Activity
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yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
Current Events group 1 days, 15 hours agoWhat It Took
Yasmina MroueWar
Takes everything from a person
Safety
Loved ones
HomeIt strips you bare
Leaves you hollow, echoing
AloneWatching your home fall in pieces
And all you can do is scream
Watching loved ones slip away
And all you can do is cryWatching and watching
Feeling and feelingIt takes everything:
Your sense of safety
Your family
The shattered shape of your lifeYet somehow
We still breathe
We mourn. We rise.
We survive. -
yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
To the people we love group 1 days, 15 hours agoPerfect
Perfect
As amazing as that word may sound,
No one truly lives up to it—
Except one person:
Him.With his clever jokes,
His nerdy facts,
His endless stickers—He’s unapologetically himself.
So perfect.
So him.
Good at everything.Ask a question—he’ll know the answer.
Drawing? He can do it.
Music taste?
Uniquely out of the blue—
A song you’ve never heard,
But suddenly love.He walks into a room,
And somehow, the world gets quieter.
Not because he demands attention—
But because he deserves it.
A calm confidence.
A gentle strength.He doesn’t try to be impressive—
He just is.
The way he laughs,
Like he means it.The way he listens,
Like he cares.
Him.
Sweet.
Charming.
Kind.
Gentle.
Smart.
Steady.
Warm.
Real.
Perfect.And if he ever doubts it—
If he ever wonders who he is to others—
He should know:
To me,
He’s everything.
He’s my perfect boy. -
yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
Mental Health group 4 days, 9 hours agoA Sudden Need to Cry
Yasmina MroueA 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.-
This one I so relate to, as sometimes my tears just need to come out. I need that release – that burst. You captured what so many of us feel so well. <3 Lauren
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Yasmina, I deeply relate to this! Sometimes the feeling can be so intense and it si best that you just let it out rather than hold back.
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yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
To the people we love group 6 days, 6 hours agoForged from Love
Yasmina MroueLoved ones surround me,
Their eyes soft with hope—
Heart-shaped and heavy.
They dream I’ll become
What they never could.Expectations chain me,
But still, I love them—
How could I not,
When they stand so proud,
Their backs straight with belief?Yet maybe, in their gaze,
There’s more than weight—
There’s warmth.
And maybe I can become
Not what they were,
But something just as bright.I’ll rise—not as their echo,
But as their answered prayer.
A voice forged from silence,
A path that’s mine alone.
Carrying their hopes
Not as chains—
But as wings.-
Yasmina, I love this! My favorite line of yours is “I’ll rise—not as their echo,
But as their answered prayer.” It is easy to feel the need to fill the shoes of those who came before you. But maybe you want to buy new shoes instead of reusing the old ones! That’s okay! We all create our legacy, and others get to choose whether or not they want to…read more
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yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
Poetry group 6 days, 6 hours agoWords That Cut Like Glass
Yasmina MroueWords that cut like glass —
Sharp, unseen.
Expect too little.
Hope for the best.
Treat each wound like all the rest.They stain your heart,
Make it bleed.
Crack your ribs,
Leave your soul in need.They break you down —
But still, you rise.
Because in the end,
They’re just words,
Just words.
So treat them that way.Don’t expect too much.
Expectation is the root of all pain.
And words that cut like glass —
Still shatter just the same. -
yasmina mroue shared a letter in the
Surviving Addiction group 1 weeks agoAddiction or Survival
Yasmina MroueI think I’m addicted to nicotine—
that high feeling it gives you,
that bliss,
that feeling where you’re floating—
your soul floating outside your body,
looking down at you,
watching you try to cope with slowly losing yourself,
as it floats farther away—
all by just making that loss more severe,
or, we may say, more desperately needed.You think nic provides you with comfort,
since, as the smoke fills your lungs,
it feels like a warm hug—
by the lungs, straight to the heart.
It feels like that hug you eagerly craved as a child but never got the chance to receive.So, you try your hardest now
to make up for all the hugs to the heart you never got to have,
to make up for the loneliness you felt as a child,
to make up for everything you used to try to do to yourself
in the middle of the night,
all alone in your room.As the smoke fills your lungs
and the nic starts to hit—
affecting your consciousness and logic—
you feel detached.
At peace.
At least for a little while.
And as you watch your soul swim away from you slowly,
outside your body,
swimming farther and farther,
swimming faster and faster,
the more you smoke—
the higher you feel and get.All you want is to see that soul gone.
Disappeared.
Dead.
In reality, that’s all you’ve longed for,
yearned for,
since you turned nine.
And through not being able to kill yourself—
kill your soul—
you enjoy losing yourself,
losing your soul,
for at least a few cigs a day.Call this addiction.
Call this drug obsession.
Call this anything you want.
