Mother, oh, mother!
That look upon your face
When I awoke as a critical case.
Never had I seen your eyes so tearied blue.
Never had I felt your aching heart so true.

Weeks had slidden by
While in a coma I did lie.
You must have trembled deep inside.
You must have shuttered at my bedside.

They said it was a mystery
What I imbibed so viscerally.
They knew I must’ve wanted to die.
They knew my chances were not high.

Yet lying in that bed,
Only emptiness filled my head.
I could not recall what I had done.
I could not reveal my mind to anyone.

Regret I did not feel
For I knew not how I could heal.
My pain still stuck to my sad soul.
My pain still sucked my essence whole.

Yet when I peered into your eyes
I found an unexpected surprise.
I had been wrong that you lacked love for me.
I had been wrong that my life wasn’t meant to be.

At that moment I did decide
That in misery I would not hide.
I’d fight the darkness that plagued me so.
I’d fight the sickness that tried to grow.

I put my life into your hands
And I followed all your mands.
It took trust to drop my worn-out crutches.
It took time to build up my new trusses.

Today my spirit’s strong
For I follow a sweeter song.
Always will I push past the agony.
Always will I honor your love for me.

I gathered everything that I was and locked you away in a box.

I hurled the key as far as I could off the edge of my sanity — sending it out into the vast universe, with all of your accompanying memories.

I prayed I would never have to see you again.

And then, I left you there.

————————————————————

Years pass until one day someone walks by, not for the first time, but this is the time that matters because of everything that comes next.

Just a tiny graze and just a whisper of a breeze is all that is felt as they brush past… but it vibrates all of the shattered pieces inside of me.

Instead of hearing the cacophony of ugly noise I’ve grown accustomed to, I hear a soft and blissful sound emanating from my broken mess.

The melody resounds inside of my being filling me with an old sensation.

I’m not the only one who hears the sweet sound.

I notice the stranger noticing, as they ask,
“Is this yours?”
Holding up a beautiful key.

It looks like something I would cherish, but it isn’t something I recognize.

“Sorry, that isn’t mine,” I swear to him.

————————————————————

I accidentally walk past him again and again, but then it quickly turns into on purpose.

I can’t get enough of the sweet sound that erupts from my mess when he walks by.

I wish he could just keep walking by, letting his breeze make my melody sing.

I just want to relish in the intoxicating music as long as possible.

That’s all I’m here for, I promise.

And yet he stops and pulls out the key exclaiming, “I know this belongs to you! I found it and have held onto it in hopes that I would find the owner someday.”

“That is a spectacular key! Again, sadly, it’s not mine. I don’t even have anything to unlock!” I try my best to convince him.

Why does he insist on giving me this key that is not mine?

Yes, it’s divine and it does seem oddly familiar, but it couldn’t be mine.

I’m not the type of person who would have such an ornate key.
And if I even HAD a key, mine could not be so extraordinary.

But damn, how I wish that was my key, so fucking badly.

————————————————————

Someday I want a key like that for my own.

I can slowly forage around and find the materials I need to make it.

Possibly one day I will try to forge a key of my own… it would be so nice if I did.

Maybe I will.

Here he comes again, now with a chain around his neck wearing the key proudly.

The way he displays it, the key appears even more brilliant and tantalizing.

As if my staring makes the key grow too warm on his chest, he lifts it and says “Please take it, the key is yours. I know it is yours. I know that YOU know it is yours!”

“Why do you care so much? Why is it so important you find the owner?” I plead.

He asked, “Don’t you see, it has a match?”

Revealing from his opposite hand a larger, just as striking key.

“It matches mine.”

Then I remember the girl I locked in the box and I run to free you immediately.

There you are.

My much younger self would have been shocked today:

I wear jeans as much as I love jean skirts,

Would had strongly suggested that I had strayed.

Now in childhood, it wasn’t always like this before.

Used to wear all kinds of mismatches, costumes, shoes, and

Even display self to explore.

