The walls tremble before the doors do,  
before his voice splits the air like a storm,  
before Mom folds herself into silence,  
before my brother pulls me into the closet,  
his hand firm over my mouth,  
as if my breath could betray us.  
Mom whispers, “It’s okay, go to bed.”  
But I count the slams, the crashes, the cries—  
and wonder if children like me  
ever learn how to sleep.  

I stay because I love them,  
because they need shelter, food, warmth—  
because he wasn’t always this way.  
Because I don’t know how to leave  
with nothing but two small hands gripping mine.  
It’s not always bad. Not always.  
And they need their father.  
Don’t they?  

She won’t leave. She can’t.  
There’s nowhere to go, no money, no lifeline—  
not with two kids and a court that won’t see past him.  
A good man. A working man. A provider.
So I let her cry in the dark, let her call it what it is—hell—  
but tomorrow she’ll still pack lunches and fold clothes.  
She’ll still tuck us in at night. She’ll stay.  
Because that’s what mothers do.  

You don’t leave over a bad temper, do you?  
Men get angry. Women overreact.  
He’s stressed; she should be more patient.  
He works hard; isn’t that enough?  
At least he’s here. At least we have a roof.  
At least the kids have a father.  
At least.

For the kids, she stayed.  
For the kids, I watched and learned:  
that love is sacrifice even when it shatters you;  
that family is loyalty even when it bleeds;  
that silence is safety even when it suffocates you.  

For the kids, I found someone just like him.  
For the kids, my brother left fingerprints on his wife’s arm.  
For the kids, we swore we’d never be like them—  
but we were already broken in their image.  

For the kids, we stayed in pieces too long.  
For the kids, we told ourselves lies we didn’t believe:    
“It’s different this time.”    
“It’s not so bad.”
“We’re doing it for them.”  

Love does not slam doors off their hinges.  
Love does not leave bruises hidden beneath sleeves.  
Love does not shrink you until your children can barely find you anymore.  

Love does not teach daughters to endure pain as proof of devotion—  
or sons to wield anger as power over others.

Love is open arms and steady hands;  
it is words that heal instead of wound.  
Love is a home where no one has to run or hide or whisper “It’s okay” through tears.

Love is leaving when staying means breaking—  
it is showing your children that love should never be feared.

Love is a mother who stands tall enough for her children to see her strength.  
Love is a father who earns respect without demanding fear.

Love is a child who never has to wonder:  
“Is this normal?”

When the marriage ends,  
and the child is still too small to understand  
what's been torn,  
why is it that the man tells his friends—  
"She was crazy."  
"She never got off her ***."  
"She was too emotional."  
"She never took care of the kids."  

And no one asks him,  
"Why did you stay?"  
Why did you have children with her?  
Why did you marry her in the first place?  
Why does she have full custody now?"  

No one dares to ask,  
because they already know.  

Men stay—  
for the comfort of control,  
for the invisible chains that bind women  
with babies,  
with promises that were never kept.  

They know,  
the way a child knows their mother’s touch  
but never her heart.  

The man knows his power in her silence,  
in her labor,  
in her sacrifices—  
the ones no one sees but her.  

And yet, when she walks away, they ask her,  
"Why did you stay so long?"  

Because they know the cost of leaving  
was more than she could afford.  

But still she walked.  

Still she left.  

Why did she stay?  

For the love she thought might change him.  
For the chance that maybe—just maybe—  
he’d become the man she believed in.  
For the hope that her children would have a father who cared.  

But he didn’t.  

He stayed because he knew—  
the house wouldn’t run without her.  
The kids wouldn’t be fed,  
the bills wouldn’t be paid,  
and the image of a family was more important than the truth.  

Men stay because it’s easier to claim a woman  
than to be the man they promised to be.  

And when she leaves, they don’t ask themselves,  
"Why couldn’t I be better?"  

They just ask,  
"Why did she stay so long?"

Four centuries pass, yet echoes remain,
A woman’s cry met with silence again.
Laws were written, inked with good grace,
Yet bruises still bloom in the same hidden place.

The chains are less visible, but still they confine,
A whisper, a threat—unwritten lines.
Justice pretends to be blind and fair,
But turns away when she’s gasping for air.

She flees, she pleads, but where can she go?
The system still asks what she should have known.
“Why did you stay?” they say with a sigh,
As if love was her crime, as if she chose to die.

Four hundred years, yet history repeats—
A woman still fights to stand on her feet.

Our first snowfall
two teenagers driving through Maryland’s quiet streets,
snowflakes soft as whispers,
pausing the world, binding us in its stillness.

Years later, Montana welcomed us,
its snow blanketing base housing,
our son’s laughter rising like smoke in the cold.
Soon, we welcomed our daughter,
her presence as gentle as freshly fallen snow,
our family growing beneath the frosted skies.

In New Hampshire, snow wrapped us as four,
a family held close through a winter of unknowns,
its quiet presence a reminder of resilience,
of love weathering every storm.

And now, in Florida—
where the sun reigns and snow should be a stranger,
it falls again.
Five hours of wonder cascading from the heavens,
a gift from the elements,
blessing this home, this moment, this us.

Snow has followed our beginnings—
each new chapter marked in white.
It shields, it cleanses,
a quiet protector cloaked in frost,
a sacred pause to reflect, to remember,
to hold close the warmth of our bond.

May it always find us,
this quiet magic,
this pure renewal,
reminding us that wherever we are,
we are blessed,
we are whole,
and we are home.

Freedom, they said, was for all,
But it became a privilege—
rationed, conditional.
Laws were written in the ink of fear,
Meant to bind us but never them.
Papers dictated our worth,
Time slots our movements.
For what felt like endless seasons,
My world shrank to walls and whispers.
A yard became my horizon,
A car my only escape.
Truth was silenced,
Questions outlawed.
They called it protection,
But it felt like exile.
The Constitution became fragile glass,
Shattering under the weight of hypocrisy.
Freedom was not free;
It was a cage lined with lies,
Its door held shut by fear.
I lost more than days—I lost trust.
The land of the free stood still,
Its anthem drowned in passive compliance.

Boxes became my constant companions,
each house a temporary heartbeat.
I built homes with one hand holding a child,
the other gripping resilience.

At nineteen, I became a mother,
a title that shook the stars—
barely an adult, but now a world-builder,
my dreams reshaped by tiny hands.

I was not made to be quieted,
nor to shrink into the spaces they expect.
I am the storm,
the fire within,
learning to rise with each breath.

In the quiet, I find my power—
it is mine, not given,
crafted through pain, through growth,
and the wisdom that comes from standing tall alone.
I don’t need their validation—
I am whole,
I am enough.

She is not the reflection they painted,
nor the role they assigned.
She is the breath of the earth,
the roots and the bloom,
both soft and unyielding.
She carries worlds within her—
and owes nothing to anyone.

Society taught me to hide.
A mask became my survival.
Now I wear the crown they covet,
and my truth drowns their silence.

The shoreline stares back at me—
Almost tasting it,
A distant, golden line lies ahead.

The tide is like a clenched fist,
Tightening around my ankles,
Dragging me down even further.

I tell myself I know this sea.
I have swum through it before,
Charted its depths,
I felt its pull, outlasted it.

But today, the water rises,
My chest feels the pressure.
Salt and silence fill my mouth,
Despite my kicks, the current grows stronger.

The waves swallow my screams.
Like a storm, PMDD surges—
No warning, no mercy.

My ribs tear,
Its voice floods my mind—
Why bother fighting it? Let go. Sink.

I claw at the water,
Not from strength,
But from fear—
This time, maybe I won’t make it.

Rage consumes me.
I rage that I can’t trust my own body,
That my mind betrays me,
Dragging me under,
While the world above remains calm.

Even as I sink, somewhere—
I feel it:
The part of me that will not drown.

She remembers the taste of sand,
The heat of sunlight was on her skin.

She will not let go.
Not now. Not ever.

The shore is still there,
Even if I can’t see it now.
I will rise to meet it.

My power is inevitable.

We met like two ships,
Bumping into each other,
Sailing side by side.
I patched your hull,
Bailed out your water,
Believing you’d steady your course.

But when the waters calmed,
You sailed off,
Only to return when storms stranded you,
Too wild to navigate alone.

I sounded the horn,
A signal of your drifting course.
You cut the ropes, severing ties.
Now, sailing alone,
I leave your wreckage behind.

"You made it look easy," they whisper—
A phrase that echoes, hollow and sharp,
Cutting through the quiet of my solitary journey.

Navigating parenthood alone,
A military spouse stretched thin by distance,
Selling dreams as fragile as glass,
Balanced on the edge of every choice.

A diagnosis presses against my chest,
One child in my arms, another learning beside me.
Battles hidden behind closed doors,
Invisible to those who see only the surface.

When I bared the depths of my soul,
Resilience bloomed like wildflowers—
Not a cry, but a roar.

Judgments swirl around me—
A storm of misconceptions,
Echoes of untold stories etching my truth.

Others glimpse my path only when they walk similar roads,
Their perceptions shifting like sand,
Revealing the landscape of unseen struggles.

My journey is not a blueprint,
Nor a promise of simplicity.
Each step a singular rhythm,
Each challenge a raw, unscripted melody.

I didn't make it look easy;
I made it look possible.

Resilience is not a performance,
But a quiet, fierce rebellion.

No shortcuts, no easy roads—
Just forward motion,
Carved from determination,
Etched with survival's raw grace.

My mind, a maze, is where I wander alone. Tangled pathways overwhelm my thoughts. Seeking gentle light, I aim to find love’s embrace. Yet, shadows of chaos cloud my vision.Yearning for calm communication and connection, I desire safety and trust in every moment. Being transparent seems like a far-off dream, although it is crucial for love’s basis. Standing firm in this world of confusion, I declare: I deserve better—love that is honest and true.

I am not merely a mosaic,
But a complex tapestry of shards.
Each fragment tells a unique story,
Woven together with threads of love and scars,
Reflecting the myriad experiences that have shaped me.

Golden glue binds my fractures,
A testament to my relentless fight.
Through unwavering dedication and countless sacrifices,
I rise from shadows into the warm embrace of light,
Where hope ignites and dreams take flight.

In my cracks, my journey shines bright,
A map etched with the struggles I have faced.
Torment intertwines with resilience;
Wisdom emerges from hard-wrought lessons,
Each insight a precious gem in my heart’s treasure chest.

These golden seams narrate my tale with eloquence,
Boundaries drawn with meticulous care and intention.
I refuse to settle for treatment that belittles my worth;
I know I deserve far more than mere existence—
I am worthy of love that uplifts and nurtures my spirit.

I wear my history proudly like armor,
Each mark a badge of grace that speaks to my strength.
I am Kintsugi—a masterpiece in my own right,
An intricate creation forged in adversity’s fires,
Embracing every flaw as a vital part of my narrative.

With each step on this journey of self-discovery,
I stand tall and resolute, declaring to the world:
I deserve the love I freely give to others,
And a world that reflects kindness and compassion in return,
Where every heart shines with its unique beauty.

I have traversed untamed landscapes,
Where each step became a dialogue with the earth—
A delicate negotiation of trust and healing.
Roots intertwined with silent, profound stories,
Grounding me in resilience,
Stories of my ****** assault are now embedded in the soil.

Rocks stood silent, bearing witness to the relentless bullying and gaslighting.
Their stillness echoed the weight of those memories and the growth that followed—
Unyielding yet steady, much like the strength I built with every step.

In this journey, I grappled with self-discovery,
Navigating the boundaries of my being,
Especially as an autistic soul in a world that often misunderstood me.
Each struggle revealed new layers of my identity,
As I sought to understand my place amidst the noise.

The weight of expectations felt heavy,
But I learned to carve out spaces where I could breathe.
My peace was no gentle stream;
It was a summit earned through struggle—
Vast, unyielding, and hard-won.

As I ascended this demanding peak,
The view stretched far beyond the horizon,
Revealing landscapes of healing,
Belonging to all who had climbed beside me.
From this vantage point, I saw how our journeys intersected,
Each of us is a testament to perseverance.

I welcomed others not for comfort,
But for their courage,
Those willing to face the rough terrain,
Understanding that climbing meant shouldering the weight
And sharing breaths.

Belonging was not a destination;
It was a connection—a living, breathing understanding.
Our paths twisted and turned,
Yet they ran parallel, rooted in the same soil
Of shared struggle and triumph.

