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Maryann I Apr 22
When the night wraps around you like wet wool,
and your thoughts begin to ache like tired feet—
know this:

I am the light left on in your window,
the quiet hum in the next room,
the soft chair waiting with open arms.

If the sky cracks
and pours its weight upon your shoulders,
I’ll be your umbrella—
no, your stormcoat—
no, the sunrise chasing away every bruise of cloud.

When the world grows too loud
and every breath feels barbed,
I’ll be the hush in a field of lavender,
the hush that understands without asking
why your hands shake
or your voice folds in on itself.

You do not need to carry every fire alone.
Let me be your match,
your kindling,
your hearth.
Even the strongest trees lean sometimes.

So if you fall—
whether into silence, shadow, or sleep—
I will not let you hit the ground alone.
I’ll be the earth beneath your fall,
the moss that remembers your shape,
the roots that hold your name
and do not let go.

You don’t have to ask.
I am already on my way.

Maryann I Apr 20
(This message could save a life.)

The keys are in your hand.
Do not start the engine.
Do not listen to the whispers.
Do not believe you’re fine.

The road stretches dark ahead.
Do not trust the lights.
Do not trust the speed.
Do not trust the alcohol in your veins.

The night is too quiet.
Do not glance at the phone.
Do not look away from the wheel.
Do not think you have time.

The crash comes suddenly.
Do not wait for the sirens.
Do not wait for the screams.
Do not wait for the glass to shatter.

The blood on the asphalt doesn’t wash away.
Do not look at the damage you’ve done.
Do not ask who you’ve hurt.
Do not ask if you’ll ever forgive yourself.

(This message could save a life.)
Is drinking and driving really worth it?
Maryann I Apr 19
Dawn stretches golden over Guanabara Bay,
sugarloaf rising like a dream in stone.
Waves kiss the shore in samba rhythms—
each tide a whisper from the heart of Brazil.

Birdsong rains from the canopy,
scarlet macaws slicing morning light like brushstrokes.
The rainforest exhales its perfume—
a living mural swaying in greens and golds.

Cobblestone streets hum beneath bare feet,
colors bursting from murals and music.
The air tastes of mango and maracujá,
joy lingers in every sun-soaked laugh.

Ipanema gleams like a string of pearls,
bodies bronzed and basking in euphoria.
Even the breeze dances—
flirting with palms, curling through café songs.

From Lapa’s arches to Christ’s open arms,
the city holds you—wide-eyed, blooming.
And oh, to see Rio not just with eyes
but with your whole soul alight.
Rio de Janeiro
  Apr 18 Maryann I
janie lay
i want to peel your skin back
and reveal your deepest sweetness.
to look at your veins
and memorize their paths.
maybe then i’d understand
why you are so rough on the outside.
it takes a lot of work,
digging your fingernails into the flesh,
pulling and pulling until you are bare.
but it is all worth it;
to visit your center,
to break past what conceals you,
and take you apart
slice by slice.
Maryann I Apr 18
The barn hums low like a lullaby,
painted in rust and time,
its roof a resting place
for drowsy pigeons and the last blush of day.

Rows of corn stand like sentinels,
golden-shouldered and swaying,
whispering secrets to the breeze
as it combs through their silken hair.

Cows move slowly through the amber grass,
bells singing soft like wind chimes in sleep,
and chickens scurry with laughter in their wings—
tiny, feathered comets chasing joy.

Above, the clouds drift—cotton-spun dreams
unraveling across an orange-pink sky,
as if the heavens are stretching, yawning,
wrapped in a quilt of light.

The pond is still, cradling reflections
of willow limbs and dragonfly flutters,
its surface kissed by a single feather,
like nature leaving a note behind.

A breeze dances through the wheat—
a golden sigh, a hush of contentment,
while the sun, melting into twilight,
wraps the world in honey and hush.

Here, joy grows like roots in the earth,
quiet, certain, never rushed.
And the heart, like a scarecrow smiling at the sky,
feels full,
feels home.

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