The lilies are not coming.
Staying did not come either.
It left quietly
and stayed gone.
And I am tired of building altars
out of things that never learned how to remain.
So I stop.
Not gracefully.
Not gently.
collapsing under the memory of what never arrived.
And I put my hands in the soil anyway
because nothing else has ever remained.
The lilies are not coming
and that has to mean something now.
Not poetry.
Not metaphor.
I call this living, I think
a quiet kind of sinking
that still learns how to breathe.
Or is it... living?
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 6:44 PM UTC
In Conclusion
I loved with clean hands,
with a heart that didn’t know how to pretend.
While I was choosing you,
you were choosing differently,
returning to me
as if loyalty could be divided
and still be called love.
You lived in two worlds
and let me doubt myself in one.
You denied the truth
until my intuition learned
to scream in the dark.
I blamed my worth
for your betrayal,
shrinking myself
to explain your lies.
The cheating changed me
not by breaking me,
but by teaching me
how deeply I deserve peace.
I lost sleep, not dignity.
I lost illusions, not value.
I lost nothing
that was ever mine.
And now that I’m leaving,
I am not leaving in anger.
I am leaving with my eyes open,
with the truth fully named
and no desire to argue with it anymore.
I am leaving what betrayed me,
what lied to me,
what asked me to shrink
so it could stay comfortable.
I leave without wishing you harm,
and without wishing you well.
Some endings don’t need blessings,
they need boundaries.
This chapter ends here.
Not because it meant nothing,
but because I matter more.
What I carry with me is mine:
my faith, my softness, my discernment,
the strength it took to walk away
without needing you to understand.
From here on,
I choose peace without apology.
I choose a love that does not wound.
I choose a life that does not require
my silence to survive.
And how exciting,
how thrilling,
how joyous it is!
The heavens are rejoicing with me.
I have waited for the day I didn’t love you anymore.
How amazing!
Hey, Mamma Mia, watch me go again!
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 3:22 PM UTC
Ode to the woman that stayed
Ode to the woman who let her heart deceive her
To the naive heart that only knew love for him
To the young woman who rejected to be saved
To the young woman who had to learn the hard way
Ode to growth
For once she thought love will fix it all
For once she thought it will work all out
For once she thought not all nights are for sleeping
For once she thought she had to give it another shot
Ode to the regret she feels now
To the woman who had to find out the hard way that one sided love doesn't fix it all
To the woman who had to find out the hard way that you do not wait to be validated
Ode to the young heart
Ode to the woman who let love lead her astray
Ode to the one who grew from the ashes
Ode to regret
Ode to true love and chances of it missed, now gone and distant
Ode to the nights....
Ode
Ode to the quiet ache beneath her ribs
To the dreams she folded away like letters unsent
To the girl who watered deserts hoping they’d bloom
To the moon she trusted to pull back tides of hurt
Ode to the woman with trembling hands
Who stitched herself together thread by thread
Ode to the voice that rose out of broken things
Like dawn breaking through a window she once closed
Ode to her becoming
tender, relentless
Ode to the bones that learned how to bend without snapping
To the spine strengthened by every no she swallowed
To the heart that still opened after winter
Ode to the woman that stayed long past her own comfort
Yet somehow still found her way home
Ode to the love she learned to pour inward
Rich, patient, golden as morning light
Ode to the lesson
To the wound that taught her wisdom
To the memory that softens, though never disappears
Ode
to her rebirth.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC
How disquieting it is to know the true character of a gentleman in name only,
the one the world calls “good.”
Polished. Charming. Allegedly virtuous.
Behind closed doors?
Less “gentleman,” more “director of a very small, badly rehearsed tragedy
starring only himself, his ego, and a remarkable talent for self-deception.”
It is almost scientific, the way he crafts a public self
gleaming, faultless, polished to the point of absurdity
while the private self skulks in shadows,
clutching half-truths like a toddler with candy.
You witness it, catalog it,
and suddenly, you are burdened with the most inconvenient of tasks:
organizing a one-person, traveling exhibition of the real him
for friends, family, anyone who ever praised him for “integrity” or “charm.”