But I’d like to call it survival.
Because without nic,
death would’ve had its hands engraved in my soul,
refusing to let go,
clutching my body,
and reaching for my soul,
a long time ago.I wouldn’t be here now.
I would’ve been dead—
unalived by the same hands—my own—
the same ones that used to cut and burn my body every single night,
thinking it was the only way I could feel something, other than numb.So is it better to smoke or to die?
Is it better to smoke your life away,
trying to survive it,
or to kill yourself,
having given up on it without even a trial?My question is:
Do we call this Addiction or Survival?
Do we call this person addicted to drugs or desperate to survive?
And who are we to judge someone,
for only ever trying to hang on,
to the loose pins of their soul
to their body?
Who are we to judge?
Addiction is survival
Survival is addiction
As unbelievable as that sounds, one can’t exist without the other.
And again who are we to judge? -
yasminamroue submitted a contest entry to
Write a poem or letter about a time the universe sent you a clear message 1 weeks, 1 days agoWhen the Universe Spoke
Yasmina MroueWalking out of the hospital,
my freedom grasped in trembling hands,
like a bird who forgot the feeling of sky.
I hadn’t touched sunlight in weeks—
the air unfamiliar, too wide, too bright,
my steps unsure on ground
that no longer held the same promises.I had lost my soul there.
Not just time, not just weight—
but a quiet kind of certainty
that life would always go on the way it did.
Pain has a way of rearranging
even your hopes.But as I stepped onto the pavement,
a calmness fell over everything—
like the world paused for a beat,
just to breathe with me.
And then it came.Not a thunderclap,
not a holy revelation written in flame,
but something gentler.
The universe doesn’t always chant—
sometimes it whispers.The breeze leaned into me,
its fingers curling through my scarf,
and it said: You are still alive.
You are still in need.I closed my eyes,
and the heat of the sun
pressed into my face
like an old friend,
squeezing me in a hug,
reminding me what it meant
to simply be alive.A crow called from a rooftop,
its voice loud and unashamed.
It didn’t ask for silence or apology.
It just was.
And I envied that honesty.The sky above stretched out
like a page not yet written on,
a writer caught in block—
and I, with my scarred hands,
was holding the pen again.Flowers I didn’t remember planting
came alive under my fingertips,
nodding from a nearby bed—
as if they were flowers for the dead.
They hummed at me,
a low sound of contentment,
as if they’d been waiting
for my flourishing hands.The universe, in all its casual magic,
was speaking in every direction:
in the steady hum of cars passing by,
in the mother pushing her baby,
in the child laughing at nothing in particular
outside the hospital grounds.
It said: Look what continues without you.
And yet look what welcomes you back.My feet, once so heavy with dread,
began to remember their way.
Each step a vow:
I am still moving.
I am still choosing to live.
I felt the earth beneath me—
not just a place to stand,
but a living pulse beneath my soles—
as if it, too, had missed me.
As if it had sent me that breeze,
that bird,
that slant of sunlight
through broken clouds.
As a sign for me to keep going.And maybe it had.
Maybe the universe does not wait
for grand occasions
to remind us we belong.Maybe it leaves clues
in sidewalk cracks,
in rustling trees,
in the silence between heartbeats.As I walked, I let my breath match the wind—
deep, slow, returning.
Each inhale a reclaiming,
each exhale a release.
Same way they taught me in there.
Caged by their arms and wings left imprisoned.I thought of the hours spent
beneath fluorescent lights,
the machines beeping time
like a cruel metronome,
the strangers in white coats
holding pieces of my fate
in their gloved hands.And yet here I was.
Not whole, perhaps,
but alive.
And the universe
was writing messages everywhere for me to read.The birds didn’t ask
what I had endured.
The sky didn’t demand
that I am grateful every second.
They just were.
And that was permission enough
for me to be, too.I sat on a bench—
one I had walked past a million times
before I knew its value.
The metal cold,
the moment hot.And I sobbed.
Not from sadness,
not even from joy,
but from the overwhelming grace
of ordinary things that were taken away from me.A leaf landed on my knee,
spun down from some secret place above—
not to bring meaning,
but to remind me:
I was in the story,
in a different sense.
But I belong.No, it wasn’t any single thing
that carried the message—
not just the breeze,
or the light,
or the quiet.
It was in all of it.The universe did not send me a sign
because I asked.
It sent one because I listened.
And I will not forget it.
I will survive and live.Voting starts September 24, 2025 12:00am
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Yasmina, this is amazing, and so beautifully shows what happens when you (or anyone for that matter) is truly present. This line is everything: “The universe did not send me a sign
because I asked.
It sent one because I listened.”It is so powerful and so true. I am so glad you now feel alive, and used nature and the beauty of the world to help…read more
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