What I learned was this:
We do not belong by walking the same path,
But by the act of walking itself.
By moving, by simply being,
We claimed our place in the world.

Once, I sought familiar steps but found only uncharted terrain.
Now, every trail I walk becomes a bridge to cross.
And with each step, the earth beneath me whispers:
I am not alone.

In the glow of screens,
we gathered,
Farmville requests from aunts,
a world of laughter,
simple joys shared like sunlight,
photos blooming like flowers,
each snapshot a moment held close.
But shadows crept in,
voices grew louder,
arguments ignited in the digital crowd,
once a haven for stories and cheer,
now a battleground,
where fear and anger drown out connection.
Oh, to step back,
to mute the noise,
to cherish the small moments,
to find joy in simplicity.
Can we learn to listen?
To hold our space with care?
To share our truths without fear of judgment?
Imagine a world where we pause,
where empathy reigns and understanding flows.
Let’s reclaim the joy of a simple post,
the warmth of shared memories,
the bonds that matter most.
If we could remember how to talk again—
to share our lives without the weight of expectation,
to celebrate each other’s stories as our own.
Maybe then we can find our way back,
to laughter and support,
to kindness woven through our words.
And maybe one day,
we will step into that light again—
not as warriors in an endless fight,
but as friends seeking connection,
hearts open to the beauty of being together.

I am confident because I am a woman,
Not a reflection of someone else’s desires,
Not an object to be shaped by their whims,
But a vibrant force, grounded and inspired.
They think they own my beauty,
As if it’s theirs to claim and consume.
But I’m the storm that shakes their ground,
A force of nature, bold and unbound.
Each scar I bear tells of my fight,
A testament to strength and might.
I rise like fire, daring and bold,
Defying limits they’ve tried to mold.
I honor the woman in my own mirror,
Her spirit unbroken, her vision clear.
If my independence stirs their unease,
Let my truth rise like a tempest, swift as the breeze.
I refuse to fit into their narrow confines,
Living authentically, where my spirit shines.
As free as the winds that weave through the trees,
With aspirations that soar beyond their pleas.
When their illusions begin to crumble and fall,
They lash out like shadows, but I stand tall.
Their approval was never my measure of worth;
I’ll reflect on this journey with pride and mirth.
Finding strength in each “no” that I dared to speak,
In every chain I shattered, in every dream I seek.
My path is my own, uniquely defined;
I am here—embracing the fire in my mind.
With courage as my compass and hope as my guide,
I’ll honor my story, with nothing to hide.

In this garden of dreams, our hopes start to bloom,
We plan our harvest to each season’s sweet tune.
With seeds of intention, we carefully sow,
Planting seeds of compassion where love’s rivers flow.
We nurture our seedlings, watering with care,
Tending to growth with the patience we share.
Through sunny days and the gentle rain’s kiss,
We learn from each challenge, embracing the bliss.
When we say “I’m sorry,” it clears out the weeds,
Making space for new growth and meeting our needs.
Together, we toil, side by side, as we learn,
In the warmth of our love, our hearts brightly burn.
With each passing season, new wonders arise,
As we cultivate dreams beneath wide-open skies.
Now we’ve matured, this love that we have grown,
Reaping the sweet fruits of the care that we’ve sown.
In this sanctuary where true selves align,
Our dreams intertwined like a strong, sturdy vine.
Together, we’ll flourish as our garden expands,
Creating a haven where love understands.
With future horizons bright and clear,
We’ll nurture our journey year after year.
As time moves forward, hand in hand we stay,
Bound by a love that will not fade away.
Through life's final chapter, steadfast and true,
Our hearts remain one in all that we do.
In this eternal garden, forever we'll dwell,
A love everlasting; no words can dispel.

Growing up, a girl watches, learns,
The truths of boys and men—
so often unturned.

“Boys will be boys,”
a phrase we know,
implying girls must shoulder the load.

Girls mature fast,
women pick up the cast—
an unspoken burden, a silent decree:

Bear the weight of their irresponsibility.

In a world gripped by misogyny,
women face judgment,
their futures unclasped.

Absorbing shame for games they play,
men walk away, free to go their way.

