Hello Unsealed Community,
I just joined this writing platform and to be honest I am not sure what I should say for my introduction. I am socially awkward so interacting with people is very hard for me. Writing is different though. I feel more at ease when I write and can express myself better than I ever could with spoken words. I always loved to write ever since I was little; it is my safe space. Because of this I have been looking for ways to improve my writing and I stumbled upon this community. I have always wanted to find people who loved what I loved. Being homeschooled for most of my life, it was difficult to interact with other people, much less find a group that enjoyed what I enjoyed. So I spent a lot of time by myself with my writing. With that being said, I am truly grateful that I found this community. I hope I can build my writing skills here, as well as meet lots of people and hear all their different stories.

“Who are you?” A voice asked.
I broke from my trance, aware of the soothing warmth of the ceramic mug, the chatter of voices, and the feel of eyes upon me. Qiyamah.
He smiled, repeating himself slowly.
“Who are you?”
Who am I? For that brief moment I knew

I am a nomad of love
Wandering through deserts of despair
Camping in oasis that fade away
Hunting on land full of swift souls
And still I forge on.
I am a warrior of love
Planning the best defense to protect
My heart standing knee deep in false hope
Fighting for a prize I have yet to find
And still I solider on.
I am an artist of love
Molding my burning desires into shapes
Writing a song that dares to be sung
Painting a picture only I can see
And still I dream on.
I am a believer of love
Preaching on theories that have no validity
Teaching a vision of both folk and faith
Praying for something I know must be
And always I move on.
Onward to the final destination.
That I know, that I feel, that I need –
love.

But instead I smiled and said,
“I am a very…simple woman.”

*Nomad of Love ©️ 2004 TaMara E’Lan G.
**Excerpt from
Timeless: Through the Eyes of a Poet by TaMara E’Lan G. ©️ 2018

For my husband, who left too soon. For me, who stayed.

We were building something real.
Something messy and beautiful and ours.
Three years of laughs,
Hard talks, late-night plans,
Tears and kisses and silly fights
That ended in bed or in smiles.

You were my safe place.
My soft landing.
My best friend and my storm.

We said forever in March.
Turned keys to our first home in May.
And in July—
You left me
With a silence so loud
It still rings in my bones.

I watched you go.
I screamed.
I begged.
I broke in ways I can’t explain—
Not even to myself.

You didn’t just die.
You tore the sky open,
And I’m still standing in the wreckage,
Barefoot, bleeding, trying to breathe.

People say “you’re so strong.”
No.
I’m not strong.
I’m shattered.
But I wake up anyway.
I make coffee.
I cry quietly in the shower.
I hold our memories like landmines—
Knowing any one of them can level me.

I loved you too much to be okay.
But I also love you enough
To keep going.

Even when it hurts.
Even when I hate you for leaving me.
Even when I ache for just one more touch,
One more laugh,
One more “I’m home.”

You were the love of my life.
The stepfather who adored our kids like they were your own.
The man who made ordinary things feel magical.
You were it for me.

And now I carry all of that
Inside a heart stitched with grief and fire.

I’m still here,
Still breathing,
Still holding the broken pieces
Of everything we were supposed to be.

And I will keep going—
Not because I’m strong,
But because love like ours
Deserves to survive
Even if one of us didn’t.

Your Word say in Ezekiel 11 verse 19 “I will give them a singleness of heart and put a new spirit in them I will take away their stony stubborn heart and give them a tender responsive heart”, (NIV)

I come now asking for an exchange.

Where there is anger,
Grant me Love.
Where I harbor resentment,
Teach me Forgiveness.
Where there is regret,
Show me Acceptance.
Where I hide my shame,
Give me Honor.
Where I buried my sorrows,
Bring forth Gladness.
Where I have pain
Restore me with Comfort.
When I crumble under doubt,
Rise me up into Assurance.
Where there is Chaos,
Bring my thoughts into Order.
Where there is confusion
Show me Clarity.
Where I may pass Judgement,
Open me up to Compassion.
Where I have pride,
Teach me humility.
Where there is fear,
Give me Faith.
Where there is rejection,
Grant me Detachment.
When I worry,
Give me Peace.
Where there is Long Suffering
Grant me Patience.
Where I lost pieces of myself along the way,
Grant me the Strength, Endurance, Grit, Perseverance and Wisdom to come back, Stronger, wiser, and more Victorious than Before.
Ase

I defrosted winter just to feel your warmth, bearing the storms so you can transform.
The wind carries my name, but you pay it no mind,
As you live in color while I’m left behind.
Each time I think, maybe it’ll be different, I hold out hope, despite what l’ve witnessed.
Another year goes by-wearing me thin.
My tears drown the earth while you soak it all in.
Beneath your bloom, I rot in silence.
I never knew love could be this violent.
.
.
She loved him so much,
that all of April cried so May could blossom.