Then one day became part of a group,

A strict fundamental sort, was very welcoming,

And had let me into their troop.

There were rules, too many to count.

We don’t do this or that,

All would come at the cost of the amount.

“We must wear skirts from now on,”

What I was told——so unfortunate to me that never happened before,

Was now the new change that was thrust upon.

“You would make boys lust and sin,

It would be your fault, and you wouldn’t look good in pants,”

The disheartening words I then let my mind enter in.

Hem must be way below the knees.

No slip of any kind should be showing nor any see-through,

And the butt part of the material must never have a tight squeeze.

For most of my teen years, I was a happy advocate.

After all, girls can do anything in a skirt!

Beliefs and dreams of mine back then seemed to be going straight.

Unfortunately, everything came crashing down when we had to leave.

For they then started teaching things that didn’t sit right,

Things that we knew wholeheartedly did not believe.

Looking back, I bet my parents felt awful.

Taking us away from one church to a different one,

But they wanted us to grow and live by the true Gospel.

I will admit, for two years I was grieved.

I thought I knew who I was, who I thought I was to be,

Used to be fully confident that my dreams would achieved.

Now, from one big church building to a tiny congregation in a small community hall,

I was not used to it, I wanted to go back, yet I knew what fundamentals taught

That they weren’t fully right in their teachings at all.

Through the next few years I still wore jean skirts,

I still believed in it and was very comfortable. Well, also didn’t want to distract

Guys and remembered all the fat girl insecurities that still hurts.

I got to be part of ministry groups in different states.

All of them kind people, working together, challenging good traits,

None was judging or condemning anyone in humiliating disgrace.

I met many women in jeans and pants, never wore in any sexual way.

They were all in heights, shapes, weights, shades, and all radiantly beautiful.

None of the gentlemen had a look toward the opposite gender like prey.

It was all very new thought to me;

In a new environment, a new life, would it be okay to change completely,

Even if it means not every one of the old friends will agree?

In this world, it says “Go for it! Rebel!”

Please understand, not everyone wants to change very quickly,

For patience takes time for a person’s life on a whole new level.

I studied the beliefs, asked questions, and many a time thought and prayed——

Change a lifestyle to wearing jeans, no turning back, explore, and create new dreams.

A part of me wanted to try, yet another was afraid.

What if I didn’t look good in pants because of no thigh gap?

How do I handle response, criticism, or judgment? Then again, I can no longer live in

The past, so out of questions and doubts I snap.

Getting back into wearing jeans felt…surreal yet weird.

I started wearing them at home, then later in town, then in other places.

I did get stared at by those who knew me and wished their stares disappeared.

Half a decade later I’ve gotten used to this living.

I have no regrets about this change, this chapter, the awesome fashion in my wardrobe.

A new kind of happiness called joy is worth every day reliving.

I have no grudges on those long ago by what they taught.

Sometimes many have good things to share, to teach, to learn, to encourage,

But in the end, self becomes the center instead of individuals they forgot.

I have a man who loves me for my heart more than my body.

New faces and strangers see me for my character, smile, testimony, and what I can give.

For the last few words to say here with my coffee:

Clothing does speak of a person but never use it to curse.

Have a lovely heart, a kind face, live joyfully, be a beautiful person always——

That was how I went to jeans from jean skirts.

Dear Monday the 14th, 2024
The moment you figured out you were happy
The moment you have peace in your life
The moment you have been dreaming and waiting for
The days leading up to that, finally paying off
The medicine finally working
Means looking forward to the future
Knowing everything will be okay
Seeing the stars align for me
Getting excited about life again
Feeling the joy in the world
Wanting to be alive again
Trying to extend the moment as long as I can
Trying to not to blink
Only going up from here
Finding the strength within myself
Fighting everyday for happiness
No one or nothing taking away your smile
Becoming nothing but yourself

Dear Unsealers,
My name is Meaghan, and I am a recovering addict. I emphasize “recovering” because I will always be recovering, one day at a time. If ever a day comes when I think I am fully cured from the disease of addiction, the world better watch out.
I started drinking alcoholically when I was 15. I drank to get drunk because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. By 19 I was a daily black-out drinker, and drugs had entered the picture. For the next ten years, my life revolved around drinking and drugging. My older brother was also an addict. His drug of choice was heroin. The idea that I was also an addict was inconceivable because I wasn’t the one sticking needles in my arm. My brother died from a fentanyl overdose when he was just 29. I wasn’t the one being buried, so obviously I didn’t have a problem. I was black-out drunk before noon on the day of his funeral.
I was functional until I wasn’t. I was at the height of my career working in fashion in the best city in the world, New York [City]. My bills were paid, I could afford my lifestyle, and I had friends who liked to party like I did. Life was fast and exciting. My addiction in my twenties knew many ups and downs. I’d go through a manic party phase and then a deeply dark and isolated phase.
By 27, my body started to shut down. I took a leave of absence from work and that quickly turned into a bender that lasted a few years. I would bring myself up with alcohol and cocaine; and I brought myself down with more alcohol, pills, and marijuana. At 30, one of my best friends suggested I try to “dry out” for a month. I told her I didn’t know why I would do such a thing and regardless, I didn’t think I could. Her reply was “Then do you think you might have a bigger problem?”. That was when the seed was planted. This started the journey of recovery that has led me to where I am today.
No one had ever challenged me to stop using. I went to my first AA meeting a couple of months later. I wish I could say I’ve been sober [ever] since, but I chronically relapsed. I moved from New Jersey down to Florida in February 2021. Turns out I’m an addict no matter what state I’m in. It took me almost 4 years to put together one consecutive year of sobriety. My sober date is December 11, 2022. However, the real turning point was five months later in May of 2023.
I was sober but my life was completely unmanageable. I’d been kicked out of every place I had lived in since moving down to Florida. I was still quite unemployable, and I was squatting in an apartment with 3 males I barely knew who were actively using drugs. One day, I collapsed to the ground. For the first time, I pleaded with God to take over. I had been trying to “do recovery” my way and it was a disaster. Not even a week later, I found myself in a halfway house. It saved my life.
I spent the next year getting healthy, working the 12 steps with a sponsor, and learning how to hold a full-time job. I made friends who have become my family. I became responsible and respected. Most importantly, I found my purpose.
I work professionally in the recovery community helping other addicts find a new way to live. The basic requirement is to have lived experience and a message of strength and hope to share. After almost a year to the day I arrived, I moved out of the halfway house into a small studio; just me and my two cats.
The rooms of AA and NA brought me back to life, but I had to do the hard work to learn how to love myself. Today I try to do the next right thing. When I mess up, I take accountability. I surround myself with like-minded sober people. With God’s grace, I am approaching two years sober.
My disease is life or death. I must chase my recovery like I chased my drugs. It’s been the hardest journey, but the most rewarding. If you ever go to a meeting, you’ll likely hear the words, “Keep coming back.”. Through countless relapses, that’s the one thing I did. It’s because I kept going back that today I have a choice. Today I choose to be a sober addict. I have found a way, just for today, to turn my mess into my message. I’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes.

I stood on the corner with others in the cold
I grabbed what I could to feed the hungry & the old

They had nothing in their hands but dust & sores
Their shoes tattered and clothes with holes

“Do you have more? I need more they said”
Laying on the floor without a bed

“This is all I have, I’m so sorry.
I’ll do my best to come back in a hurry”

“Thank you, mam,” they all said.

“What do you need?” I said
“Socks and warm food, I’m cold.”