Homes abandoned,
men now free,
their true selves unknown.

Disgrace drapes women—a heavy yoke,
neglect shatters hope.

Promises unkept,
fathers vanish as children wept.
Guilt escaped with practiced ease,
duty dodged, a ghost on the breeze.

Children and wife he never knew,
society laughs at the pain he withdrew.

Children carry his woes—
identities shaped by the hurt he chose.
Shame shouldered early,
remembering blame.

Love claimed,
but never there.
Strain felt in his name,
unfairness echoes.

Abandoned women and children grow—
a daunting endeavor men overthrow.

Shadows linger, burdens remain;
a future carved where hope will maintain.

Every struggle faced—a dawn,
strength carries on.

In a society,
There’s a tree called misogyny,
Where its deep roots
Grow into all girls,
Who develop in agony,
Facing judgment that feels relentless,
Much of it unspoken, a harsh irony.
This judgment seeps into our daily strife,
Trapping us within roles that limit our life.
Narrow expectations stifle our dreams,
While society’s pressure bursts at the seams.
We’re told how to act, what to say and wear,
As if our true selves are too much to bear.
Dreams of freedom fuel our inner symphony,
A quest to end this cycle of regulatory authority.
She bears the weight of expectations,
A load shaped by herstory’s complications.
With a heavy heart, she watched the tragedy,
As blame is passed down through each family.
Inheriting struggles, a cycle we see,
Each woman’s journey marked by disparity.
Disappointments linger, like shadows they stay,
A legacy of women woven in silence and gray.
The silence among women she cherished felt heavy,
An unspoken vow that let men be merry
Free from their own responsibility,
Caught in a system that kept them confined,
With “They didn’t know better” echoing in mind.
Hiding complicity in voices suppressed,
In a world where their wisdom was rarely expressed.
Each story unspoken, a weight they all share,
Navigating life with caution and care.
Yet deep in their hearts lies a yearning to be,
More than the shadows of what they could see.
In the silence, a strength that quietly grows,
A call for the change that each woman knows.

Once more, I find myself
believing every word you said—
a fragile hope,
woven and tangled in my mind.
It wasn’t right then,
and it isn’t right now,
lost in the labyrinth
of a heart that won’t bow.
I should have seen it coming;
the signs were all there.
Yet I wished upon a star,
caught in a silent prayer.
Your final lie,
the shatter of trust—
a haunting reminder
of love reduced to dust.
Why do we seek refuge
in ****** tales,
or cling to Disney dreams,
where true love prevails?
Because only in those dreams
do honest men exist—
not in fractured truths
or silent, torn screams.
I don’t even know
what truly makes me sad—
a quiet ache,
a lingering shadow of doubt.
I called it then,
and now I see it clear:
the echoes of your words—
I no longer need to hear.

You wanted a woman, full of love’s embrace,
Unscarred by doubt, in a gentle space.
But not one wiser, shaped by her fight,
Learning from truths that emerge in the night.

You sought a woman with eyes that could shine,
Yet never imagined they’d see through your lies.
Not just a listener to every word spun,
But one who speaks boldly, knowing she’s won.

You demanded a woman, strong and refined,
But not one to build a life intertwined.
Just a rare jewel to keep on display,
Reaping the labor you forced her to pay.

Yet here she stands, like a fire untamed,
Refusing to dim or be easily claimed.
Her spirit forged by moments unkind,
Each scar a story, each story aligned.

She no longer waits for approval or praise,
No longer trapped in your self-serving maze.
Step by step, she has found her own path,
Unafraid of her power, unscathed by your wrath.

Accepting no less than the respect she deserves,
The kind you give freely, but she now reserves.
She now sees the heights she’s destined to reach,
Aware that your ego can’t bear her to breach.

Her self-assurance glows like the sun’s warm rays,
Marking the end of your manipulation days.
And perhaps that’s why—deep down, we both know—
You never took the time to see her grow.

You ignored her strength, overlooked her pain,
Blind to her progress, immune to her gain.
But now, as she rises, unyielding and true,
She steps from your shadow into a sky wide and blue.

How far she has traveled, how much she has won,
No longer tethered; she’s embraced who she’s become.