Lifeofjay - Hello Poetry

To those who bulllied me in school Why me Was i just an easy target Was it beavuse i was quiet Because i kept to myself Or did you just never sito and think That maybe…. I was already carrying ore than a kid should? Did you know tha while you were Bullying me , My dad was in the hospital Fighting for his life Tubes , wires , machines keeping Him alive? Did you know that while you Laughed at me in the hallway , I was being passed between family Members Who didnt even want me? Did you know the people who Ended up raising me Were the same people who abused me Mentally , physically and emotionally? Did you know that at night I would lie in bed Listening to adults call me a “Troubled kid”… When i was being bullied at school And than again When i came home? Did you know that while you were Laughing at me in I was dealing with abandonment from my mom An addiction that had been in my Life For as long as I could remember Did you know she hurt me too? When you made fun of my clothes Because i wore the same ones Over and over again… Did you know my belongings had Been sold out of a storage unit And no one cared enough To replace them ? When you laughed at my fake Shoes……… Did you know my family was broke Aden we had just lost someone we loved? When you pointed out my acne And made me feel disgusting……… Did you know my body was Fighting hormonal imbalances That would later turn into PCOS? And here’s the question I wish I could ask every single one Of you. Did you know that while you were bullying me……. I was also surviving abuse at Home? So tell me …… Did you know? Or were the shades of your “Perfect lives” Too blinding to see it? Beavuse the truth is… I never bothered any of you. Not once. And if any of you evr read this Someday Just know something. While you were bullying me , Life as a;ready doing that. But it ddnt destroy me. It made me resilient enough To survive it all.

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Apr 15

Apr 15, 2026 at 3:22 PM UTC

To my bullies

To those who bulllied me in school Why me Was i just an easy target Was it beavuse i was quiet Because i kept to myself Or did you just never sito and think That maybe…. I was already carrying ore than a kid should? Did you know tha while you were Bullying me , My dad was in the hospital Fighting for his life Tubes , wires , machines keeping Him alive? Did you know that while you Laughed at me in the hallway , I was being passed between family Members Who didnt even want me? Did you know the people who Ended up raising me Were the same people who abused me Mentally , physically and emotionally? Did you know that at night I would lie in bed Listening to adults call me a “Troubled kid”… When i was being bullied at school And than again When i came home? Did you know that while you were Laughing at me in I was dealing with abandonment from my mom An addiction that had been in my Life For as long as I could remember Did you know she hurt me too? When you made fun of my clothes Because i wore the same ones Over and over again… Did you know my belongings had Been sold out of a storage unit And no one cared enough To replace them ? When you laughed at my fake Shoes……… Did you know my family was broke Aden we had just lost someone we loved? When you pointed out my acne And made me feel disgusting……… Did you know my body was Fighting hormonal imbalances That would later turn into PCOS? And here’s the question I wish I could ask every single one Of you. Did you know that while you were bullying me……. I was also surviving abuse at Home? So tell me …… Did you know? Or were the shades of your “Perfect lives” Too blinding to see it? Beavuse the truth is… I never bothered any of you. Not once. And if any of you evr read this Someday Just know something. While you were bullying me , Life as a;ready doing that. But it ddnt destroy me. It made me resilient enough To survive it all.

75

They said friends dont last Because the word ends with end And i thought- Language can’t predict love I thought we were bigger than syllables Until you left Without a sound loud enough For me to brace myself One day we were permanent The next You lived only in memory I turn myself over in my hands Looking for the crack The moment i becme too much Or not enough. I know i wasnt perfect But i was there Even tho i was unraveling I thought that counted. I cried the other day Not for drama Not for pity Just grief spilling quietly From a heart that keeps choosing people I keep finding almost-friends Who need me Until they don’t. I pour And pour Until i am empty And somehow Hats when everyone leaves I show up when i can I disappear when im breaking Isn’t that what trust is for I make plans That dissolve Messages that never come back While your life keeps moving Without me in it I dont need to be chosen first I just need to be told the truth It hurt So yes I cry Because caring hurts more When you pretend it doesn’t. Sometimes i wonder If something is wrong wiht me If wanting something wholesome Is asking for too much If the only real friendship I was meant to have Already ended Maybe being alone Is safer Than loving people Who dont stay Still- I hope Because somewhere There has to be someone Who doesn’t leave When im human A friendship That doesn’t end Just because the world does….