Dear Unsealers:

It’s the first day of May.

This feels surreal, given that January felt like it happened a century ago. But four months have now come and gone.

As I do, it’s time to welcome in the new month:

A welcome to May
The fifth month of the year

It feels like a lifetime since January
When I wondered, “Why isn’t the year moving faster?!”

Thirty-one new days are here.
With spring blooming, in full flight

The month to honor mothers
To remember those who gave the last full measure of devotion to the country

It’s a blank slate ahead as another calendar page turns
After a busy April of writing poetry & dancing

With warmer days on the horizon
It’s time to emerge from hibernation.

like a flower
she grows and blooms
nourishing the world around her
she colors the earth
with her petals
reminding you to
take a moment and breathe

she’s wild
and free
just there to be
to be loved
admired
touched
and most importantly
she’s there as a blessing
from mother herself
to show you creation
the divine
how soft yet powerful
you can be

This gig
This “being my best self” business,
This sunny day after the storm
Is pretty rough.
With wind blown trash from last week
(Or last decade) all over the soul
It is exhausting today, to
Focus on today’s business.

Some other day will be enchanting, Exhilarating,
I’ll be Wonder Woman
Or
Maybe I’ll be just enough, ok?
And putting one foot in front of another will come a little
Easier, next day
Even if Van Der Klok assesses the score and my kind intentions are a bit lopsided today, and my hair;
There will be
Another day
For me.

These conflicting emotions and thoughts always get the best of me and take control. Sinking their teeth into my brain, releasing their venom so it’s always on my mind. I want to just give up and stop trying to take back control. Just give in completely. Let it all go. I’m so tired of trying to hold on and it’s useless anyway. I may or may not have put up a good fight, but the war was fought and the battle is done. It has won. This is the time to surrender and admit defeat.

Prowriting aid style score: 100%

Dear mom,

You’ve known me the longest. You had a big role in making me. I was one part you and one part Dad. One part breath, one part earth. Your womb was the kiln I found my true form in.

I was one of 3, byt you always made me feel like the top of that triangle, the high point of our five-pointed star.

I remember you bought the anthology of young writers when, in 5th grade, my poem about winter was published in it.

You knew I’d get into Luther, but you forced, forced me to choose a back up school. Still believing while going over my financial package, with Dad, on our Windows desktop in the living room, that I could make that driftless dream come true.

After coming home from our church’s mission trip to Juarez, I thought you didn’t take me seriously when I said I wanted to go into the Peace Corps after college. But when I was boarding the plane to South Africa wearing my life-sized backpacking backpack, I knew your tears were partly of maternal pride.

You were there when I was in-patient and cracked jokes about the hospitilization experience. How the little library on the ward had barely any books and included the Uglies series and The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

You were there when I became a teachers, got my masters and licensure in a year. You were right there cheering me on as I moved from school to school, tirelessly looking for my teaching home.

And you supported me as I published my book of poetry, and pitched it to an editor. You always listened to my words and said they always struck you as insightful and inspiring. I knew I always had an audience.

Now, I’ve learned that you’d still be with me, be my bright shining moon, in the darkest of nights. When I was a way from home, you always said to look for the moon and know that you’d be looking at the same moon.

When you got cancer, I knew I had to keep looking for the moon, for myself and for you.

The moon is always in the sky, no matter the stormy weather. You held the moon in the sky for me so I could always find my way, even if the path led far from home, or from what I thought home was.

For always being my moon, I love you.

All those years of being trapped by words unable to hear the birds.
All those years of being suffocated to speak unable to reach the highest peak.
All those years of sitting alone waiting to be grown.
Waiting to break free from what was thought to be rock bottom.
All those years of discomfort and uncertainty led me to today,
Full of triumph and determinedly.