Well
Santa Claus is not real.
But worse
this Santa is a bad, bad fellow.
The kind who hides coal in your stocking,
eats all the cookies, blames the dog,
and insists it was a generous act.
Yes, generosity according to him: selective,
self-serving, and absurdly performed.
And so begins the tour:
living rooms, dinner tables, group chats, whispered phone calls.
Each reveal delivered with the subtlety of a foghorn,
the flourish of a poet wielding a sledgehammer.
Yodalayhee…
lore and behold, he is a bad, bad fellow.
I will describe the very fabric he is stitched from,
thread by thread,
with the precision of a tailor and the theatricality of a stage director.
Every seam, every flaw, every glittering patch of hypocrisy...
laid bare.
This tour is coming to a house near you.
Tickets are free, the commentary is merciless,
and the cookies…
well, you can keep your own.
I’ve been played, ladies and gentlemen.
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC
It’s not the leaving that breaks me,
Not the walking away.
He was never mine to lose,
Never a home to stay.
His hands left pieces on the floor,
But leaving him was light
It isn’t freedom from his shadow
That keeps me up at night.
It’s not returning to my room,
Those four walls cold and bare.
I lived in silence, lived in dark,
Found comfort in despair.
Depression knew my name back then,
Sat with me like a friend
It wasn’t sadness that I feared,
I knew how sorrow bends.
It’s not the dream I buried deep,
The one I prayed would live.
I mourned the sky I could not reach,
The hope I couldn’t give.
It isn’t flight that frightens me,
Nor heights I couldn’t claim
It’s wondering if I can rise
And dare to dream again.
Four years of storms and emptiness,
Of hollow, aching space.
Then God placed sunlight in my arms,
A small and sacred grace.
My sun...
my breath, my living hope,
My reason to begin.
Through him I felt the world again,
Felt colour on my skin.
Now fear returns with gentler steps,
Not heavy like before.
For now I’m learning how to live,
To open every door.
I’m held by love, surrounded warm,
No longer standing numb
Still trembling as I lift my face
To what I’ve yet to become.
I called the quiet safety once,
Believed the void was kind.
I hid from hurt, from every touch,
I shut away my mind.
But healing hums a different song,
A soft, persistent tune
My light is waking up at last,
My spirit reaching bloom.
I’m smiling like myself again,
In ways I thought were gone.
I’m dreaming like the girl I was,
Before the nights grew long.
And though I fear the steps ahead,
I’ll take them, come what may
For courage isn’t loud or bright,
It grows in quiet ways.
So here I stand, unsure, alive,
No longer wishing when
Just knowing this: I’ve come too far,
To ever break again.
And from the ashes of my past,
With trembling breath, I say:
I will rise again.
♡
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
A few days ago,
the page turned quietly.
A season slipped into another,
rain softened the earth,
and the sky washed itself clean.
And somewhere in that shift,
I changed too.
My heart rearranged its furniture,
my mind cleared a space for truth,
and my soul
long silent
finally exhaled.
A few days ago,
light found me.
Truth touched me.
I reached inward with trembling hands
and pulled out clarity
warm, alive, unmistakable.
I felt myself becoming again,
a living symbol,
proof that I had not disappeared
even when I had forgotten my own name.
For so long, I had poured myself
into things too small for my spirit
things unworthy of the light in my eyes,
the music in my smile,
the quiet grace in my heart.
Things that never deserved me.
But a few days ago,
something returned
memory, identity, wholeness.
I remembered who I am
beneath the noise,
beneath the scars,
beneath the survival.
And now?
Fear cannot hold me.
I am stronger, sharper, softer
all at once.
Wiser in my bones,
gentler in my breath,
more loving, more gracious, more kind
than I have ever been.
I am full again
complete
crowned with the greatest blessing of my life:
my son.
My beautiful, beautiful boy.
So here’s to change.
To choosing life again,
not just enduring it.
To laughter that cracks open the sky,
to work that builds,
to tears that cleanse,
to rising higher than I ever thought I could.
To selflessness without self-erasure,
to good change,
to breathing deeply again.
Here’s to me
to returning,
to forgiving,
to becoming,
to living.