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Feb 22

Feb 22, 2026 at 2:10 PM UTC

Friends with an ending

They said friends dont last Because the word ends with end And i thought- Language can’t predict love I thought we were bigger than syllables Until you left Without a sound loud enough For me to brace myself One day we were permanent The next You lived only in memory I turn myself over in my hands Looking for the crack The moment i becme too much Or not enough. I know i wasnt perfect But i was there Even tho i was unraveling I thought that counted. I cried the other day Not for drama Not for pity Just grief spilling quietly From a heart that keeps choosing people I keep finding almost-friends Who need me Until they don’t. I pour And pour Until i am empty And somehow Hats when everyone leaves I show up when i can I disappear when im breaking Isn’t that what trust is for I make plans That dissolve Messages that never come back While your life keeps moving Without me in it I dont need to be chosen first I just need to be told the truth It hurt So yes I cry Because caring hurts more When you pretend it doesn’t. Sometimes i wonder If something is wrong wiht me If wanting something wholesome Is asking for too much If the only real friendship I was meant to have Already ended Maybe being alone Is safer Than loving people Who dont stay Still- I hope Because somewhere There has to be someone Who doesn’t leave When im human A friendship That doesn’t end Just because the world does….

67

Yes, I am angry , not because I want revenge, but because I deserved protection and never received it. I was a little girl with open hands and an open heart, begging to be loved, begging to be seen, begging for someone to hear what I was too young to say. Instead, I was met with silence. With belittlement. With neglect. Don’t mistake moments of light for innocence. Even sunlight cannot erase the damage a storm leaves behind. And if I, as a mother, took in a child carrying that kind of pain, I would move mountains to make them feel safe. You didn’t. You knew my history, and still you chose judgment over comfort. My mental health , something I never asked for and barely understood , became something you used. You turned it into a mirror for your own suffering. My pain became your story to tell. My wounds became your stage. I was bleeding, yet somehow you were always the one crying. I was never a bad child. I was an unheard one. You didn’t listen until I broke. Until my pain became loud enough to disrupt your world. Why did I have to shatter to matter? Around you, no one else was allowed to feel. You claimed victimhood even when I was the one being hurt. You watched the abuse happen. You stood there. Then you called it “disrespectful,” as if a child deserves harm for having a voice. As if breaking a spirit is discipline. As if you didn’t have a choice. You enabled it. You excused it. And then you hid behind perfection, pretending your hands were clean. So tell me , where would these memories come from? What child invents pain like this? What girl carries wounds she imagined into adulthood? I am angry because I was hurting , and you looked away until ignoring me was no longer an option.

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Feb 9

Feb 9, 2026 at 9:45 AM UTC

Why did I have to break to be seen

Yes, I am angry , not because I want revenge, but because I deserved protection and never received it. I was a little girl with open hands and an open heart, begging to be loved, begging to be seen, begging for someone to hear what I was too young to say. Instead, I was met with silence. With belittlement. With neglect. Don’t mistake moments of light for innocence. Even sunlight cannot erase the damage a storm leaves behind. And if I, as a mother, took in a child carrying that kind of pain, I would move mountains to make them feel safe. You didn’t. You knew my history, and still you chose judgment over comfort. My mental health , something I never asked for and barely understood , became something you used. You turned it into a mirror for your own suffering. My pain became your story to tell. My wounds became your stage. I was bleeding, yet somehow you were always the one crying. I was never a bad child. I was an unheard one. You didn’t listen until I broke. Until my pain became loud enough to disrupt your world. Why did I have to shatter to matter? Around you, no one else was allowed to feel. You claimed victimhood even when I was the one being hurt. You watched the abuse happen. You stood there. Then you called it “disrespectful,” as if a child deserves harm for having a voice. As if breaking a spirit is discipline. As if you didn’t have a choice. You enabled it. You excused it. And then you hid behind perfection, pretending your hands were clean. So tell me , where would these memories come from? What child invents pain like this? What girl carries wounds she imagined into adulthood? I am angry because I was hurting , and you looked away until ignoring me was no longer an option.

