She wore sunrise in her bones,
even when midnight lived behind her eyes.
Built a home from empty pockets,
stitched peace together with tired hands,
kissed scraped knees, packed lunches,
held the world steady for children
who never saw the storms
their mother swallowed whole.
She gave love
like rivers give water
without asking who was thirsty,
without counting what was lost.
Poured herself into family,
into neighbors,
into broken people needing light,
while her own soul flickered
quietly in the dark.
And him
he sat inside smoke-filled silence,
controller glowing blue against his face,
thumbs busy fighting battles on screens
while the real war
slept beside him every night.
He wanted a Queen,
but forgot queens are not built
to beg for affection.
Forgot crowns grow heavy
when carried alone.
Forgot loyalty is not slavery,
and love is not a woman
bleeding herself dry
to keep a man comfortable.
She learned pain
in unanswered questions.
Learned heartbreak
in the distance between two people
sharing the same bed
but not the same tenderness
There were nights
she folded into herself so deeply
even breathing felt dangerous.
Nights her tears soaked pillows
while he chased another high,
another excuse,
another escape from accountability.
And still
she rose.
For the babies needing breakfast.
For the bills waiting unpaid.
For the community calling her name
because somehow
even broken women become shelters
for everybody else.
She carried everyone.
Every burden.
Every silence.
Every betrayal.
Until one day
she looked in the mirror
and saw not weakness
but a woman surviving
what should have destroyed her.
A woman who loved too deeply
for someone too shallow
to hold it.
And maybe that is the tragedy
not that she was hard to love,
but that she kept offering oceans
to a man content
with puddles.
Still, her heart beats.
Still, she stands.
Still, somewhere beneath the bruises
of disappointment and neglect,
a fire survives.
Because women like her
do not break permanently
She rebuilds.
She rises.
And one day,
the same hands that carried everyone else
will finally learn
to hold herself gently too.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 10:32 PM UTC
She wore sunrise in her bones,
even when midnight lived behind her eyes.
Built a home from empty pockets,
stitched peace together with tired hands,
kissed scraped knees, packed lunches,
held the world steady for children
who never saw the storms
their mother swallowed whole.
She gave love
like rivers give water
without asking who was thirsty,
without counting what was lost.
Poured herself into family,
into neighbors,
into broken people needing light,
while her own soul flickered
quietly in the dark.
And him
he sat inside smoke-filled silence,
controller glowing blue against his face,
thumbs busy fighting battles on screens
while the real war
slept beside him every night.
He wanted a Queen,
but forgot queens are not built
to beg for affection.
Forgot crowns grow heavy
when carried alone.
Forgot loyalty is not slavery,
and love is not a woman
bleeding herself dry
to keep a man comfortable.
She learned pain
in unanswered questions.
Learned heartbreak
in the distance between two people
sharing the same bed
but not the same tenderness
There were nights
she folded into herself so deeply
even breathing felt dangerous.
Nights her tears soaked pillows
while he chased another high,
another excuse,
another escape from accountability.
And still
she rose.
For the babies needing breakfast.
For the bills waiting unpaid.
For the community calling her name
because somehow
even broken women become shelters
for everybody else.
She carried everyone.
Every burden.
Every silence.
Every betrayal.
Until one day
she looked in the mirror
and saw not weakness
but a woman surviving
what should have destroyed her.
A woman who loved too deeply
for someone too shallow
to hold it.
And maybe that is the tragedy
not that she was hard to love,
but that she kept offering oceans
to a man content
with puddles.
Still, her heart beats.
Still, she stands.
Still, somewhere beneath the bruises
of disappointment and neglect,
a fire survives.
Because women like her
do not break permanently
She rebuilds.
She rises.
And one day,
the same hands that carried everyone else
will finally learn
to hold herself gently too.
December 2025
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