Every morning
I thank the little ray of sunshine inside of me.
The one who believed life could still be something extraordinary.
Even when the brutality of the world was enough to gnaw her up & spew her out.
Even when the cliff was right at her fingertips to end it all.

That little ray of sunshine still chose life
& I’m forever in debt with her.
I owe it to her to make something remarkable & gentle of myself.

On the days I’ve succeeded,
I gently put my hand on my heart
& softly speak the words, “this is for you” to her!

“Do you have any sage advice for me ” my friend asked after we discussed a beautiful solo act of spoken word combined with the playing of the Harp. The talented performer is a woman named Amanda Peckler. I thought about my friends question, taken aback with honor – and a bit of imposter syndrome.

My head spun with the amount of answers I could say; I gave so many answers to his one question, I could not even remember what I said.

“I envy your way of thinking,” he said.

“You admire it, not envy.”

After sincerely crediting my mentors for the ability to think the way I do, I explained:

“Most of the time, we can try what we envy:

Next time you envy someone for their talent, change it to admiration.

Inevitably you are going to struggle the first time; just remember:

Even the advanced were once beginners.

You’ve been my shadow for as long as I can remember, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering doubt, exhaustion, and fear into every crevice of my soul. You’ve made yourself at home in my thoughts, convincing me that stillness is safety, that failure is inevitable, and that I am nothing without you.

But I see you now. I see how you twist my reflection, how you tangle my dreams in barbed wire, how you drag your fingers through my happiness just to watch it unravel. I hear the lies you tell me—that I’m not good enough, that I’ll never change, that I should just give up. And I won’t pretend your voice isn’t loud. It is. Some days, it’s all I hear.

But guess what? I’m still here. I’m still writing, still fighting, still daring to want more than the prison you’ve tried to build around me. You’ve stolen too many moments, too many dreams, too many days where I could have felt joy but instead felt only your weight pressing down on my chest.

So, I’m making something clear today: You don’t get to win.

I won’t say you’re gone, because I know you’re always lurking. But I will say this—I am learning to live around you, despite you, and in defiance of you. Every time I write, every time I create, every time I move forward even when you’re clawing at my ankles, I am reclaiming myself.

You are not me. You are something I carry, something I battle, but you do not define me.

I do.

And I choose to keep going.

Sincerely,

Me

Can you see the sway of my hips,
how they speak to the beat of these drums?
Can you hear the rhythm—
the language of our silence,
unspoken words rising like smoke?

I build bridges over rivers of oppression,
each step a prayer,
each twirl a testimony.

With the swing of my skirt,
I sweep away the struggles of women like me—
bold, bruised,
but never broken.

We are complex,
layered like rhythms in the night.
Not just survivors,
but storytellers with sacred fire in our feet.

We arrived in chains,
yet even in bondage,
we birthed grace.
White dresses flow—symbols of peace,
clarity,
and the breaking of curses
tied to spirits lost in new lands.

Oh, when I hear that rhythm,
it stirs my soul.
Something ancient rises,
something wild and free.
We dance ‘til the moon forgets to rest—
laughin’, shoutin’,
spinnin’ rebellion into joy.

This is resistance.
This is remembrance.
This is us.
A dance of rebellion is here.