13

They called silence loyalty, called pain “love” called darkness family and told me hush up. I was born in a house where fear ate first, where shadows raised children and curses came versed. An army of blood stood laughing at me, planted me deep and expected debris. They said I’d be nothing a street, a mistake, not dumb, just surviving what children can’t take. No handouts. No help. Every inch I paid dues. Still they called me a leech while I bled through my shoes. I refused to rot with them, wouldn’t mirror their stain, so they shook my dead father and baptized me in shame. But hear this real clear, let it ring, let it stay you don’t bury a seed and demand it decay. I lived. I grew. I shine through the proof. They tried to **** light and still I broke through.

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Feb 9

Feb 9, 2026 at 9:38 AM UTC

Being born into darkness

They called silence loyalty, called pain “love” called darkness family and told me hush up. I was born in a house where fear ate first, where shadows raised children and curses came versed. An army of blood stood laughing at me, planted me deep and expected debris. They said I’d be nothing a street, a mistake, not dumb, just surviving what children can’t take. No handouts. No help. Every inch I paid dues. Still they called me a leech while I bled through my shoes. I refused to rot with them, wouldn’t mirror their stain, so they shook my dead father and baptized me in shame. But hear this real clear, let it ring, let it stay you don’t bury a seed and demand it decay. I lived. I grew. I shine through the proof. They tried to **** light and still I broke through.

34

I hate the moments when memories rise soft as shadows behind my eyes because that’s when missing you begins a quiet ache beneath my skin. I ask myself what I’m longing for: the love I needed, nothing more? Or is it just the hope I grew a gentle dream that wasn’t you? Do I miss the warmth you’d sometimes fake like sunlight cast across a lake. Beautiful but only gleams on waters hiding darker things? Do I miss the home I tried to keep the baby fed the floors swept clean a plate kept warm for you at night while I erased myself to make things right? At sixteen, carrying a world too wide, mothering a house I never chose inside a child with tired arms and aching feet learning love should never feel like defeat. Do I miss the way you dimmed my flame, whispered insults, carved my shame? Left fingerprints I couldn’t see on mirrors that refused to love me? Do I miss the secrets I had to hide the heavy silence you tied inside the bruises born of others hands while yours stayed still, as if unmanned? Or maybe it’s the girl I used to be. the child who tried so desperately to turn your storms into peaceful skies, and drank your hurricanes as lies. Some nights, I grieve the mother I made, the one I painted in softer shades, the one who could have held me tight , and taught me how to sleep at night. But your love was a flicker here, then gone, a fading spark before the dawn, a song you hummed but never knew, a lullaby that never followed through. You say I’m crazy when I speak, but truth has never made me weak. It only shakes the world you built from fragile pride and whispered guilt. So why the fight to keep me near, if love was never living here? Why claim a child you wouldn’t raise except to dim her brightest days? Still, I miss you in small cruel ways, in quiet nights and empty days. In toes that mirror yours in shape, in meals my hands can’t yet recreate. I miss the echoes, soft and slight. The tiny glimmers of borrowed light. The laughter brief the memories few the things I wanted most from you. And though you never loved me right, my heart still yearns in gentle spite. A tender wound that never quits, a poem written in bruised fragments. Because missing you is missing hope , the girl I was who tried to cope. Who begged for love that never came, yet somehow loved you just the same.

