i invited an old friend for coffee today
i was about fifteen minutes late
and
she was about twenty
i called her up, but she forgot to answer
she told me she was practicing a YouTube tutorial
that she will never post
her skin was fresh and bare
picked raw at the sight
bulls eye across her forehead
what is plain to see for change and a face wash
taking a sip of my black coffee
and her frappuccino
I offered her my half-eaten coffee cake
she pushed it away and typed in her calories
she tells me she would never inhale
and sip the poison of pressure
i say more like pleasure
we looked at similarly colored eyes
we both sat in silence
she glances down at her phone to see that plans fell through again
with foes guarded by tight pants
she’ll have people to tell her stories about
if her cards play out right
i almost recognize her from the tiny jewelry box dancer
twirling delusion
she assures me that she is too wild, and friends will take another course
i hope she always dances
I’m envious of the girl sitting in front of me
both are sipping from an overpriced cup of coffee
the colors are brighter through her eyes
music seemed light until the music died
i’m only twenty-two
and she is only thirteen

There was a dream I saw you in,
Telling me to be cool, don’t let the devil win .
Where I am I’m good, you can let me go.
Where I am it’s peace, something we din’t know.
Where I am, I’m not confused or mad anymore.
Where I am, they can’t hate me for being great…. You know?
Where I am, I eat good like we do on a Thursdaynight.
I wish you could be here with me but you have to keep fighting your fight.
You have to keep going for all those babies who need you in their life.
You have to stay strong to keep our parents together through this flight.
Patience is what you’ll need to grow.
Your biggest flaw is not listening and since I have to say it again this shows,
Where I am, I’m good big sis, you can let me go.

“For Every Mama”

I ain’t forgot the hands that held me,
Through storm clouds, broke nights, and empty bellies.
To the woman who birthed me, through pain and pride,
You gave me life, even when the world ain’t give you a guide.

And to the mamas who stepped in when mine couldn’t stand—
You ain’t share my blood, but you reached out your hand.
You fed me truth, served strength with no disguise,
Taught me how to rise, even when hope dies.

To the aunties, godmamas, them sisters who saw me—
Who showed up when the world tried to flaw me.
You ain’t need a title, you just showed love,
Taught me faith, how to fight, how to rise above.

Whether you nursed me, raised me, or prayed from afar,
You left fingerprints on the map of who I are.
So this for you—the tired, the tender, the tough—
Who gave when it hurt, who loved me enough.

You are the rhythm in the song of my name,
The calm in my chaos, the light in my flame.
I carry your lessons in everything I do—
This ain’t just Mother’s Day, every day’s for you.

IMAGE: MY MOM IN THE MIDDLE. MY AUNT ON THE LEFT AND ME ON THE RIGHT

Dear Mom,

These flowers are a symbol of how YOU have been AND WILL CONTINUE to be SUNLIGHT for ME!

YOU ARE MY WATER, KEEPING ME BLOSSOMING,

Giving ME a PEP TALK when my motivation dwindles, AND EVEN THOUGH I would like the ARGUMENTS /YELLING to WHITTLE away, I KNOW the ROOT cause STEMS FROM LOVE!

MOM, YOU ARE ALWAYS THERE, ROOTING ME ON, SEEING the IMPACT I can PLANT BEFORE ME!!

THANK YOU FOR BEING YOU! LOVE YOU!!

Many many, MANY MORE!

Jakey!

This wound that I have within
Is one that only makes sense to me
This wound may or may not be fixed
And if it is
I can’t tell you when
I can tell you
It was given to me
As a kid
I of course did not know of such
So all I did was push it off
Years would go by
Days even slipped by
Until one day
I got hit like a drive by
Hit with words
Hit with reality
Hit with heaviness that ended up
Opening that old unsure wound
The mother wound

Dear Unsealers,

It’s the second Sunday in May.

For a good part of the world, it’s Mother’s Day.

This day can bring up all sorts of emotions. From joy, to sadness and longing. It’s okay to feel all the emotions.

I want to wish my mom, Lauren’s mom and all the mom’s in The Unsealed, a Happy Mother’s Day! I hope it’s a good day.

And now, for a poem marking the day:

On the second Sunday of May
We honor all of the mothers

Mothers-to-be, grandmothers. My friends who are moms.
Aunts, stepmothers, new moms, and pet moms
All motherly figures. Mi mamá

With all the love and grace
For those who have difficulty celebrating this day
And the mothers who are no longer with us

As mothers are the backbone
Of our lives and the world itself

I wouldn’t be who I am if not for my mom
Tenacious, spirited, and kind
I can’t be grateful enough for her

Mothers need to be honored.
On this day, and every day

From me to you, from NYC to the world…
Happy Mother’s Day!

Its the glow that speaks to me.
There was a time this woman
Did not know what that glow was.
Never spoke of such.
Dark clouds.
Black self esteem.
Sabotaging dreams.
Those consumed her days.
Her soul.
Her heart.
This glow that now radiates
Over her body puts the mind at ease.
The body at rest.
The heart in safe mode.
Glowing heart.
Radiating mind.
Healthy body.
All for the little girl
Who did not know what that glow was.

There are two special moments that I experienced that helped change my mindset. Both happened in the state of California, but on different trips. The first trip I ever made to California was for my highschool graduation, the other was to visit some family I haven’t seen in years. Both trips happened within one month though, but before I tell you about those trips, I have to give a bit of a backstory for you to really understand why these moments were so special for me.

Before I had made any of those trips, I was a mess. It was during my senior year of highschool. I was only a few months in the year when my life went through some major developments, and I didn’t know how to handle them. My mom had gotten in a relationship, and let’s just say it wasn’t a good one. They moved too fast, and before I knew it, he and his kids were basically living in our tiny apartment. My life was turned upside down. My home was my safe place, my comfort. Now I didn’t have that anymore. They even put the responsibility of taking care of his kids on me. I already had my other two siblings to comfort during this time. I had to do all that, plus try and finish my senior year so I could even graduate. It was a lot for me. I felt overwhelmed and tired. I didn’t know it yet, but I was pushing myself to my breaking point. When I did try to explain these feelings to my mother, she turned a cold shoulder to them. Saying I was being ‘dramatic’ and being a ‘brat’. When I would cry to her about how I felt, she would say I’m being sensitive. She didn’t say it, but her actions made me feel that whenever I wanted to cry or express my feelings I was being weak. Strong people don’t cry. If you cry, then your weak. If it’s too much for you then your not strong enough. You can’t cry. You can’t express your feelings. You can’t. This was my mindset back then.

Fast forward to my graduation trip in June, that’s when I reached my limit. I didn’t know it yet, but that was when I couldn’t be strong anymore. I couldn’t keep a brave face. That weekend I broke down. Tears and all. All the way to my tia’s (aunt) house I cried. I cried while my dad held my hand while he was driving, trying his best to comfort me. He held my hand all the way to his sister’s house. It must’ve been difficult for him to drive that long way with only one hand. I’m grateful he did though. When I got to my tia’s house, I went to the restroom to gather myself together, to put on my strong suit of armor and act like everything was ok. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it anymore. I sat on the bathroom floor and cried, telling my sister that it was all my fault over and over again. My tia found me crying in the bathroom. She took me to her room and then my tio (uncle) came in. I was crying still, my hands in my face. This is where the moment happened. He came up and wrapped one arm around me, brought me to his side, and kissed the top of my head. That’s it. That’s all he did. But I couldn’t believe he did that. I haven’t seen him in years, since I was a baby. He felt comfortable enough with me to kiss the top of my head like that? Really? I was shocked. Surprised that he did that.

