i’m a woman born where the hills roll like old records,
where the dirt’s thick with stories and the air tastes like whiskey and wildflowers.

the mountains bleed black tar, poison dripping into creek beds,
and the government’s promises stink like rotting meat in a locked fridge.
but the women, ******* — they keep moving.
sideways, under, through the cracks in the system.

they’re not saints or martyrs — just survivors with sharp teeth,
ready to bite through the *******,
ready to carve out their own **** place
in the raw, relentless hills they call home.

I hated how I felt about you
I cherished you and held your attention
I nurtured it, fed it love and affection
If I envisioned it
It would glow like a beacon in my hands
But I still hated how I felt about you
Because you’d never choose to feel the same
And you never wanted love in that way
I wished there was a **** switch
Where my romantic inclination towards you
Could be terminated
So that I may see you in the only way
You wished to be seen
But you stayed over that night
I looked over the edge of the dorm room bed
I saw your quiet eyelids
Shielding your busy eyes
And I wanted to hold you
I wanted to place a kiss on your cheek
No, I wanted to kiss you
On your strawberry lips
Of course I never told you
I kept it hidden, locked, door after door
I didn’t want to scare you
And make you believe
People will always, and only want more
Time between us grew older
And my love remains
But I wish to tell you
Addison, my friend
I have loved you since fifth grade

You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

they say time is a construct, so i've measured your absence in other ways:
the number of voicemails to your phone
flowers i've laid by your name
visits to your parents...

i still miss you, but not in the way that i did last january
i miss you in the way that the sky misses the sun
with an acceptance that dark comes but light can follow.

it's been a year
and i still promise that i'll be a good human
that i'll be kind and loving
so that anyone who knows me knows you.

when i see you in my dreams
please don't be surprised when i hug you a little tighter
and i hold you a little longer.

please understand
there is a you-shaped hole in my heart
that no one will fill.

please know that when i said forever
i meant it.

i hope all is bright in heaven.

i love you.

Not everything sacred needs to be born of suffering.

Not every acknowledgement needs to come from rock bottom.

My love,
you are allowed to feel peace.
You are allowed to live a joyful life.
You are allowed to experience softness and call it sacred.

So stop using your pain as proof of your depth.
It’s time to retire that narrative,
that your pain is the most interesting thing about you—it’s not!
There are hundreds of beautiful reasons for your existence,
but suffering isn’t one of them.

You can explain every scar.
But when it comes to healing?
You stall.
Because healing isn’t poetic.
It’s messy, boring, frustrating.

Peace makes you suspicious.
If things go too well for too long,
your brain starts poking at old wounds or inventing new ones.
You miss the chaos even though you claim to want peace.

But here’s what you need to know;
you’re still becoming.
You’re still growing.
You can still be profound without bleeding for it.

So allow yourself to heal,
and let joy into your life,
because the best version of you isn’t your pain,
it’s your rebirth.

Don't punish your body for carrying the weight of your soul.
You are meant to be alive.

Some mornings still feel like you,
like warmth I didn’t deserve but couldn’t let go.
Memories somewhere behind the silence.
Like a thread I never untangled.

Some nights, I wake up
and it’s like you just left the room.
Like your laugh is still hanging in the air
and my chest forgets it’s empty.
I dream of rooms you still live in.
I don’t see your face
but I wake up full of you,
like love left its light on.

Some silences still hum with what we never said.
And sometimes I still feel the ghost of your hand in mine.

In some timeline,
I said what I meant before it was too late.
I showed up. I stayed.
I fought for you the way you deserved. And you never have to wonder if I still love you.

Some part of me still waits
not here, not now,
but somewhere
our love still lives.