Dear Unsealed,

What Do I Fear?
I fear the lack of personal contact,
This time of year, we lack
The touch of humanity.
I fear being old.
But that must be.
I am old, bold.
I fear losing social security,
Fear of losing my healthcare,
Literally please be aware.
I fear the things that aid old people who are our elders.
That assist those of advanced age,
Will be hi-jacked and stolen by mean people,
Who plan to take over our living stage at old age
Control us,
Minimize old people,
The disabled, and others,
Shove us off as if we don’t matter to others.
To fear is normal,
Fearing is cool,
Fear is formal.
Fear is me,
Afraid of lying fools.
Being reluctance to talk,
Fear is how to talk,
Fear is being unable to walk
Even a short distance,
For instance.
To fear is true blue,
Fear is tolerating the ultra-conservative fool.
Fear is so many things in 2025.
I am an empath,
A dreamer, psychic.
I do not carry wrath,
But observe others,
Quietly,
Around my psyche.
I fear being homeless,
fearing is being without work,
to fear is being old, bold, and careless.
Fear is losing all benefits.
Fear is being hungry.
A list of fears is so boring and long,
asunder.
One’s a fool to think they care.
The fool,
The leaders plan a dire dismissal
Of whom they dislike.
Spiteful, they cause chaos
In everyone’s life.
So, I will write.
Not out of spite,
But to release feelings of the night,
To spread light through the day.
Faith keeps me strong.
I tackle fear with music and song,
Visual art,
No farts.
I carry on,
Despite my fear of judgment,
By people who do not care.
I fear falling into their snares,
Of lairs rotting in their lion’s dens
Of inequity and warped sin.
I fear nothing but fear itself.
Once a prolific phrase,
It spread fear itself.
Doublespeak is a chaos nightmare.
This fear.
It makes me aware.
The silver screen of life surrounds us all.
I am awake.
I see the lies of mean people.
Make no mistakes.
Their rules are tools
For their brains,
Insane.
I am awake.

100 percent score

april 21
a journal on fulfillment
unfortunately, I have spent a great deal of my thoughts on the ponderance of what it means to be fulfilled. how we quantify it, test it, live it. most of my 11:11 wishes wish for fulfillment. I know I’m not supposed to give away what I wish for, but that’s not all of it. I’ll keep the rest a secret. I’m under the belief that the majority of people die unfulfilled. the sole thought of going hungry, going broke, going homeless, terrifies people more than the feeling of never finding anything they are passionate about, never falling in love, never feeling like themselves, never feeling as if they’re living out their truth.

I fear both.

but I fear never following my passion more. it’s scary to know that money has to be earned and there is no task I currently wish to do in exchange for cash. purpose is so subjective yet as a society, I feel we have found a way to objectify purpose and place it in a see-through box to be displayed. everyone is looking at you, the pressure is on. inside the box, you must do what is subjectively providing a value that has money as currency. I’d rather have fulfillment as currency, get paid in love, joy, contentment, on my own terms. I choose to validate my inner truths rather than suppress them as I believe everyone ought to spend enough of their life digging deep enough within to understand who they are. instead of letting the world tell you. the world tells everyone who to be when they listen to it. but your soul will tell you who to be if you choose to listen to yourself. I think you can only hear yourself when you allow enough quiet, the only thing you can hear is your own production of thoughts, ones that were not placed in your brain externally but created in original form, strictly for your own acknowledgement.

I think a lot of people fear the quiet because they do not like to face the truths of self. most people are numbing themselves with alcohol, drugs, smoking, hooking up with strangers, partying, everyone seems to have a vice. it’s socially acceptable, even. but what is the true motive behind all of these? most people are deeply uncomfortable with the thoughts that arise when they allow enough silence in order for them to do so. and everything has a cost. everything is an energy exchange, for good or for bad.

when I was in the worst mental position I have ever been in, I hated being alone. I wanted to fill every silence, spend as much time with others, and numb all my thoughts with drinking, partying, or even eating. we find comfort externally to mask the internal turmoil we are destined to feel at some point in our lives. but acceptance of the good and the bad will allow the upheaval of the bad. as when you accept the dark parts of you, you shine a little light on them. over time, they transform to light. you can create life from death. there is renewal in endings. there is a golden nugget in everything that sucks. but if you spend too much time ignoring the darkness, you will never know how well the light within you shines.

it’s so easy to follow a path and I wish there was one that made sense for me to follow. it would allow be much easier. but I feel as if I have gotten too comfortable with the depths of myself that I can never go to a surface level to complete a mission not created by the innerworkings of my soul. I’m too deep into the acknowledgement of who I am to skip over, neglect, those parts of me. whatever I end up doing in life has to touch my soul in some way. and maybe that will allow me to open up as a vessel of light to others. or maybe it will only go as deep as to shine through myself, never reach anyone. I think my purpose will someday reach others through myself, but maybe it won’t.