Down the street someone asleep as others walk over them
Sunburned, dried hair, and nothing to cover

Their cracked skin, no shelter, no water

I shed a well of tears that woke the earth
And shortly after I gave birth

To a drive inside to fight harder & to never hide
The power of my ferocious voice

My will of fire became unmatched
As I unleashed my skill & removed my mask

Beneath, a face of many
Two feet on the ground standing steady

I knew what I had to do
To turn the skies from grey to blue

I refused to let the fear make me believe
That there was no one like you and me

Who also cared about the world
And all the life that lived inside her

With debt on my back
I turned to others to help me lay a new track

A new path to justice
As we march ahead to help the many

Unafraid of what would come next
But we knew, we would stand together at our best

My mom let a demon in, cracks in the door,
New husband, old scars, we can’t ignore.
Crack pipe dreams, steal the food stamps,
Welfare checks gone, he left in a trance.

Brothers crying, shadows on the wall,
I’m out there hustling, catch me if I fall.
Delivering drugs at dawn, missin’ the first period bell,
Football dreams crushed, a scholarship fell.

Real dad’s absent, love’s just a lie,
Knows our pain, leaves us high and dry.
Mama’s blind, love turned into chains,
Stepdad’s sneaky fists, filling mom and my little brothers with pain.

At seventeen, I grab the piece,
Walk to their room, time for release.
Mama’s tears, pleading with her eyes, “Son, please don’t,” were her desperate cries.

Pack my bags, leave it all behind,
Seekin’ faith, some peace to find.
Ain’t a perfect dude, but I need hope,
Ya Allaah guide me, please help me cope.

Gone from home, streets become my guide,
Prayin’ hard, won’t let this slide.
Life’s a struggle, pain so real,
Still I stand, refuse to kneel.

For my brothers, for my soul,
Climbin’ out this endless hole.
Step by step, findin’ my way,
One last prayer, every single day.

Brandon’s pushed to the edge, can’t see the light,
Praying to Allaah , in the dead of night.
Broken dreams, hope left behind,
In a world so cold, getting drunk to ease my mind.

Mama, I forgive, but I won’t forget,
Path’s been hard, but I ain’t done yet.
From the shadows, I rise and see,
Strength within, Alhamdullilah I’m finally free.

In happier times
Together always, and also apart
Smiling on the outside, crying inside
Holding hands, mile-high walls between us

In happier times
Joined by paper, properties
By kids, by work, by bills,
By love, by hurt, by hate, by hurt

In happier times
Music throughout, wrong music, but music
Watching TV, wrong shows, but together right?
Dinner together, one ate and one cooked, cleaned, and served
Happier times?

And now – alone, and yet not alone
Friends, family, strangers
Sometimes crying outside
But then, smiling on the inside

No longer joined by paper, properties
Work, bills, love hurt, hate, hurt
No more bad music, no more wrestling shows
Dinner together – with kids and two goldfish
Finally, happier times

Daughter. Sister. Mom.

Love. Light. Joy.

Shattered to Black.

Buried. Hatred. Shame.

Darkness. Pain. Broken.

Tiny Crack.

Shards of Light.

Shattered Shell.

No Longer Hell.

Love. Light. Joy.

Forgiveness.

Love. Light. Joy.

Forevermore.

To my love,

I found you somewhere between the noise of strangers and twinkle lights of a small town I didn’t know very well. I notice your mustache. Thick above a mouth that didn’t rush to speak.

As I read your Tarot, you were seemingly uncomfortable, but your eyes, steady as they are, held a longing like you wanted to lean closer, but did not quite know how.

Your comfortable self-reliance stood out. Noticing a problem and taking care of it quietly, a display of thoughtfulness that snuck up on me. And that same thoughtfulness turned toward me, too. Soft thoughtful touch cradling my neck from a sincere place of wanting to help. Helping to ease a pain in my body you didn’t even cause.

Only two encounters in the same room and I felt like my skin might light on fire if it brushed against yours. My trip swiftly concluded but our voices wrapped around each other for hours slowly building a bridge made of words and warmth across thousands of miles. Those hours turned to days, to weeks, months.

One plane ticket and you were loading your suitcase into the back of my car. Seeing you in person again felt electric and strange, like walking through a memory I hadn’t made yet. We managed our nerves by falling in love in amusement park lines and technicolor nights on mattresses on the floor. We did it scared. “I’d have regretted it forever if I didn’t go,” you said.

With phone lines and airport good-byes, we found each other everywhere. We made homes in hotel rooms. From suites in Florida to a camper van in misty Oregon. The valleys in California and a cozy basement in Virginia held up the FaceTime backdrops to budding love. We kept moving, finding new places to exist together.

There was something about our love that buzzed under the surface that felt much like waiting in those amusement park lines. The anticipation for an exciting experience that I knew I wanted more than anything never really went away. We were always waiting. Waiting for the next trip to see each other, then waiting for the next time we say goodbye. A quiet consistency never came because we just did not quite make it to the ride we were hoping for.

In the heat of our first summer, I got the news. An unwelcome, ugly line carved through our grand plans to find that place that felt like home for US. You flew to me and folded yourself into my new tortuous reality. Holding my hand with silent strength in your grip as if to say, “we’re in this together.”

You watched as I began to fade — leaving you mostly alone. Unsure of when I would be there for you and when I would not be. Unsure of which memories were made and which ones were lost. My mind faltered, and my strength drained away. My hair and forty pounds of muscle and fat vanished before we even had the chance to catch our breath.

You held me through the sickness, but more than that, you kept me steady. Encouraging me both up and down mountains. When I was ambushed by unexpected sickness, you held a calm leadership back to the safety of our home. You kept me looking after myself even when I thought I couldn’t.

Filled up water bottles and forehead kisses on my freckles throughout the many days I slept and slept. I felt those. As my hair fell, my face swelled, and my body shrank, I lost the regard I once felt for my own beauty. But you didn’t. “You’re beautiful every day you wake up,” you would say in a time where waking up at all was a beautiful thing it its own right.

You took care of me, yes, but it was deeper than that. You saw me at my most fragile, and you stayed. You stayed because that is who you are. A rare and steadfast compassion that I’ve only encountered before in my late father’s heart.

Before we can even begin to grieve, a new intrusion rears its ugly head. Cancer. Again. This time in your father, in Virginia — a place I cannot follow.

The further from my treatment we walk together, the more the reality sets in. We are forever changed. Untangling the barbwire knots that cancer left behind rips and pulls at the fragile seams of our hearts, deepening wounds we can only heal one way — apart. Our careful, wild beginning was stolen. And now a rediscovery must take place. We both deserve to have that.

The irony isn’t lost on me: cancer was the reason you came here from Virginia, and now it is the very thing that is taking you back. Exactly two years after the day you bought your plane ticket for our first date, you board your flight back to the house you grew up in.

Watching you leave cut me open to reveal a deep love I quietly knew was there but wasn’t sure what to call it. You will always be my love. I will carry the impact your character left — thoughtful, gentle, unflinchingly loyal — like a steady light through all the darkness that’s come before and whatever may come next.

Take care, my love. I’ll be seeing you.

With all my love,

Dear Self,

I remember the storm,
The bruises, invisible yet heavy,
How your heart, once bright,
Faded into shadows of his rage.
But even in the darkest nights,
Jesus was there, whispering,
“You are not alone.”

You were so young,
Early twenties,
Still figuring out where you belonged,
When his words turned to shackles,
And his hands became chains.
But you, oh you,
Were never meant to be caged,
For Christ had already claimed you.

I watched you break free,
Each step away from him
Like shedding a layer of pain.
The weight—both body and soul—
Fell away,
And in that lightness,
You found yourself again,
Cradled in His grace.

I saw you stand in the mirror,
Your reflection clearer than it had been
In years.
Jesus stood with you,
Teaching you to love her,
The woman He had created
With purpose and beauty.

You embraced every curve,
Every scar,
Every story etched into your skin,
Knowing that through His wounds,
You were healed.
And in His love,
You learned to love yourself.

You became your own hero,
But not without the hand of the One
Who carried you through it all.
A survivor with grace,
Rebuilding a life
He never deserved to touch.
With Christ beside you,
The world opened up—
Bright, endless, full of possibility.