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Feb 6

Feb 6, 2026 at 4:57 PM UTC

The lullaby that never followed through

I hate the moments when memories rise soft as shadows behind my eyes because that’s when missing you begins a quiet ache beneath my skin. I ask myself what I’m longing for: the love I needed, nothing more? Or is it just the hope I grew a gentle dream that wasn’t you? Do I miss the warmth you’d sometimes fake like sunlight cast across a lake. Beautiful but only gleams on waters hiding darker things? Do I miss the home I tried to keep the baby fed the floors swept clean a plate kept warm for you at night while I erased myself to make things right? At sixteen, carrying a world too wide, mothering a house I never chose inside a child with tired arms and aching feet learning love should never feel like defeat. Do I miss the way you dimmed my flame, whispered insults, carved my shame? Left fingerprints I couldn’t see on mirrors that refused to love me? Do I miss the secrets I had to hide the heavy silence you tied inside the bruises born of others hands while yours stayed still, as if unmanned? Or maybe it’s the girl I used to be. the child who tried so desperately to turn your storms into peaceful skies, and drank your hurricanes as lies. Some nights, I grieve the mother I made, the one I painted in softer shades, the one who could have held me tight , and taught me how to sleep at night. But your love was a flicker here, then gone, a fading spark before the dawn, a song you hummed but never knew, a lullaby that never followed through. You say I’m crazy when I speak, but truth has never made me weak. It only shakes the world you built from fragile pride and whispered guilt. So why the fight to keep me near, if love was never living here? Why claim a child you wouldn’t raise except to dim her brightest days? Still, I miss you in small cruel ways, in quiet nights and empty days. In toes that mirror yours in shape, in meals my hands can’t yet recreate. I miss the echoes, soft and slight. The tiny glimmers of borrowed light. The laughter brief the memories few the things I wanted most from you. And though you never loved me right, my heart still yearns in gentle spite. A tender wound that never quits, a poem written in bruised fragments. Because missing you is missing hope , the girl I was who tried to cope. Who begged for love that never came, yet somehow loved you just the same.

61

Cold womb, cold womb why do you always fail? What have I done for you to turn your back on me? Is this punishment for a sin I don’t remember committing? My body feels broken, my womb a room without heat. I was born a woman but my body forgot the instructions. My periods fade into memory, ghosts of something I once knew. Every cramp becomes a prayer. Every ache, a promise whispered maybe this is it. But it never is. Just false hope, over and over, a calendar mocking me with empty squares. Do you know what it’s like to feel your back ache and think, it’s coming, only to be met with silence? To stand outside circles of women talking blood and cycles like it’s weather while you nod, quiet, excluded? Not that I never bled. Just not anymore. I refuse to believe I must swallow medicine just to feel normal, just to be allowed into my body again. Cold womb, cold womb, please don’t fail me. I want to be a mother. I’m tired of it never being me. Tired of imagining. Tired of hoping alone. Can’t you hear my cries? Can’t you feel this grief curling inside my ribs? I am the only one in my life who doesn’t know the miracle of kicks beneath skin. Oh, what a blessing it would be to lose sleep because someone needs me. Cold womb, cold womb don’t let me be the only one who cannot recreate the love I carry.

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Feb 2

Feb 2, 2026 at 1:57 PM UTC

Cold womb

Cold womb, cold womb why do you always fail? What have I done for you to turn your back on me? Is this punishment for a sin I don’t remember committing? My body feels broken, my womb a room without heat. I was born a woman but my body forgot the instructions. My periods fade into memory, ghosts of something I once knew. Every cramp becomes a prayer. Every ache, a promise whispered maybe this is it. But it never is. Just false hope, over and over, a calendar mocking me with empty squares. Do you know what it’s like to feel your back ache and think, it’s coming, only to be met with silence? To stand outside circles of women talking blood and cycles like it’s weather while you nod, quiet, excluded? Not that I never bled. Just not anymore. I refuse to believe I must swallow medicine just to feel normal, just to be allowed into my body again. Cold womb, cold womb, please don’t fail me. I want to be a mother. I’m tired of it never being me. Tired of imagining. Tired of hoping alone. Can’t you hear my cries? Can’t you feel this grief curling inside my ribs? I am the only one in my life who doesn’t know the miracle of kicks beneath skin. Oh, what a blessing it would be to lose sleep because someone needs me. Cold womb, cold womb don’t let me be the only one who cannot recreate the love I carry.

53

The gift in their eyes. Sometimes strangers hold you tighter than the hands you thought would stay, sometimes comfort comes from voices you were never meant to know by name. And yes, it stings ,it always does , when love shows up where blood goes thin, but there’s healing in being heard, even if they don’t know where you’ve been. They say, “You have a gift , stop,” “Your words brought tears I couldn’t fight,” “I love this, please keep writing,” “I can’t wait to read your life.” Words I’d never heard before, not because they weren’t true , but because my voice was only used when it served someone else’s view. They saw my fire, felt my depth, knew how bright my words could grow, but instead of tending to the flame, they taught me shame instead of hope. Nothing I wrote was ever mine, every truth was torn apart, so I learned to fold my feelings small and bury them deep in my heart. But I’m older now, I won’t be quiet, I won’t hide what lives in me, I can’t keep carrying this weight and calling it peace. So to the strangers who stopped and stayed, who read my pain line by line , know this: you are more appreciated than you’ll ever realize. You could’ve scrolled, you could’ve slid away, but something made you remain, and because you did, I keep creating meaning out of pain. When I write, I think of you , the ones who saw me from afar, the strangers who believed in me more than those who knew my scars.

