real was that initially, I was nervous after filling out and submitting all my information. I didn’t think I would get approved.

However, after I had a fun day with my relatives and my animals, I got home and checked my messages. It turns out one of my struggles finally got resolved. I’m now able to start over with a better phone that I hope will last me a lifetime. I’m so happy that even though the process isn’t fun, I know I still have a safety net in my back pocket in case things don’t work out.

A light shines through the window bright,
As you lie there, lost in the night.
Gazing up at the moon’s soft glow,
“Wow, isn’t it pretty?” you whisper low.

The air so thick, it clings like a dream,
You breathe it in, caught up in the theme.
“Is that what I think?”—a giggle escapes,
Realizing you’re just a bug that shapes.

Oh, how cute are those fireflies’ gleam,
Reflecting memories, like a childhood dream.
A jar in hand, capturing the dance,
Nature’s magic in a fleeting glance.

The sounds of the wild begin to play,
While the magic box whispers night away.
In the cool embrace of this tranquil space,
Our flickering flames find a new grace.

Is nature ready, with arms open wide,
To heal our hearts from the depths inside?
In this tropical paradise, let us weave,
A tapestry of hope—together, we believe.

Words that cut like glass —
Sharp, unseen.
Expect too little.
Hope for the best.
Treat each wound like all the rest.

They stain your heart,
Make it bleed.
Crack your ribs,
Leave your soul in need.

They break you down —
But still, you rise.
Because in the end,
They’re just words,
Just words.
So treat them that way.

Don’t expect too much.
Expectation is the root of all pain.
And words that cut like glass —
Still shatter just the same.

As I lie among the sighs,
Gnats swarm and flash before my eyes.
Beside me, my cat, a quiet sage,
Absorbing life without a wage.

Humidity wanes as evening falls,
I ponder what the kitchen calls.
“Shall I cook or seek a quick delight?
Avoid the heat, embrace the night?”

How lovely it must be to be
A pet, with meals provided free.
Only giving love, those “motorboat” purrs,
A life of ease, amidst the stir.

The screen glows bright, a familiar sight,
Yet in its glow, there’s little light.
Replaying moments, over again,
Can joy be found in the mundane?

I watch the air conditioner hum,
Working hard, day after day, it’s come.
To shield us from the flames that rise,
I wonder, if it spoke, what wisdom lies?

Who knows the thoughts of one that cools,
Amidst the heat, a silent jewel.
A life like this, a curious blend—
In purrs and sighs, perhaps we mend.

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.

I am down on my luck without a chip in hand.
Searching for answers in this shifting sand.
Settling troubles piece by piece,
Yearning for a way out, a moment of peace.

Hanging on pins, feeling the strain,
Sorting through categories, wrestling with pain.
Hope seems to fade, like shadows at dusk,
Gazing at my clock, as time builds rust.

Why must the hole be so deep and wide?
Why does the meter run out, no matter my stride?
Yet still, I cling to the flicker of light,
Holding on tight as I search for what’s right.

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?

In slumber’s sound upon the table,
My guardians watch, ever stable.
A magical screen, their silent gaze,
While nourishment fills the bowl in a haze.
With a velcro tongue, I reach for the drink,
In this cozy realm, my thoughts drift and sink.
My language spills forth, a chorus of tunes,
Echoing gently beneath the bright moons.
Through my kingdom, I wander with grace,
Leaving behind whispers of where I embrace.
Clues trace my journey, scattered with care,
In the heart of my haven, my spirit laid bare.
Travelers gather, tales to share,
While I stake my claim with flair in the air.
In this enchanted space, I’m never alone,
For in my domain, every corner is home.

As I walk along the horizon the beaker boils with drips. Tensions fly to the surface when the well has finally dried up. As the routine stays the same can’t the clock move forward faster? Struggling without the help and holding on by a thread of patience, even though the patience is running thin. As the breeze slides through the pattern never changes.

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.