Now, you carry that strength,
That love for yourself,
And for Him,
As a beacon for others.
A reminder that darkness can be left behind,
And that in Jesus, true joy is found,
For He is the Savior
Who made your heart whole.

With love,
The You Who Found Herself in Him

LAUREN- THE PHOTO OF THE BRICK GOES WITH THIS POEM. WHEN YOU READ IT, YOU’LL SEE WHY…

GOING TO BERLIN IN 1970 -for Hank

They were traveling by train
the whole family, for Thanksgiving
at seventeen it felt like being thirty
courage for the i-am-strong-enough
to face the i-don’t-know-what
speaking German wishing-to-know-words

even so he was in his own thoughts-
Where does genuine live?
Is it In amongst the realizations of the self?

Traveling with another Colonel’s family,
with another son of seventeen
both in railroad overnight sleeper berths
the Colonels had to be in uniform
crossing Enemy Territory as it was
the Enemy’s armed soldiers at railway stops in the dark
warned us not to exit the cars
if the train stopped, must have passports at the ready
should they be demanded by the communists.

It would take all night to get to Berlin due to the many stops
having left the freedoms of West Germany
fluttering on flagpoles at the border.

It was the first time, really, that he was aware,
like no kidding, that the suppression of men could be such
a real thing.

That realization never walked away again
the sight of man’s inhumanity to man
that persisted for the rest of his years

this epiphany became a finely tuned crap-detector
like gauging spoken truths for authenticity
or assessment of mood, or rank, at a glance.

Sometimes both revealing, and understanding, were pushed
into override, with wisps of smoke coming out
he had to get out, away from the despicable source

what of the half-truths
or the lying in the unnecessary competitions
in foolish men’s lives.
Sleep was a casualty of that night.
Excitement of so many AK-47s,
the danger slung on The Enemy’s shoulders
during the travel to West Berlin
so divided (one of the few walled cities left in the world)
the Berlin Wall was a living, breathing beast
the beast was hungry to eat those that loved freedom
the east had walled all around the west city with
guard towers sporting machine-guns overlooking barbed wire.

We were free to think and speak
our minds carrying on the traditions
that was why our Fathers wore the uniforms.

Yet there was Checkpoint Charlie
a passageway out of grey oppression
crossing over into sparkling clean air
the point of cruel suppression, of beyond unfair dictatorship
made by the hundreds of small white crosses
placed to honor where the dead had been murdered

those that had sought out of the chill, shot dead
sometimes having dug under the wire
perhaps hidden in the trunk of a car under blankets.

Those sights stayed with him far into his future years
the detector tuned to not just seeing lies
but to detect the oranges of tyrannical narcissism

he felt as if he had breached the walls of Mordor there
in the east walkers dressed in darks and greys
city streets there unkept, paint on walls peeling

a stark contrast to the bustle of the west side
where there were freedoms even to wear bright yellow
should one want to, and to think unencumbered

he sought the exploration of the Self
ever since, gathering strength
asking The Critical Questions, the hard Q’s
finding his answers where they may be
in a song, poem, or readings of the great works
perhaps in some direct act of a caring sort
observing when life reached that occasional pinnacle
where truth junctured with an intensity

combined with spontaneous, deliberate acts of kindness
produced those moments of humanness
that people remember and talk about for years later.

He remembered Berlin all his life.
His walking up to the communist wall of Checkpoint Charlie
seeing the machine gun in the guard tower
ranging his steps, following his direction
(his Mother standing there wanting to scream)
as he gently removed a loose brick
from the wall just by The Enemy’s gate
even the western Military Policeman directing traffic
watched him step back away towards safety.

Taking that red brick
an act out of a youthful sense of invincibility
became a brick in his own wall
the brick was in his study even now
holding a honored place on a shelf
near the volumes of philosophy
becoming a power cell in the course of his life
a light shining into the darkness
showing what it means to be a real human in the world.