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Feb 2

Feb 2, 2026 at 12:41 PM UTC

The gift in their eyes

The gift in their eyes. Sometimes strangers hold you tighter than the hands you thought would stay, sometimes comfort comes from voices you were never meant to know by name. And yes, it stings ,it always does , when love shows up where blood goes thin, but there’s healing in being heard, even if they don’t know where you’ve been. They say, “You have a gift , stop,” “Your words brought tears I couldn’t fight,” “I love this, please keep writing,” “I can’t wait to read your life.” Words I’d never heard before, not because they weren’t true , but because my voice was only used when it served someone else’s view. They saw my fire, felt my depth, knew how bright my words could grow, but instead of tending to the flame, they taught me shame instead of hope. Nothing I wrote was ever mine, every truth was torn apart, so I learned to fold my feelings small and bury them deep in my heart. But I’m older now, I won’t be quiet, I won’t hide what lives in me, I can’t keep carrying this weight and calling it peace. So to the strangers who stopped and stayed, who read my pain line by line , know this: you are more appreciated than you’ll ever realize. You could’ve scrolled, you could’ve slid away, but something made you remain, and because you did, I keep creating meaning out of pain. When I write, I think of you , the ones who saw me from afar, the strangers who believed in me more than those who knew my scars.

41

Hey Dad you’ve been gone for almost forever now, and of course I miss you. I miss you in the quiet moments, in the moments I don’t even realize I’m reaching for you. Sometimes I wonder if you were still here, would I have ever healed? Would I have ever escaped? Or would I still be shrinking myself to survive rooms that never loved me? You knew, didn’t you? You had to. You played it cool, laughed with everyone else, wore strength like it was effortless. But you were my dad how did you not see your little Jay bug hurting? Maybe you did. Maybe that’s why you left the way you did. I think your passing came with a purpose. Not because I wanted it God knows I didn’t but because it opened my eyes. It showed me people for who they really were. It gave me permission to leave. To run. To finally be free. Your death carried so much pain, so much regret, so many unanswered questions. And still somehow it carried peace too. Self love. A beginning. It feels wrong to say that something good came from losing you. I wasn’t happy you died. I was shattered. I still am some days. But I learned to look for the rainbow instead of drowning in the storm. Because after you, came people sent by God. Came healing. Came safety. Came me the version of me who survived. Losing you never gets easier. Time doesn’t soften it, it just teaches me how to carry it. But even on the days I ache for you, I feel the warmth you left behind. So yes there was sunshine after. And maybe, Dad, that sunshine was the way you saved me.

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Feb 2

Feb 2, 2026 at 12:40 PM UTC

The sunshine after you

Hey Dad you’ve been gone for almost forever now, and of course I miss you. I miss you in the quiet moments, in the moments I don’t even realize I’m reaching for you. Sometimes I wonder if you were still here, would I have ever healed? Would I have ever escaped? Or would I still be shrinking myself to survive rooms that never loved me? You knew, didn’t you? You had to. You played it cool, laughed with everyone else, wore strength like it was effortless. But you were my dad how did you not see your little Jay bug hurting? Maybe you did. Maybe that’s why you left the way you did. I think your passing came with a purpose. Not because I wanted it God knows I didn’t but because it opened my eyes. It showed me people for who they really were. It gave me permission to leave. To run. To finally be free. Your death carried so much pain, so much regret, so many unanswered questions. And still somehow it carried peace too. Self love. A beginning. It feels wrong to say that something good came from losing you. I wasn’t happy you died. I was shattered. I still am some days. But I learned to look for the rainbow instead of drowning in the storm. Because after you, came people sent by God. Came healing. Came safety. Came me the version of me who survived. Losing you never gets easier. Time doesn’t soften it, it just teaches me how to carry it. But even on the days I ache for you, I feel the warmth you left behind. So yes there was sunshine after. And maybe, Dad, that sunshine was the way you saved me.

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