nonetheless, in order to feel as if you have a reason to live, you have to feel like you are fulfilling a purpose or achieving something. that looks different for everyone. but in general, working towards any sort of goal provides meaning in your daily life. I truly believe those who take their own life felt as though day to day life was not fulfilling. they felt as if everything they were working towards had no meaning, a complete lack of passion or care for how they were spending their time. the exchange of their time was not providing any sort of deeper satisfaction. a complete lack of satisfaction. that’s why I think even people who are depressed, when they are working towards something, never switch over to being suicidal. because they have a reason to be alive every day. I have met a handful of people in my lifetime who have openly admitted to being suicidal in their life at some point. and they said the reason they never did it was because they felt like they still had some sort of reason to be alive. for some people, they started training for something like a marathon or even just a weight loss journey, and every day, it gave them a reason to be alive. some people have a pet they have to feed every day; and if not them, the pet would not be alive. or they have a promotion they are working for, and it gives them purpose day to day.

but the key to this point is that you have to like what you’re doing, feel as though it is fulfilling a part of you that has been empty. people who feel directionless, or as if they are fulfilling someone else’s dream are more likely to be depressed, or even suicidal. that’s why the distinction of the soul’s desires from worldly placement is astronomically important.

we actually have a very long life to live and that often gets ignored in the urgency of chasing money. motives have been skewed to the value you can provide for others rather than the value you can find within yourself.

the debate I have been internally struggling with for some time is whether or not my personal fulfillment is worth the potential external failure. on the outside looking in, dropping everything and going broke to do the Camino de Santiago sounds reckless and a waste of time. but my purpose comes from soul searching, spending time with the Creator, and feeling within myself. the woods are my element and the answers of what it means to be human, for me at least, exist within them. walking every day from Albergue to Albergue will provide my purpose. and mine alone. for I claim my own direction. while walking every day provides no benefit for the world around me, the world inside me will be nurtured in a way money cannot buy.

that’s the problem, we focus on the things money can buy. we assign value in what can be purchased by paper we earned in exchange for our time. we are told not to focus on anything else as most people feel like spending time delving into the significance of human existence has no real intrinsic value. as they fear the confrontation of any spirituality. but I would argue the sole reason we are here is to uncover all the parts of our soul that are flooded with meaningless jargon pressured upon us as a distraction from who we really are and why we’re here.

when we leave the earth behind, you’ll die with all the things you have acquired. and if you spent a lifetime creating a soul that will ever last death, your fear of death will evaporate. but those finding fulfillment in chasing wealth and materialistic things to quantify, will fear death, likely laying on their deathbed thinking of all the things they should have done, the things that once mattered to them that perhaps had no external, objective value.

when I look back on the 24 years I’ve lived thus far, all my most rewarding and valuable moments have not earned me any money or have provided me with anything tangible. they have all been moments that I felt my soul was nurtured. that’s what life is all about. nurturing our soul and dying with moments that live on.

Dear Unsealers:

It’s Easter Sunday.

For those that celebrate the day, I hope that it’s an enjoyable day for you. I hope that everyone has a wonderful Sunday, no matter where in the world you are.

Here’s to the hope and possibility after the lenten season has concluded.

With a nod to the Urbi et Orbi message from the Pope in Rome, this is my message from NYC to the world:

After forty days of Lent
Easter Sunday has arrived

A day to celebrate
The rising of the son of God

With euphoric joy in the holiest spirit
We praise all that life brings

With the world blooming all around
Everything’s possible!

From me to you and yours
From NYC to the world…

Happy Easter!
¡Felices Pascuas!

Pazko on!
Bona Pasqua!

Joyeuses Pâques!
Buona Pasqua!
Cásca Shona!

Feliz Páscoa!
Καλό Πάσχα!
Sretan Uskrs!

Mary Jane got me ohh so high,
Your genetics done changed my life.
I thank God to this very day, for
Another peaceful night, for word play.
You’ve done evolved my DNA.
Oh how I love your,
Potent indica dominant strains.
Sparks the receptors, as I search
To put these words in place.
Oh how I love your vibrant fragrance.
I love how help me through,
The stressful day’s.
Got neurons flooding
My brain. Looking for and
Connecting different things to say,
You spark my imagination.
Opening up a variation of
Ways. When I was hurt
You helped me innovate.
Had to do this for a special occasion.
Was built off some chronic
Mixed in with a Lil pain.
A different meaning
For “chronic pain”.
Might have to get a prescription
Just to keep me sane.
Had to celebrate your holiday.
Happy 4-20 it’s a special day.