The second moment happened when I went down there the second time, wanting desperately to escape my toxic household and responsibilities. I stayed a week at my tia’s house and during my stay there she wanted to make it as much fun as she could. She got my cousin and I tickets to go to the amusement park. I had so much fun with her. We were gone the whole day, and didn’t get back until midnight, almost 1. The next day, I slept in until ll, tired from my day before. My tia came in the room where I was staying and said we were gonna go to the outlet mall. I would have been up for it if I wasn’t such an introvert and needed 3 days to recover from a big day out. I just agreed with her, but inside I was dying. I was so grateful that she was doing this though. Later on, my cousin came into the room and said that her mom changed her mind and I wasn’t gonna go to the outlet mall today, but I was going tomorrow. I was grateful for this, but she then said that her mom wanted her to take me somewhere, like bowling or something. I could tell in my cousin’s eyes that she was tired too, and didn’t feel like going anywhere. She had mentioned that she had just started her period, and her mom was pressuring her to take me someplace fun. I was grateful that I even got to come here. I didn’t care where I went, or if I had to stay in this house for a day. I was just happy I was away from all of the chaos back at home. I told her this, saying she didn’t need to take me anywhere, that I was grateful for just being here. I told her she didn’t need to feel bad. She was on her period. I completely understood. I never want to do anything when I’m on my period. Just sleep. This was where the second moment happened. She looked at me for a second. Then she said, “I don’t know why but I always feel like everyone hates me.” Her eyes were glistening with tears and she layed down on the bed next to me. I told her not to feel that way, and I was ok with just staying in and watching a movie. She looked at me with a grateful smile, eyes still watery, and she reached for my hand. I instinctively grabbed it, and she have me a firm but gentle squeeze. I don’t remember if I squeezed back, if I did it was probably only slightly, but this moment stayed with me. I couldn’t believe she was crying in front of me. Showing her raw and unfiltered emotions. Being vulnerable like that in front of me. How could she do that? How could she feel safe enough to do that with me? How? Those were the questions I asked myself in my head.

Fast forward to present me. The me who is writing this right now, I think I understand why those moments impacted me so much. I was used to never showing my feelings. I used to never crying because if I did then I was weak. I was used to keeping it all inside. I didn’t want to cause trouble or make things harder for my mom. I wanted to be a good daughter. I wanted to help my mother in anyway I could have and make her life easier. I did do that, but at the cost of myself. My feelings. My sanity. I put everyone else first but myself. I neglected my feelings and my needs. I didn’t love me like I loved everyone else. These moments taught me that it’s ok to feel. It’s ok to cry, to be vurelable with someone. To feel your emotions and welcome them with open arms, not pushing them away or burying them deep down within yourself. Just because you feel, you cry, it doesn’t mean you are weak. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It’s being on the ground, screaming your lungs out, and still deciding to get up and move forward. That’s real strength. You break down and fall, but still choosing to carry on, broken pieces and all. That’s real strength. I still struggle with this sometimes. I catch myself falling back to my old ways, and I have to remind myself that it’s ok to feel. I still don’t fully have the expressing feelings or vulnerability down yet. I’m still learning to embrace everything I just said. But when I need to cry, I try to let myself have that moment. Or even when I’m angry, I try to feel that anger. I try to understand why I’m feeling it. All this is new to me. I’m still trying to figure it out. But I’m glad I’m trying to do better and change from my old way of thinking. It’s hard for me though, trying to change my old behavior. But I’m grateful to my family in California. I’m especially grateful for my dad. I’m grateful for all of them for helping me realize the damage my old way of thinking was causing me, even though some of them didn’t even know they were helping me.

I am not Palestinian.
But I watched the sky collapse through a screen—
a child’s name turned into ash
before the world ever learned to pronounce it.

I don’t speak for them.
I listen.
To lullabies drowned by sirens,
to the hush after impact,
to a silence that roars louder than any flag.

They don’t need my voice.
They need my volume.
So I turned comfort into confrontation,
ink into artillery,
and every poem into a siren that never shuts off.

I was mid-bite,
wrapped in safety,
when the news showed fathers holding dust
where their daughters used to sleep.
I choked on privilege.
Felt rage boil beneath my ribs.

You ask where I stand?
Not neutral—
because neutrality is just cowardice with a clean face.
I chose the ones who bury their children
and still find a way to pray.
I chose the ones
the world keeps trying to silence.

This is not charity.
It’s reckoning.
Because silence is comfort.
And comfort, when others die, is betrayal.

So from a distance,
I send fists full of reverence.
Love with its sleeves rolled.
Truth with no filter, no leash, no apology.

I won’t be the poet
who rhymed for praise
while Palestine screamed in the background.
I’ll be the one who built a stage from my spine,
so their stories could echo louder than mine ever could.

I am not Palestinian.
But I saw.
And now—
the world will too.