And here’s to the ending I once feared:
to releasing the man who broke me
again and again,
and finding my freedom in the letting go.
Here’s to a heart no longer bound to what hurt it,
a love reclaimed,
a spirit unburdened.
Here’s to being free.
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
The shame was never mine.
I carried it once... not because it belonged to me,
but because silence taught me to cradle other people’s wrongs.
My heart loved,
purely, wildly,
like sunlight spilling through cracked glass.
It was warmth,
it was passion,
it was empathy wrapped in the softest strength.
My heart continues to love.
Even after the echoes faded,
after the names were spoken in anger,
after the world tried to tell me I was broken...
I still rise whole.
I was always whole.
Always complete.
Always Blessing.
Not defined by what was done to me,
but by the way I still choose to love.
By the way I still find light in rooms
where others left only shadows.
You see
the shame was never mine.
It was the weight of your fear,
the reflection of your unhealed wounds,
the echo of your own denial.
I return it now...
wrapped in forgiveness,
tied with peace,
set free in the wind.
Because I remain me.
Unfolded. Unhidden. Unashamed.
Blessing
Still soft, still fire,
still here.
The shame was always yours.
Never mine.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
5 feet from me
an answer lies still.
2 jumps away
the path to nothingness.
I forgot how much strength
it takes to stay alive.
I forgot how much of something
it takes to keep my hands
from the medicine cabinet.
A funny joke?
I knew better,
and still I am here.
Ashamed, tired,
but breathing.
The past is a stone
I can’t un-throw.
It sinks,
but I don’t.
Not so funny joke,
Hope is not shining,
it’s cracked,
faint,
a coal I cup in my hands.
But maybe,
I don’t need to soar.
I just need
to last the night
and rise,
however heavy,
tomorrow.
I'm saying,
If hope can last the night
So can I.
The medicine cabinet stays shut tonight.
We’ll fight again come morning.
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 11:07 AM UTC
Kano.
Your name means promise.
And tonight, under this sky,
your mother makes one.
I vow that we will live.
We will not trade our days for dust.
We will not bow to a world
that forgets the taste of rain
or the voice of the wind.
We will feel the grass between our toes,
and let the earth’s heartbeat guide our own.
We will plant food with our hands
and eat it warm from the sun.
We will drink water that remembers
its journey through stone and root.
We will wear our hair as it grows from our souls,
no mask, no shame, no weight that isn’t ours.
We will dance to music that shakes our bones,
and laugh until the stars lean in to listen.
We will love so fiercely
that no shadow can survive in its light.
Kano, I vow to raise you in truth,
that you are enough,
not because of what you earn,
but because you are.
I vow that when you look at the world,
you will see beauty first,
and when you see pain,
you will answer with kindness and courage.
And when our time here is done,
we will leave with hearts full,
hands warm from holding each other,
and the joy of knowing
we kept our vow.
We lived. We relied on each other🤍
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
Yeah, we’ve got holes in our lives-
the kind that don’t close,
just scab over and split again.
Maybe this is the first day of my life,
or maybe it’s the day I remembered who the hell I am.
The fighter's back.
Not the brave kind,
not the noble kind.
The kind that comes when nothing else works.
The kind that shows up when the world won't let you rest.
She doesn’t cry.
She doesn’t feel.
She doesn't love.
She survives.
That's it.
She’s cold steel and clenched jaw,
no softness,
no room for it.
The heart? Closed. Locked.
You won’t find it in her.
Because feeling would break her-
and she’s got no time to break.
I wanted ease.
I wanted to be gentle,
especially now...
Carrying life inside me.
But gentle doesn’t work in a world that bites first.
And so she came back.
The other me.
The one who doesn’t flinch.
The one who doesn’t hope.
She's savage.
She's smoke.
She'll do what has to be done
and feel nothing.
Don’t mistake it-
she's not here because of love.
She’s here in spite of it.
For my child,
I wanted peace.
But what they’ll see now is a woman
with eyes like war
and hands that only shake from adrenaline.
There’s no love with her.
Just the fire.
And in the fire?
No one survives unchanged.
Not even me.
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC