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.

One there lived a town of angel, each one born with their own beautiful pair of wings. However, one of them was different, this angel had wings of gold, each of her feathers were long, fragile, and the light shinned on them as bright as the star in the night sky. Out of admiration, many of the other angel would attack her and rip the wings off her back leaving empty spots and scars where the feathers once were. Although blood would run from these freshly made wounds for a moment and the angle would sear in pain, the others didn’t care for they were too consumed by their own greed and envy. She did fight back but she was only ever able to hold a few of them back at a time.
The poor angel longed for a peace and joy in her life that she feared she may never find. She found herself living for those rare occasions when she could sneak off, slowly flying through the sky’s looking out all places that she could fly to and never return. Most of her years were spent dreaming of leaving but despite her circumstance fear of the unknown kept her from leaving the only home she ever knew. One day after her dreams where haunted by all the bad days, and the countless faces of those who caused her pain and made her bleed. The next morning when the sun rose the angel quickly packed her thinks and hurried to leave her home forever.
With her wings spread wide, the angel jumped as high as she could and see slowly began to fly into the sky. For a few sweet tender moments, the angel began to fell freedom rain, and all her nightmare were coming to an end. The next moment, she felt a large metal chain rape around her neck, choke her and drag her down. She struggled as hard as she could, but four more chains surrounded her, and she becomes overwhelmed. Seconds later she is on the ground and bound down, unable to move.
Her back crushed by the weight of two different people holding her back, a third holding her legs and the fourth one with a sharp rope and proceeded to slice the golden wings clean off the angels back. Everything went black and this poor angel, would become another story of an innocent life shattered over mans twisted greed. While she was left on the ground broken and bleeding, she wasn’t dead, instead she was changed. The angels’ dreams of peace quickly turned into dreams of vengeance and blood-soaked fury. With tears in her eyes and unimaginable pain in her back and arms the angel made her way into an unknown land.
The angel was beaten down, angry, and full of stinging tears. After wondering around for several hours, the angels body gave way and there she fell the ground once more. This time, she had no fight or will power left, so she laid there waiting to die. Suddenly, a shadow came over her, it was a man with eyes white as snow and hair of wool. The man took the broken angel in his and brought her to his home to treat her wounds.
Several days have passed and the angel still finds herself with thoughts of revenge, but she knew she could never return to her home the same way she was before, so asked her hero for his aid once more. “Why do you seek revenge?”, the man asked. The angel sat across from the man and proceed to tell her story. The man was so enraged and hurt for the angel’s pain that he agreed not only to teach her to fight but to give her new wings. The angel was lost by what the man said and stated, “You can’t make me new wings. Once they are cut off, there is no getting them back.”
The man smiled at her saying, “You have so much to learn little one.” From that day on, the man would work teaching the girl fighting skills and how to work on land by day and forging her wings by night. This would go on for almost a year until the girl became fierce enough to take on army alone. On that day, the man ushered her inside his workshop. As the man unveiled the gift to her, the angel stood still with anticipation and curiosity for what was to come next. She didn’t think this was possible.
New wings of silver and steal. Each feather made of blades and were as sharp as the ones she had been training with. These would not only help her fly but serve as her tools for justice. It was a painful process of attacking them to her back as well as learning to control them, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. When the time came for her to return to the sky, angle swore to the man that she would return his kindness and love someday. For it was with him that she would give her last act of kindness she would ever show.
The broken angel slammed onto the ground to the place she once called home, and her mind became filled with the memories and faces of everyone who caused her pain. All of them would soon pay.

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?

Once upon a time, a woman was facing challenges between her fear, her schooling, and her career choices. She encountered massive obstacles that she managed to overcome, except for one enemy she didn’t want to face: Mr. Math. At first, she thought, “Man, this is a breeze! What’s next you want to throw my way?” However, being overconfident, Mr. Math kept throwing harder numbers at her, trying to get her to crack. In time, she thought she had Mr. Math figured out, until the day of the test arrived.

The fears began to make her sweat and shake. She kept thinking to herself, “Am I going to pass? Is everyone going to be happy for me?” As she glanced at the clock, panic set in, but she managed to finish the test in time. She felt relieved to have completed it, but that’s when the fear really sank in. Twiddling her thumbs, she waited for the results to come back, but there was no word yet. As the days went by, she began to devise a backup plan in case things didn’t work out as she hoped. She brainstormed some job ideas to pass the time and got a few bites, but nothing much was going her way at her age.

Two weeks later, her phone rang awkwardly during a job interview, and it was her teacher letting her know how she had done. Her teacher humorously mentioned, “I’m sorry, but you did pass everything with flying colors, except for one.” She braced herself, asking, “Let me guess, it was the math, right?” He looked at her with a knowing glance and asked, “How did you know? Did you assume you weren’t going to pass? Did you not even try, or did you just breeze by it?” The woman glanced back in a daze, trying to defend herself. “No, I tried my best! You remember that when Mr. Math gives me the basics, I can breeze through that like it’s nothing. But he decided to throw harder material at me, and my brain just froze.”

He mentioned what she could do next, but her fear clouded her mind, and she was exhausted from trying yet continually failing. Before hanging up, the teacher asked, “Are you going to return to class and face Mr. Math again?” After contemplating for a moment, she replied that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to return with everything going on in her life.

After discussing her next steps with her mother, she decided to focus on her career instead. She chose to pursue another form of education through job training classes, believing that learning more career skills could help her overcome her fear and eventually find a job she loved. She found a place called Mountain State Centers of Independent Living. The course was a three-month program focused on different career choices, job skills in the workplace, and the knowledge needed to navigate the hiring process.

Thanks to the program, she graduated in three months and had a clear understanding of what she could handle in the work world. Her family was so proud and thrilled that she dedicated herself to something else and was grateful that, even though she hadn’t finished her prior studies, she didn’t let that affect her. She thanked the center for becoming part of the Mountain State family. Since then, she has developed her skills in retail and money management. Although she has memories she wishes she could revisit, she has finally accepted that she has her family’s support and feels comfortable with the new path she has chosen.

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 Community,
Today I ask you a question that came to me this morning. I know this has probably hit you when you were growing up but I thought it was time to bring it back.

My question was Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Okay, where I see myself in 5 years, you may ask, well, I see myself undecided. I’ve always had hopes and dreams to just make it day by day. I wanted to finish school, try for my degree in art, and pursue my writing. However, life had other plans. I had my first kid at 21, went through the struggles of taking care of a child on my own, ended up living on my own, and just trying to figure things out as I progressed. During my time, I honestly wish I could have done more, not gone down the road I did, and dropped out of high school or run myself ragged focusing on relationships, housing, or finding a job that I was comfortable with. So I guess what it comes down to is that in 5 years from now, I hope to see myself financially stable, make my passion for writing expand, hopefully find the right job for me, and I hope my partner and I will still be able to go strong together.

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.